A loutish and insipic presentation of scurrilous incoherent ramblings and other dull tedious shite arranged in a convenient and affable chronological format.
The average fan, the general public, the casual viewer of the NFL, is for the most part unaware, or at the very least, not AS aware, of the very imminent potential, possibility, likelihood that there will be no NFL football in 2011. They do not know or realize the extent of what the pundits, sportswriters, sport journalists, sports bloggers and other nattering nabobs are keenly aware of. A lockout of the NFL in 2011. Which means, for all intents and purposes for the average American, a day, and no doubt MANY days, without football. No Green Bay Packers, no Dallas Cowboys, no San Diego Chargers, no cheatin’ New England Patriots. Instead it will days of waiting around, pissing and moaning, with Who Dat? Who Dat? Who Dat? echoing into oblivion.
Yes, America. The Day Without Football is coming. Best prepare yourself NOW.
It’s not really the destination that’s important. It’s the journey. So going nowhere is not always a bad thing. Because no matter WHERE you arrive, well…there you are. And along the way, what you have uncovered, discovered, lived and relived determines where you arrive and when, but more importantly, who you are when you arrive there.
So many people get this all backwards and confused. This is not some hippy love-generation psuedo-zen nonsense. ((Although it used to be)) It’s honest philosophy that has been lost in the time-management business motivation and other euphemistic instant gratification psycho-babble. The journey is forgotten, an after-thought, and a mere means to a mostly mean end. As long as the journey is over with quickly along the unrelenting fascism of the Interstate, that seems to be all that matters.Fire up that GPS and get there NOW.
And there you are. But who are you when you get there? And where are you really when all is said and done?
It’s all fine to have a destination in mind. That’s well and good. But HOW you get there…that’s the key that’s missing most often. The irony of all this is that most people, without realizing it, wind up going nowhere FAST, or somewhere FAST. But all was a blur, and where they arrive is more blurry than they realize. The only people who should be going nowhere FAST are Matt Kenseth, Tony Stewart, Dale Earnhardt Jr, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel, Danica Patrick and the rest. Motorports is the ultimate metaphor of going nowhere fast. Although they all have the same destination in mind, Victory Lane, getting to Victory Lane is all about the journey.
A journey does NOT have to have a destination. The journey can be and of itself its own destination. So with that thought in mind, let’s go nowhere and see where we end up.
I was almost too perfect too even expect it to happen, but it did. Dale Earnhardt Jr. drove the #3 Wrangler Chevrolet to victory in the Subway Jalapeno 250 at Daytona Friday night. It was a car that was an homage and tribute to his late father…a car his father drove to victory many times in his hallowed Hall of Fame career….a car Dale Sr. won two of his championships in. It was a car that Junior would drive for the last time, and never again. No more # 3 EVER!
So it HAD to go to victory lane. There was no way it couldn’t, and many ways it couldn’t. And remarkably, as the laps were winding down, Junior and the #3 car team found a way to win. It was a brilliant and wondrously emotional moment. It simply HAD to be. There no way that fate or god or Kyle Busch was going to keep #3 from winning the damn thing. It was a great tribute to the late Dale Earnhardt and the #3, which are 2 of the most enduring memes of NASCAR…and 2 of its most endearing memories.
Now the concept of meme has been greatly abused in this brave and terrible world of 4-chan and all that dross. But it still can be of some use other than for cheap comedy. So I got to thinking…maybe memes can be used for smart, intelligent and obscure comedy. Maybe memes or a reasonable approximation thereof can reveal a truth or two about the world that otherwise would have gone unnoticed. So I thought it would be interesting to see what would happen if I stuck the picture of Junior in Victory Lane into a meme generator of some sort.
I thought about it and decided to use the Multi-Image Service at: http://iqdb.org/ What IQDB does is search multiple anime image databases for images that are similar to the one you enter. Usually it is used by people who have an image and don’t know the source…what anime, manga, or hentai game the image is from. Or they’re looking for some similar type of image. So I thought to myself, why not see what comes up.
