Archive for February, 2012

That’s a redneck-themed title right there.

Rubbin’ is most definitely not any type of racin’ that makes any sense to me.  Rubbin’ is what happens just before wreckin’, I reckon.  And NASCAR seems to have that move down.  I was drawn into the spectacle of the night-time running of the Daytona 500 Monday evening.  I’m not sure what the hell happened.  I was planning a nice evening in front of the TV watching shows designed for white women.  First stop, The Bachelor.  Holy shit.  Alright, let’s regroup.  Maybe it’s best to just settle into a celebrity gossip magazine and tune in a live sporting event for background?  Okay, NASCAR, you got 5 minutes to impress me.  I have to admit, the HD cameras, the lights and the pretty colors kept me watching for a solid two minutes.  Just as my brain was settling into this audio/visual surprise-party and the cars were finishing the first lap of the race, BAM!  Chaos, and a yellow flag.  1 lap, 1 rub, 1 wreck.  199 to go.

Six hours later, lots of concerns.  Why again can’t the vehicles function if it’s raining?  I still haven’t been offered a proper explanation on this.  Second issue: crashing.  Seems pretty silly, really.  A crash occurs…but it’s not just one asshole, it’s like, ten assholes.  Then, yellow flag goes out and they drive around behind a Toyota Camry that looks like a police car for 15 minutes.  It’s disruptive and not at all interesting- AND, it’s going to happen 10 more times.  Then, there’s Danica Patrick.  This continued celebration of mediocrity has got to stop.  I get the vagina thing.  I’m all for those.  However, are there no individuals in this vast land that have both a vagina and a motor racing talent?  Clearly, being pretty isn’t doing it.  After nearly 200 professional races, she has 1 win.  That’s a blind squirrel finding a nut if I’ve ever seen it.  I have zero doubt that women can drive racing cars as well as men, but not because Patrick has proved it.  I have a racing car and can confirm that my penis plays no part in piloting it.  In fairness, the balls are a bit more involved, but that’s mostly figurative.  Watching Danica Patrick get her ass beat every weekend at the race track can only falsely support any gender bias in racing.  The whole Danica Patrick thing leads me into my next issue.  I don’t like ads.  Clearly, the point of Danica Patrick is to sell me things, and I think NASCAR’s whole point is the same.  Obviously, right?  All pro sports are adverts.  However, an interesting game usually bridges the gaps between TV timeouts.  These games often include impressive skill, fitness and strategy.  With NASCAR, I don’t feel like I can get excited about the game, or even the science and technology being developed.  Those cars don’t seem very advanced to me, and the fact that they crash every five minutes confirms it.  Even though I like the sling-shot move and I appreciate the shake-and-bake procedure, I can’t really get a handle on how, why and when somebody wins.  Just when I think I’m getting it, a car slams into a wall and takes 11 innocent idiots with it.  Then the racing stops and they all go to an even more confined space in pit lane in where a guy with 10 gallons of fuel pumps 7 into the car and 3 onto the ground.  Then they crash into each other some more while trying to leave.  It’s a jumbled mess of stupidity.  If all of this wasn’t enough, Monday’s offering included a collision between a race car and a pick-up truck carrying a turbine-powered blow-dryer that resulted in an out-of-control jet-fuel fire.  That friends, is some serious hillbilly shit.

I still have an open mind, but for now I think it’s best to stick with watching F1.


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