Posts Tagged Auto racing
My death is arriv-
ing with brown and purple hugs,
Gregorian chant sneaks up,
John Cage cheers my soul
I’ve never demonstrated skills at being a sports writer, as you’ll see, and I’ve always wondered how one stays inspired, but I was inspired by the recent weekend of racing.
Two-car, stupid racing. Fake drama. Fake cars. Bring back the showroom cars. Get rid of the generic.Fake drama. They say non-stop drama. Bad for them. There’s no action until the checkered flag. Well, the white flag. They are selling the advertising by spitting soup about generic vehicles without personalities. They speculate on motive, on mistakes, on strategy problems, but at Talladega these days, it’s only luck. The only skill is tuning your radio and not closing your eyes. They say “Sunoco Fuel” instead of fuel for more money. Thus, I hate Sunoco. Two by two is dull. Dull, dull, dull. The announcers try to tell you that someone is pulling away, but they are full of shit. No one ever pulls away. There’s no racing. It’s ESPN trying to make money on racing that NASCAR has ruined. “We’ve seen that countless times before, about five or six.” Define countless? five or six if you are selling boredom. “Look at this crowd. Not one person is seated.” I saw one. “Listen to the crowd – They’re lovin’ this.” No, they’re not. They’re getting drunk on the shit you guys are selling.
It was the highway rush hour that is not so much rush that you slow to a crawl, not such a rush that you stop and curse at the world. It was worse. Everyone driving 75 and mostly clueless of what this type of momentum does in vehicles really not designed for mayhem that occurs when you don’t allow humans a time to react and use the brakes to slow the vehicle instead of merely grabbing the wheel and jerking and screaming.
I was in there with them, meditating in the middle lane, and though I should have been, I was not praying to my higher power of the day that day, whatever it was. In conditions like this, I love driving with two pedal feet, my left over the brake pedal, like the race car drivers as it makes for quicker reaction and it’s nicer on old knees when there is lots of stop and go.
There was one of those smaller buses similar to the airport car rental buses, maybe bigger. It was a county bus for senior citizens. He swerved in front of me as if he were Mario Andretti, which left me contemplating Read the rest of this entry »