So on the first go at it, the picture in the middle, above, by artist Jitsu Hidari, was one of the images that came up. Now mind you, the similarity is more metaphorical than actual. The similarities that result from using non-anime/manga images usually ranged between 27 and 42%. I was pleased with the image you see above, and amused that some of the images that came up were on the filthy side.
But then the porch-light came on and I thought….aha!!! Diego Maradona is out there!! And THAT’s when the curtain rose and the music began to play. The results of this little skit, a tale in 6 parts, are after the jump. All images are what IQDB came up with as being similar to the source image. Every picture is worth a thousand words or more, and some of these pictures have a LOT to say!!
They played like dopey wankers. They were old, they were fat, they were slow, they were a bit too full of themselves as individual stars to play together as a team, and in the end, they were sent packing back to England by a younger, quicker German squad. Sure, Lampard got cheated out of a goal that would have equalized the match in the first half. But nothing in England’s play throughout this match and most of the World Cup gave any indication of team that could win, when necessary, at any cost. They had talent, but not the right talent. They had stars, but as well as Rooney, Terry, Lampard, Garrard and the rest play for their Premier League clubs, putting them together on the same team was not going to get the job done. They were star-crossed from the get go….from the John Terry/Wayne Bridge drama ahead of the World Cup to Wayne Rooney’s petulance on the pitch. And even though they showed some heart on occasion, they really honestly played like a bunch of dopey wankers.
England might have been served just as well or better if they’d sent an NPower League 1 team out there….the Milton Keynes Dons, or Dagenham & Redbridge. Heh. They might as well have…at least there would have been more team spirit.
I’m not sure if this brief interlude between posts meant that I needed the time to absorb some vital or essential knowledge about motorsports, football, poetry, music which I hate, science fiction which I also hate, or whether this interlude simply resulted from laziness or a lack of courage. Perhaps all of the above. Or none of it. The NASCAR Hall of Fame inducted it’s inuagural class, a pantheon of spectacular brilliance: Bill France Sr, Bill France Jr, Richard Petty, Dale Earnhardt, and Junior Johnson, and I watched every moment of it. The All Star race came and went and vanished into memory with a tumultuous finish. Kurt Busch grabbed the glory and the Million Dollar Check. I went and grabbed (the next day at The Firehouse) a tall glass of ice and a bottle of Miller Lite for the quintessential Polish Victory Lap that is my custom when Kurt Busch wins a race. And Kurt’s younger brother Kyle, whose hopes of winning the aforementioned race were dashed during the final moments while racing his teammate Denny Hamlin for the win, when Hamlin squeezed him up into the wall, and a few laps later Kyle blew a tire and that was the end of it. Or would have had Kyle not threatened to KILL his team-mate Hamlin. (More on THAT in a moment)
So all of the above, and all the stars in the sky. All of that and the REAL Super Bowl…the UEFA Champions League Final. Last Saturday in Madrid. Barcelona 2 Bayern München 0. Yes…the glory and grace of the game, and the glory and grace of Venessa Redgrave in the movie Letters To Juliet. Nothing and everything to think about. I watched the countless stars as they vanished, like the words I’m writing now.
I toss these words off into the darkness like little stones skipping across the moonlit water. Hoping against hope that they might rise up into the sky and shine there for at least one or two descending series of moments before dropping into the murky depth. After all, not many people take the time to dive into the deep water, to plumb the darkness for the sparkling treasure hidden there.
It’s not like I’m going to tell you what happens in some current, new anime show that I happen to be watching at the moment that most of you who will be reading this will never be watching at ANY moment. I could regale you with my latest take on everything that happens in episode 11 of So-Ra-No-Wo-To, or episode 1 of Gundam Unicorn, and it won’t significantly spoil yer day. Even though you should, you probably wont be watching these shows anytime soon. Also, since I’m writing this on Saturday, by the time most of you even get around to reading this, tomorrow’s race at Martinsville will be in the books, along with the name of the winner, and the post-mortem analysis of the new spoiler will raging in earnest. As for tomorrow’s Goody’s Fast Pain Relief 500 at Martinsville, I’m jumping on the Jeff Burton bandwagon. There’s my spoiler for ya. Jeff Burton wins at Martinsville.
