How Alastair Down, the epitome of sports writing sublimity, got me hooked on racing

Remember those glorious head-wrecking days of youth when trying to pot reds like Jimmy White on that 6x3 snooker table rammed into your tiny sitting room after watching him coast around the Crucible? He was scoring centuries with his eyes shut yet you would struggle to rack up a break of more than four no matter how many goes you had.

Or perhaps, upon seeing Phil Taylor firing in 180s for fun at the Circus Tavern, you would head straight to your bedroom afterwards to do likewise, only to end up missing the board completely and making more holes in the wallpaper.

That's exactly the effect Alastair Down had on me.