On a balmy late summer evening in 1990, Odsal played host to a dramatic stock car race that would live long in the memory of those who packed the terraces.

As a kid, Odsal stadium under the floodlights was always special, but I felt a shiver down my spine as I walked up to the Rooley Avenue turnstiles on World Final night and saw the queues of expectant people.

The plentiful merchandise sellers and the unfamiliar accents of those who had travelled from afar to Bradford signified that this was something a bit special – and so it proved.

Over the years, Formula One stock cars has conjured up plenty of ‘Roses’ battles, with many of the sport’s best drivers hailing from Yorkshire or Lancashire.

With my dad being a proud West Riding man, we’d turned up hoping for success for Peter Falding of Rotherham or Frankie Wainman Snr and Jnr, a dad and son from Silsden.

The atmosphere built as twilight arrived. The floodlights started to take effect and the stands filled.

As I wiped away the tomato sauce after demolishing an especially unhealthy cheese burger, the gleaming cars worked their way down the steep road from the pits, which sat high above track level.

The Mad Max-style machines, with elaborate roof-mounted aerofoils, lined up two abreast on the shale oval. With razzmatazz borrowed from American motorsport, the starter directed the drivers to start their engines. In unison, the powerful motors burst into life to the sound of cheers and airhorns.

The opening laps were frantic, with dozens of drivers - hellbent on their sport’s ultimate prize - throwing their cars into the corners. A number of hopefuls were ‘stuffed’ into the fence, sustaining damage that resulted in an undignified crawl onto the infield - not how they’d dreamt it the night before.

For a brief moment, the number 33 car driven by our hero Falding hit the front. As he leaned into the corners in his aggressive style and seemed to be opening a lead, I jumped up and down with excitement at the back of the West Stand - but sadly it wasn’t to last.

As things settled down, our worst fear was unfolding as Lancastrian John Lund, the all-conquering driver from Clitheroe, took the lead. You see, Lund was one of those drivers who was so good you either admired him wholeheartedly or resented his dominance. We were in the latter category, but begrudgingly recognised his talents and realised the 53 car was seldom caught once it was out in front. After all, he’d won the World Final on two of the last three occasions.

By the mid-way point, the water that had been sprayed on the track prior to the big race had been dried by the powerful cars and the dust was starting to rise into the night sky, blending with the floodlights to create a spectacular effect.

Blinking as the dust particles from the drying Odsal track attacked my eyes, I could make out Lund pulling further into the lead.

Then, suddenly, a moment that could change the destiny of the race. A car was facing the wrong way on the back straight on fire. As marshals waved warning flags and made sure the driver was okay, it was clear that the cars would have to bunch up.

As the green flags waved, Lund wasn’t caught napping and pulled away again, but an unexpected threat was lurking backfield.

To the untrained eye, the most likely challenge still seemed to be defending World Champ Ray Tyldesley, in second.

Further back, the increasingly bone dry racing line was now suiting Bert Finnikin, of Leek, Staffordshire, who was going so fast that steam appeared to be coming off his back right tyre.

“He’s absolutely flying,” exclaimed the excitable commentator.

With Lund further delayed while lapping backmarkers, the chance for Finnikin to strike had arrived, with around five laps to go.

He clipped the bumper of Lund while entering a corner, almost spinning the leader, who wrestled the wheel to regain control.

On the very next turn, Finnikin attacked again, sending Lund wide and diving down the inside to take the lead.

With Finniken’s number 55 car now clearly the quickest, Lund knew he had just one chance to put him away before he disappeared into the Odsal night.

Lund launched his dramatic move, forcing Finnikin wide and pushing him towards the fence in what would prove the decisive moment of the final.

With gasps from onlookers, Finnikin’s back wheel hit the fence, but he kept control and emerged still leading. The tangle had cost Lund another place as Dave Beresford nipped in to take second. As Lund and Beresford delayed each in a tussle for second, the road was clear for Finnikin to drive to a glorious victory.

With a big crowd under the Odsal lights, some remarkable racing that saw the lead change hands several times, and a new champion, it was – in my view – the greatest World Final ever.