Anyway, I can’t wait to see the spoiler in action the next time the lads race at Bristol. Bristol with the COT and the wing as become a more tedious and miniature version of Talladega with less wreckage and mayhem than in the past. Not at all the 43 rabid chihuahuas in a teapot that it used to be. The race last Sunday was set to come down to the wire, but…the evil machinations of Chad Knaus spoiled the day for for everyone as he called for 4 tires when Matt and Kurt and the rest of the leaders took 2. That was the call that won Jimmie Johnson his 50th race and his first at Bristol. On the final restart he cruised by the field and left Smoke, Kurt, The Biff and Matt in his dust. Damn, now THAT spoiled it for me, yes? I got cheated out of a shot of Crown Royal and a bottle of Miller Lite ((and a damn fine pilsner it is.))
Motorsports are different in Europe. AS are many things sporting, or sportif. Formula 1 vs. NASCAR. It sort of makes me wonder what it would be like if NASCAR actually staged a race in Europe. Hah! I could see it all now….instead of a race at Watkins Glen or Sears Point ((I refuse to call it Infineon)), they could have a race at Hockenheim or better yet, Spa-Francorchamps. Junior Nation and its legion of lugs with the number 3 shaved into their hairy backs could descend upon Belgium and they could still drink actual Budweiser, and the younger one’s with the number 8 tattooed on the left shoulder or right ass cheek could quaf ((that’s the Euro-word for beer pong, I think)) it’s EuroWife-Beater counterpart Stella Artois. Picture this…Montoya and Speed return to the scenes of their triumphs and crimes and they could dust it up with Robbie Gordon, Marcus Ambrose, Smoke and that homo Jeff Gordon in Curve Paul Frere. Montoya had a third place podium finish at Spa in 2002 ((although I imagine he’d much rather race at Hockenheim where he topped the podium with a win at the 2003 German Gran Prix)). Yes I’d be all for a move of this sort to internationalize NASCAR. It would be a far better use of what talents, such as they are, that Brian France and Mike Helton have at their disposal, than playing spider/ant games with The Carl and Brad Kesolowski.
Which brings me to Sebastian Vettel, and the secret life thereof. Vettel as I mentioned last week, teed off from the pole in the opening Bahrain Gran Prix last Sunday. (( What I didn’t mention last week is his new hair style. He’s grown it out and he now looks like a high school kid from Chilton Wisconsin waiting to pick up his prom date. And I will not mention that this week, either)). He’s the lead driver on the Red Bull team this season and the Red Bull Renaults are incredibly fast….they are also incredible unreliable from a durability standpoint. By lap 34 , Vettel’s Renault was losing power, and Felipe Massa and his teammate Fernando Alonso made the pass. And Vettel’s chances at a podium were dashed when Lewis Hamilton zipped past himlater for a third place podium finish. Anyway, it’s the secret life of Sebastian Vettel that got me thinking about NASCAR racing in Europe. For example, the favourite sports and pastimes of European drivers are vastly different from their NASCAR counterparts. Not many hunters and fishermen is what I’m trying to say. Sebastian Vettel’s ideal non-race Sunday morning is a big breakfast followed by a spirited game of badminton. Yes, you read that right.
Now I don’t think even Jeff Gordon is homo enough to include badminton his routine. Though the big breakfast part I’m sure we’d all agree with. But….badminton? Well…as I think about it…maybe badminton would not be such a bad idea after all. It might serve to ease the tensions between Brad and The Carl….let them smack the bird around a bit. Ditto The Carl and That Lout Kevin Harvick. Let’s put all this manly and quasi-manly posturing aside for bit, yes? I think racing in Europe would do wonders for NASCAR. Children by the millions all over Europe would flock to the loud, stinky louts from America, and the wonder and the horror of it all. The money wasted by transporting the Roushketeers and The Busch Brothers and all the rest over to Spa ((or Hockenheim)) would be made back many times over…it could be the second biggest NASCAR cash grab since The Coming Of Danica Patrick.
That. And the badminton!! The next time The Carl or Brad or That Lout Kevin Harvick or Hamlin, or god forbid, David Gillillilland, decide for spurious and notional reasons to extract some petty revenge, they might just think twice about doing that if they knew they’d be forced to play badminton.
