- By Fat Nakago
- 30 July, 2012
- No Comments
Denny Hamlin led The Fall of Mankind from the pole position.
As it happened…I was late for the start of the Brickyard 400 and thus was also left out of the start of the precipitous Fall of Mankind…so the engines started and Denny Hamlin led the charge without me. Which I suppose is just as well since I’m making another misguided attempt at a live report of the proceedings from THE FIREHOUSE here in Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin, and I’m dealing with some dodgy technology…my new laptop keyboard is not responding properly and it’s throwing this whole thing off. I’d be better off not even doing this, better off drinking. Let Mankind fall, and fall hard.
Green Flag pit stops. The damned ability of Jimmie Johnson takes the lead.
Not many of the usual girls in here at the moment. Mike Rasmussen is not here. Al Johnson is not here. And the biggest girl of all, Scott Peterson is not here. Only me ((actually, I’M the biggest girl of all)), Nate the Bartender, plus Sue and Dennis who are are going for the EASY MONEY on the poker machines.
But now Brett Hoesly has shown up . I’ll have to remind myself to ask him what he thought about the Hungarian Gran Prix.
Travis Kvapil brings out the first caution. Tire cacked or something, Hamlin regains the lead. Kyle Busch is on the verge of blowing his engine it seems….black smoke blowing out the exhaust. And now I’ve had with the dodginess of this laptop and this interface so I’m packing it in and will take notes.
So much for bright ideas. I’m very disappointed as I’ve not had this issue with this laptop before. Might be the internet connection here. But if it’s precursor to the fall of mankind, well, then bring it on.
The decline in technology would be a good thing, I’m convinced. This whole process has been ruined by little glitches in technology’s precarious infrastructure. I really wanted to post this up live, instead of from notes. But cursive is also as technology, I would imagine, and it’s becoming a lost one. So I feel at the very least I’m doing my part to keep the flag of pen and ink flying high. And just as well, and apropos, since NASCAR is not exactly the pinnacle of technology either. Travis Kvapil blows a tire and tears up his ride…nothing technological about that. It probably happened at the first Broickyard 400, 19 years ago. Probably happened back in 1958 at North Wilkesboro too.
I’m not sure where poker machines fit into the technological gestalt, but Dennis’s wife, Sue, is having at one while Dennis is by the bar here nursing a drink. “It’s definitely a good day to take a nap,” he says. “Hopefully it will rain.”
And it does. And I don’t.
Clint Bowyer brings out the 2nd caution for some damn thing. But….no one else gets caught up, and he doesn’t hit the wall, so no free drinks (here at THE FIREHOUSE if you buy one on a caution with a crash, you get one free)).
Jimmie Johnson takes back the focking lead. Matt Kenseth is in 7th at the restart.
But Dennis sums it up nicely: “No crashes…just a bunch of failures.”
Pretty much home truth about the race, and the human race, up to this point.
The ESPN pundits are going through the field, and they get to Sam Hornish Jr, who’s rowing the #22 Pennzoil Dodge gently down the stream for Penske Motorsports in the 21st position. And invariable, the comments go to The Dinger, who was suspended from NASCAR for a failed drug test and was replaced in the #22 Dodge by Sam Hornish Jr. They make a bit about how he’s entered NASCAR’s Road To Recovery program as though he’s some droogie like Jeremy Mayfield even though it still hasn’t been determined exactly what it was that skewed his drug test….some OTC supplement or something, and yeh yeh yeh I know that athletes should know what they’re putting in their body and all that dross. But we all know that MOST athletes are not the brightest bulbs on this fallen world’s porch so it’s more than conceivable that they will know as much about some supplement as they will about, say any focking thing that Marcel Proust ever wrote.
Also, though I might have been hallucinating it, I do recall that Jeremy Mayfield had a remark or two about The Dinger this past week. And we’ll just leave it there for now. If I were The Dinger, I would say, “Hey Jeremy….keep that Octane 98 to yerself.”
Maybe it’s time for NASCAR drivers to pretend that they’re NOT athletes. Just stick to beer and nicotine.
Bad Brad and the #2 Miller LITE Dodge is in for a green flag pit stop and it reminds me that we need a CRASH!!! We need to eliminate (alienate?) the Fall of Mankind with 2 for 1 Drinks!!!
Meanwhilst, I’ve asked Nate to burn me an order of wings. He does a perfect of job of it.
Goddamn Jimmie Johnson. Fuck him!! The lead again. Sandy and the Rasmussens’s show up finally. The fall of Mankind will be sooner now rather than later. LOL <–funny and ha ha!
Kyle Busch in for a pit stop. I mean…how the fuck is he still running?? I thought he was out of this laps ago!! Did NASCAR suddenly authorize diesels??
I mean, seriously. What the fock!!??
Dennis offers this final take on it before he and Sue leave ((Sue took $30 from the poker machine)): “Nuthin to worry about….just blowing black smoke…” I guess considering that it’s Kyle Busch, I wouldn’t worry about it either. I promise not to worry about it for the rest of the race.
Meanwhilst, Mike Rasmussen shares his favourite Olympic Moment to date….and no, it wasn’t the cyclist from Kazakhstan who won the first gold medal of the game crying at the podium because they WEREN’T playing the fake Kazakhstan nation anthem from BORAT. Mike’s moment was a screencap of a volleyball player named…….wait for it…….Desiree Hooker. Yep. His favorite Olympic moment to date. Go figure.
