It has taken the better part of two weeks, enough can beer to power a bricklayers union meeting, three cheesesteak enemas, a new POTUS, and a number of truly bazaar interactions with the homeless to get somewhat recovered from the Phillies championship.
I'm back, baby. Time for some housecleaning. First order of business: what happens when the racing stops?
It's yet to be seen (or decided) how this fair site will function during the off-season. I'm thinking of a slow digression into a medium-to-hard-core porn fetish dumpster. That'll be dependant on how cold it gets. So, stay tuned!
Also, don't forget to flip over to the remaining Sprint Cup events when they're on the television light tubes. I'd say a requisite flip-from-football every hour or so should keep you abreast of Jimmie Johnson's inevitable third title.
Cheers to Lewis Hamilton & Co. Deserving title. As a victory celebration, enjoy a gallery of Formula One's First Ladies (including LH's lady-friend), and their counterparts from the world of American saloon-car racing. Until next time, keep reaching for the stars, enjoy the new POTUS and, for godsakes, don't shake the hand of a homeless guy. There could be poo in there.
-Ed.
Showing posts with label off topic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label off topic. Show all posts
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Midnight in the garden of Broad and Walnut
Motor racing has some inherent advantages over its stick-and-ball counterparts. Fans of this interweb site surely don't need those advantages outlined. We all know what makes racing great and why we choose to spend our time watching autos circulate about. (For the un-indoctrinated, racing is exciting. We're drawn to speed, action, personalities and danger.) Motor racing is a historically rich sport that has pockets of fans that are more passionate and knowledgeable than the biggest sports bar know-it-all this side of the Schwab. Reread the last sentence, as it outlines one of the shortcomings of our fair sport. Pockets. Fucking pockets, dude.
Motor racing fans are outpost dwellers. Recluses. We’re sprinkled around the nation. Outside of Indianapolis and Charlotte fandom becomes hit or miss. (Largely miss.)
The happenings in Philadelphia last night could never be replicated in the aftermath of a motor race, no matter the city.
Baseball is the peoples’ sport. Its range and scope are far reaching. Territoriality reigns supreme. A city is associated with team, and that gives you the right to wish fucking death upon everyone from any other city. Baseball is why I hate Chicago. Baseball is why I refuse to travel to Massachusetts. Motor racing cannot replicate the blind hatred that baseball has provided the masses.
Of course, the opposite of blind hatred is blind love/passion/joy and that happened in Phila last night. I got hugged by a stranger because I was wearing a $12 Pat Burrell t-shirt. Said stranger was bombed and probably thought I was Burrell, but that’s not important. The passion was there. (Side note: I have been wearing the aforementioned t-shirt for the last week. It smells like ass, feet and rank beer. My co-workers tried to stage a Burrell shirt intervention with me. I told them to eat a dick. Then Burrell hit the most important double in recent history and I felt like a goddamned king. I want to be buried in this fucking shirt.) The entire city came out and relished in the achievement of the city’s team. The Phillies won for the town. Sports are all Philadelphia has. The Phillies made millions of eastern-PA’ers not depressed to be living in eastern PA. Only a stick-and ball-sport could do that. Sorry motor racing. I love you, but...
Maybe I’ll try to change things. Beware, at the season opening IndyCar event, I’m going to hug everyone in sight if Graham Rahal wins. I’ll take it to the streets of New Albany. The party that will take place in Central Ohio will be epic. We will own the night. All spearheaded by this guy. Sound like a good plan?
Motor racing fans are outpost dwellers. Recluses. We’re sprinkled around the nation. Outside of Indianapolis and Charlotte fandom becomes hit or miss. (Largely miss.)
The happenings in Philadelphia last night could never be replicated in the aftermath of a motor race, no matter the city.
Baseball is the peoples’ sport. Its range and scope are far reaching. Territoriality reigns supreme. A city is associated with team, and that gives you the right to wish fucking death upon everyone from any other city. Baseball is why I hate Chicago. Baseball is why I refuse to travel to Massachusetts. Motor racing cannot replicate the blind hatred that baseball has provided the masses.
Of course, the opposite of blind hatred is blind love/passion/joy and that happened in Phila last night. I got hugged by a stranger because I was wearing a $12 Pat Burrell t-shirt. Said stranger was bombed and probably thought I was Burrell, but that’s not important. The passion was there. (Side note: I have been wearing the aforementioned t-shirt for the last week. It smells like ass, feet and rank beer. My co-workers tried to stage a Burrell shirt intervention with me. I told them to eat a dick. Then Burrell hit the most important double in recent history and I felt like a goddamned king. I want to be buried in this fucking shirt.) The entire city came out and relished in the achievement of the city’s team. The Phillies won for the town. Sports are all Philadelphia has. The Phillies made millions of eastern-PA’ers not depressed to be living in eastern PA. Only a stick-and ball-sport could do that. Sorry motor racing. I love you, but...
Maybe I’ll try to change things. Beware, at the season opening IndyCar event, I’m going to hug everyone in sight if Graham Rahal wins. I’ll take it to the streets of New Albany. The party that will take place in Central Ohio will be epic. We will own the night. All spearheaded by this guy. Sound like a good plan?
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