Then again, losing at badminton might rankle The Carl even further. God forbid that, yes?
Last Sunday, at Auto Club Speedway in Fontana CA, the real 2010 NASCAR season began. The Daytona 500, after all, is a spectacle, an aberration, a crap-shoot, and where one finishes there is a no indication of future performance. ((Yes, I’m talking to YOU Derrike Cope)). The Auto Club 500 last Sunday was a more accurate race for soothsayers and pundits to begin with in the their various divinations of how the season will unfold.
Jamie McMary continued his Daytona momentum by grabbing the pole, but the air rushed out of that balloon as he finished a more expected 17th. Now don’t get me wrong, the move back to Gannasi is a good thing for McMary, and he will have some good finishes as the season rolls on. But now the real season will begin to sort itself out. LasVegas will be the next puzzle piece to be fit into place.
At Califormia, the Roushketeers, with the exception of Dave Ragan ((23rd)), did well. Matt, with new crew chief Todd Parrott, finished 7th. Biff was 10th. The Carl ((who just had his first kid this week, a little 8 lb 4 oz canned ham named Anne—congrats to Carl and his wife)) finished 13th. My new favourite lout Kevin Harvick is getting himself in stride and finished 2nd (more on that after the bump). And the Jeff Burton (3rd) bandwagon is starting to get fired up. Monsieur Bowyer finished 8th. Nice to see all the Childress boys in the top 10, at least for one descending series of moments. Kurt Bsch had a solid car….Tony Stewart finished strong, as did Joey Logano ((who rebounded nicely from Saturday’s little spin through the weed)), and Mark Martin, and all were top 10.
But as is well known, there are machinations, and the there are evil machinations. There is ability, and then there is damned ability. But none of those count for much more than what they would ordinarily count for when you also have luck.
Last Sunday at Homestead/Miami Speedway, history was made and despite all my season-long protestations to the contrary, I was on hand to watch it being made, albeit via television at my local brewpub, The Grumpy Troll. The fact that Denny Hamlin won the race in dominating fashion, leading 71 laps, including the one that counted…the fact that Denny Hamlin had a pretty darn good 2009 season winning 4 races and finishing 5th in the points…was overshadowed of course by the damned ability of the guy who finished 5th in the race, Jimmie Johnson.
What you saw Sunday night as Denny Hamlin took the checkered flag, was history being made. History that will most likely never repeat itself again. Jimmie Johnson joined a very special group of drivers by winning his 4th NASCAR championship, but what set it about from the championships of those who came before him (Richard Petty & Dale Earnhardt won 7 each; Jeff Gordon & Ron Hornaday Jr. have won 4 each). NONE of those drivers ever won 4 in a row. It’s remarkable accomplishment, and Jimmie Johnson is to be lauded and congratulated. But…
That’s just it. But… I have to put that in there. I can’t quite embrace the greatness of Jimmie Johnson the way I should. Since 2002 he’s been a dynasty unlike any other in motorsports. Or in just about any sports. Baseball hasn’t had a 4-peat since the 1953 New York Yankees did it (and the 1939 Yanks did a 5-peat before them). Hockey hasn’t seen one since the 1983 New York Islanders. In tennis, only Don Budge in 1938 and Rod Laver in 1962 & 1968 have done a Grand Slam is a single season. And in golf, not even Tiger Woods has done it in a single season (his slam of 4 in row was over two seasons). And just at the moment we should be applauding Jimmie Johnson and singing his praises to the heavens, the only thing I can honestly think of to say is ENOUGH ALREADY!! It’s a shame really that greatness can do this.
The main problem with greatness is that after awhile everyone, except the truly die-hard fan, tend to get sick of it. It’s fun for awhile, but then it gets tired and old. Unless you were a die-hard Patriots fan, you loved it when the New York Giants beat the undefeated New England Patriots in Super Bowl 42.