Mine for those of you keeping score in a different bar, somewhere near here, but not quite at the same latitude or longitude, MY favourite Olympic moment is Spain getting cacked again today. This time 1-0 by Honduras. Spain is out and the torch of their youth has grown dim. Nothing against Spain. But enough is enough. As for England….the lads need to win or draw against Uruguay on Wednesday or they will be sent home in shame. Wait, what?? Oh. Mind the gap. Quite.
England’s women’s team has a better shot at the podium, to be honest. USA women will take the gold. You read it here 7,121st!!
And good for you! You can read!! You can’t get ahead today unless you read! <—-LOL WTF???
Bad Brad leads. I’m all for it for now. But hopefully he’s not leading at the end. I’m in no mood today to drink a Miller LITE.
But then again, what other beer would be more apropos to celebrate the Fall of Mankind?? I don’t know. You tell me.
The Jeff Burton Bandwagon® derailed when a tire blew bringing out the 4th caution for debris. Burton didn’t tear up his ride much, but the tire was burning on in his pit stall after they yanked it off. And other than that, nothing really memorable has happened so far in this race. It’s just as well that I’m typing up these notes after the fact.
But as if he were reading my mind, Nate brings me another beer!! But it’s the WRONG beer!! I vowed to soldier on through, but he brings me the correct beer as well. Wrong Beer: SCHELLS Hefeweizen. Correct Beer: SPATEN Oktoberfest. As I said, I will soldier on through. And I did!
Now Jimmie Johnson is back in the focking lead!! Grrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
Everytime I do this Brickyard 400 twittered concept this focking happens!! When will I ever learn???!!
Never, most likely.
CRASH!!! Crash Crash CRASH!!!
Joey Logano’s talent, ability, sense of humour, and #20 Home Depot Toyota fails him as he gets loose through turn 1 and proceeds to take out Matt Kenseth who’d been coming on strong.
The driver’s side of Matt’s #17 5th/3rd Bank Ford is shooting off some flames has brings it to halt. Matt gets out, thinks the better of tossing his helmet. But he tosses his ankle gear. He right fuckin’ pissed. And I don’t blame him.
Too bad he’s not here at THE FIREHOUSE in Mount Horeb, Wisconsin right now. He’d get a free drink ((if he buys one, ofcourse)).
So….CROWN my ass!! Heh. ((For those of you keeping score at The Froddington Arms in Portsmouth UK as you cry in your pints over the sorry fate of your beloved football club, when there’s a wreck in a NASCAR race and I get a free drink, the drink I get is Crown Royal)).
Junior will take the points lead because of this wreck. So fair play to him. But jeez anyway. What the fock!!
As the lads parade around behind the pace car, Jimmie Johnson who has the focking lead, is shutting the car to save fuel. Hopefully this will come down to gas mileage deal and the gambit wont work and Jimmie will run out of fackin’ gas. Cue all the gas huffer jokes, memes and tropes.
Meanwhilst, I mention to Mike Rasmussen that I was really writing this about the Fall of Mankind. He think’s I’m talking about Mankind, the wrestler. Mike’s a fuckin’ genius for picking up on that. It hadn’t occured to me since I’m so dour and cynical. Mankind, a/k/a Mick Foley….and Mr. Socko. And this got is off talking about the old greats, like Baron Von Rashke and The Crusher and Mad Dog Vachon and Hacksaw Jim Duggan. I regaled any turkey-neck who would listen about how I would be doing my homework when I was in college at 2AM on a Saturday night drinking Gordon’s Gin & Orange Juice and watching All-Star Wrestling.
Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips. Jimmie Johnson needs to drive over some spike strips.
The gas huffer mileage thing didn’t pan out. No spike strips were tossed out so….balls of fock anyway….*grrrrrrr* Jimmie Johnson joins a hallowed crew of 5 time winners at the brickyard. He hops out of the comfy Rick Mears, A.J. Foyt, That Homo®)Jeff Gordon, Al Unser, Barney Oldfield, and Wolf Henzler nest to join Michael Schumacher ((wait, WTF?? Oh yeh….F1…how soon we forget)), Arthur Greiner 5 wins in 1910) and Howdy Wilcox (4 wins in 1910, plus the Indy 500 in 1919). Maybe next year, he’ll join Eddie Hearn, Lou Dawson, and Ernest Chevrolet ((I think he has a car named after him…=P )) at 6 wins. But I hope not.
Anyway, he had enough gas to do a burnout but that was it. His crew had to push him to Victory Lane.
And then, there were bricks to be kissed. Jimmie, his crew, his wife, and their little toddler who had enough sense not to kiss the bricks.
So the damned ability of Jimmie Johnson and the evil mechanations of Chad Knaus reigned supreme. Matt Kenseth lost the points lead, for now.
At least the Bears still suck!
Technology failed me today. Well…the most modern of technology failed me. Pen and ink on paper did not. Pen and ink was stalwart today. As was beer, chicken wings, sir conditioning, television, and unfortunately, music on the juke box. I wanted to do this live, and the spot, on the go. But the internet connection perhaps, the nano-mouse maybe, the keyboard possibly, all conspired to make it impossible. So the laptop sat dejected in its case in the corner of the pub as I wrote in my Pochacco notebook. And now, I’ve typed this up for all to see. Most likely this post will be a warning sign that the fall of mankind is soon imminent, and not for the reasons we might think. But hopefully, it will be a sign of different sort, a sign that mankind can rise above the technology that by its very nature conspires to lead us into some sort of oblivion. Again, not the oblivion of the public’s so-called imagination. But one that we can rise above. Hopefully.
And now…some music with no possible relevance to anything but itself: