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Not much retains any real sense of immediacy or freshness after 42 years. Sure. David Lee Roth might still be doing gigs in Vegas, and Gwen Stefani will still undoubtedly look fantastic for her age. But neither of them will be particularly interesting anymore.
Even most of the wines that you're likely to encounter in your lifetime would be three, perhaps four decades past their best by then. (Unless you move in very fortunate circles, that is). But for every rule there is always an exception, and that's where 'The Cruel Sport' fits in.
Back on the shelves in a new edition after first being published back in 1963, this is one of those rare gems that speaks every bit as loudly now as it ever did. Opening this book is like cracking the seal on a time capsule stocked full of the images and thoughts of the Grand Prix world in the late 1950s and early 1960s. My previous knowledge of Daley and his work prior to sitting down with this book was pretty much zilch. Given that he has apparently written 27 books (and served as NYC deputy police commissioner, amongst other things), I think we can safely put it down to ignorance on my part.
But aside from the book which we'll get to in a moment he is quite an intriguing character himself, and the way that his personality and perspective flavours the story plays a big part in setting this book aside from similar titles to have been released over the years.