But don’t get me wrong, we love our dynasties. We prefer greatness over mediocrity. After all, I grew up during the glory years of the Green Bay Packers in the 60′s and was also a big fan of the Boston Celtics, who won 8 championships in a row from 1959 through 1966. But even during their glory years, the Packers could never muster more than 3 in a row. The next NFL dynasty, the great Steelers teams of the 70′s, while winning 4 Super Bowls, could never muster more than 2 in row.
So yes, Jimmie Johnson’s 4th NASCAR Championship in a row is all so pretty and beautiful, BUT….
Jimmie Johnson’s wreck in the early laps of last Sunday’s Dickie’s 500 at the Texas Motorspeedway gave a few of the Chasers a bit of hope that this year’s Chase would become competitive once again. Johnson lost 111 of points, but he still holds a respectable 73 point lead on Mark Martin, and a healthy 112 lead on Jeff Gordon. Kurt Busch, Tony Stewart, Juan Pablo Montoya, and the rest, are for all intents and purposes are out of it and will spend the next two Sundays racing for Pride, Dignity, Style and Culture. Mostly for pride and style, I would imagine. Since style and culture and NASCAR are ofttimes incompatible concepts.
The numbers, of course, don’t lie. And as close as the leads seems, and as tenuous a grip on that lead Jimmie Johnson might have, the likelihood of him falling on his ass again like he did at Texas (through no fault of his own) is not very likely. Yes, Mark Martin and Jeff Gordon have a fighting chance, and they will fight like hell to take the lead and win it at Homestead. But the reality of it is that this sudden ray of hope is really just a false alarm.
Unfortunately for Mark Martin and Jeff Gordon, there is no magical ability that they can summon to defeat Jimmie Johnson. All things being equal, and they most likely are and will be, the Evil Mechanations of Chad Knaus and the Damned Ability of Jimmie Johnson will carry those two to Victory Lane at Homestead a week from tomorrow.
I don’t think they will wrap it up at Phoenix, but you never know. Stranger things have and still could happen. But not bloody likely. Does the Chase suddenly become more watchable now? Maybe. But…the racing is still a bit more boring than in years past. The thrill is diminished. We will all root for the underdog, they same way we’d root for Phil Mickelson and Steve Stricker on the last day of, say the Masters or the US Open with Tiger holding a 1 or 2 stroke lead. We root for Mickelson and Stricker, and yet every time they seem to cut the lead or tie, Tiger finds a away to pull away and the stroll up the 18th fairway is just a mere formality. This is how the Chase will end this year. Martin and Gordon will make it close, but from the first lap to the end, it will be Jimmie Johnson leading the parade, Jimmie Johnson who will be hoisting the Championship Trophy for the remarkable 4th year in a row.
“Hi, I’m Kyle Busch and you are cordially invited to my Pants Party…”
NASCAR’S other two touring series, the Camping World Truck Series, and the Nationwide (Busch) series are pretty much over and done (and one them WAS locked up after last night’s race…more on that in a minute). But nobody seems to mind. Not too much anyway. Most of the speculation and alacritous commentary was about celebrating early, before Ford Championship Weekend concludes a weekend from now in Miami. What would Ron Hornaday and his guys do, and what will Kyle Busch and his guys do when they seal the deal here at Phoenix? More to the point, what will Busch and Hornaday do NEXT Friday and Saturday at Homestead, drive around backwards sucking a beer and burning heaters for a lap or three and then park it and say Fock ALL!!? ((I DID mention that as I write this, one deal IS already sealed, ne?))
Kyle Busch has an insurmountable 247 point lead on Carl Edwards. He’s up 267 on Brad Kesolowski who’s moving to #12 Penske Dodge next season. In fourth place, Jason Leffler (yes, THAT Jason Leffler) is 1000 points off the pace. Yes, you read that right. In Nationwide, this season, Kyle Busch really was terrifying true vampire. He made everyone, even his fellow Buschwackers, look like stuffed animals.
As for Ron Hornady, well…. Ron Hornaday is THE toughest guy in all of NASCAR bar none. Tougher even than Mark Martin. Hornaday could kick any one’s ass.
And what he accomplished Friday night….well, we’ll get to that after the jump.
By the way, Ron Hornaday will come to your house and kick your ass like hell wont have it if you go to the jump before Joni Mitchell song is over. You have been warned!
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