Mr Motocross Legends & Stars Charity Dinner

This article originally appeared in Transmoto Dirt Bike Magazine’s 2014 May (#43) issue… 

Wigan, are you still up in the room? Cos this is friggin’ URGENT!,” says a hectic Rosco Holden down the phone line. “Yep, I’m standing here starkers, just about to jump into the shower, Rosco. Why? What’s up, mate?,” I ask. “I’ve got all the Mister Motocross legends here at a memorabilia signing and I’ve left all the textas in the bloody room! Can you grab them and bring them down to the foyer, like NOW?!”. “Ahh, sure. Can do, Rosco.” I grab the nearest pair of shorts and old T-shirt, slip into some thongs, and hotfoot it to the lift, where I run into a mate, Kristian. He too is half-dressed and hurriedly carting some posters that Rosco has evidently forgotten. After more than two years’ preparation for this Mister MX Legends and Stars Charity Dinner, Rosco has been run ragged. He’s pulled the thing off, and can be forgiven for a couple of small oversights.

Stepping out of the Crown Palladium’s marble-lined, muzac-infused lift, Kristian and I hit a wall of well-dressed humanity and lively banter. The blokes – many of whom have familiar faces – are all sporting suits, and their better halves are dressed to the nines. Like a couple of scungy pizza delivery boys, we make a beeline for the far side of the function room’s foyer to make our urgent delivery; copping a barrage of “Glad you dressed up, boys” and “Get out of here, you two hobos!” remarks en route. We dump the pens and posters, and quickly skulk off, clinging to the wood panelling along the back wall to avoid further detection.

Ten minutes later – showered up and cutting a slightly more dapper figure – I enter the enormous function room, which, unlike the soulless space I was expecting, is stylishly appointed and already seating 550 guests. On stage sits seven throne-like chairs. Behind each is a pedestal supporting one, two, three or four Mister Motocross muscle-man trophies; the ‘figurines’ I’d heard so much about over the years, but never before seen in the flesh. The stage feels like a shrine to the seven men who owned the infamous Mister Motocross series between its inception in 1974 and last running in 1990.

I find my table and sit down between Darryl Willoughby and Trevor Williams – two riders who never won a Mister Motocross title, but who both came damn close. The beer flows, old acquaintances are renewed, and the bench racing gets underway proper. The vibe in the room is electric. Having dined out on the visual overload of old factory bikes and moto memorabilia in the foyer, everyone seems to sense that this is a very special, once-in-a-lifetime occasion. And adding to its authenticity is the presence of Vince Tesoriero – the series’ visionary promoter – and Neil Crompton, who Tesoriero discovered as a teenager, and whose Mister MX commentary launched a stellar career in motorsport announcing.

Deftly MC’ing proceedings, Crompton invites Rosco Holden to stage – who makes a moving speech about the impetus for the function – before calling the seven Mister Motocross legends up to occupy their thrones. What follows is a classic Q&A session. The legends offer insights into the rivalries and racing and the sheer scale of the sport in its golden era. There are light-hearted anecdotes and laughs and even some friendly ribbing between seven men whose competitive spirit still burns bright.

I can’t help being struck by the gracious nature of all seven. A combination of clever promotion and big corporate sponsorship from the likes of Pepsi, Golden Breed and Castrol had made these guys – and many more – household names throughout the late ’70s and 1980s. They experienced the sort of notoriety that current-day Aussie motocrossers couldn’t even fathom, and yet they all had their egos firmly in check. Plus they all seemed to understand implicitly what it meant to be an ambassador of the sport that had been so good to them. Everyone in attendance hung off every word of this on-stage repartee.

As I looked around the room, though, I sensed something was missing. Sadly, not one of the current crop of Pro motocrossers was there –not that I laid eyes on, anyway. The few I spoke to afterward claimed they didn’t know about the night – which is entirely in keeping with a generation of riders who seem so self-absorbed that they haven’t got the time to recognise the tribal elders who laid the sport’s foundations.

“Are our current crop of Pro MXers too self-absorbed to even recognise the tribal elders who laid the sport’s foundations in Australia? Sadly, it appears so.”

In the days following the charity dinner, this really grated on me. It rammed home the fact that these two worlds – the sport’s golden era and the modern-day era – rarely intersect. And I couldn’t help but think how much poorer Australian Motocross was as a result. I mean, could you imagine the entire line-up of the ASP World Surfing Tour not turning up to a function that brought together former champs Midget Farrelly, Nat Young, Michael Peterson, Rabbit Bartholomew, Barton Lynch and Tom Carroll? Exactly! Modern-day Pro surfers are students of the sport and respect the legends who’ve come before them. The same applies for any number of thriving sports you care to name. I reckon Australian Motocross is never going to pick itself up until there’s a complete change in attitude toward the past. Let’s hope Rosco Holden’s laudable initiative paves the way for it. And soon!