Forget all that I've been telling you. Re: last Saturday night's 'All-Star' race. Ordinarily I'd counsel the uninitiated that as it is suggested in upscale how-to sex books so it is in the NASCAR world. That is to say, more often than not is it worth the time to take the long way 'round.
Not so Saturday night. For this one night it is better to take that shortcut. Mortgage your future. Live in the moment. Be selfish, roll over and fall asleep. Tell me the butler did it. Fast forward to the good bits. Skip the main course and bring me dessert.
Four hours - 10 laps = a busy week ahead as I struggle to make up for lost time. I've said before that the actual excitement level of a NASCAR event relates inversely to the hyped, to-be-expected excitement level. And yet I dutifully sat through the evenings proceedings. Jeff Hammond's exhortion to "strap down your television sets" is the perfect example. I'm pretty sure you could have balanced your tv set (I love quaint references to bygone technology) on a wine glass, tied a cat and a dog together, and retired to the couch only turning the volume down slightly over those final ten laps without too much worry. It was the best infomercial I've seen all week.
Ad people have just stopped trying. Subtlety? Bah. Nuance? Please. Subliminal messaging at least!? NO!! The mantra the established advertising ilk teach their heartless spawn these days is to stuff it down our throats like you're taking the plunger to a clogged toilet. That nauseating image fits so well alongside the current sponsor saturation of present day NASCAR.
NASCAR as we have come to know it must die. If ever there was a case for assisted suicide, it is present-day big league stock car racing. I suspect we've find ourselves at the bedside of this morbidly obese, gluttonous, gaudy reflection of society after following a predictable path. An arc. A gently rising arc that everything must follow. A humble birth, rising from next to nothing to the highest of highs. A child destined for greatness. Strong legs to carry it far and wide, broad shoulders to bear an ever-increasing burden. But never more than a bastard child, bred of the seed of evil - money. From the high we must decline. All things must pass. And in these end days the pace quickens. This king has been overfed.
This bloated carcass that stretches out before us is only the shell of what once was and what was once great. Pass me the pillow. I'll do it myself.
And yet their are those that will allow this to drag out, clinging to some silly notion of a miracle. The die is cast.
Elvis. The Catholic Church. NASCAR. What the hell, I'm feeling cynical today: Western Society. Good things gone bad. I pray the end comes soon. The sooner we pull these rotten walls down, the sooner we can start to rebuild. If anybody needs me I'll be at my local track.
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