Badger's Tails: Something going down at Silverston

Badger's burrow fairly rocked with laughter yesterday with the latest comedy exploits to unfold from this weekend's fist-fest at Silverstone BSB.

And the star of these rib-tickling shenanigans? Yes, it's the badger's favourite lovable rogue, Mr Sean 'just an orange juice for me' Emmett.





You couldn't make it up, you really couldn't.

Thrown something of a career-lifeline by a certain Ducati dealer, Emmett was beginning to score some impressive results for the one-rider Supersport team " blimey, the toothy tearaway even notched up a win in the pissing rain at Croft. To give you something of an idea of how highly previous superbike team managers regarded Mr Emmett, one ex-employer even described him, live on air as 'that fat alcoholic'.

Blimey.

So, like a predictable Hollywood movie, the end was kind of script written on the wall.

Emmett's voracious thirst finally got the better of him this weekend at Silverstone.

Frustrated by his team's professional behaviour and early exit from the bar, in readiness for the following day's racing, Emmett rebelled.





Donning his best drinking trousers (presumably freshly pressed in the hotel room's Corby Trouser Press) Sean quietly clicked his room door closed, dabbed a bit of Denim aftershave behind his ears and tip-toed back downstairs for a bit more heavy duty thirst quenching.

The details from here on in are a little sketchy, but stick with Badger because it's just getting interesting...





Gate-crashing a private party in the hotel bar, our hero then set about some proper, sportsman-like re-hydration. It was only a matter of time before the scene turned ugly and in the kind of tired and emotional condition that leaves a man ready to fight potted plants or doormen (whichever is the nearest) Mr 'just a soda water for me, ta' Emmett then set about members of his own team.

The language and tone of the threats and accusations made, frankly aren't fit for Badger's ears, never mind yours, dear reader. Suffice to say that our stella-supa-star left his own team's management in no doubt as to what he thought of them in his drink-addled state. Following his immediate sacking, presumably conducted on the first floor of the celubrious Brackley Travel Inn, or similar, Emmett then pulled his flanker " his ace card.





Through barely recognizable and poorly enunciated references to the female genitalia Emmett then punched the artexed corridor wall " thus busting his throttle and braking hand. Or should that be throttling and breaking hand?

POW!

This, I'm sure you'll agree, was unfortunate. However, the real twist in the Badger's tail was yet to come. Just how, I ask, do you explain to your visiting potential sponsors on race day where your rider is, why you're not out on track and why the pit garage is still closed?

Badger suspects that Emmett missed his true racing era by at least 30 years. Back in Sheene's day this kind of behaviour was not only tolerated but expected from wild-living bike racin' types. Where did we all go wrong?