Auto Racing Is Boring

My wife says, "If you think I'm going to spend 10 seconds watching cars go round in circles, lap after mindless lap, then think again, Old Man!"
Attendance at all levels of racing is dropping to record lows, from black-eyed Bernie Ecclestone's F1 to John Casale's nearly vacant Flamboro Speedway.
Joyce has a point. Even the most ardent of supporters have a siesta halfway through NASCAR's Coca Cola 600, some 4 hours, 400 laps and 20 yellow-flagged cautions later, before racing finally breaks out in the final 50 laps.
If you're going to be there at the finish, what's the point of racing for the first 350 laps when all you have to do is follow the leader, who will no doubt burn out his engine eventually, trying to prove how macho he is?
It's about as exciting as watching cars drive by on Hwy 401. Maybe a little less.
Whether it's NASCAR, Formula 1, IZOD Indy Cars or Flamboro Thunder cars, racing has to be set up for either the family or, more importantly, women.
In the good old bad old days, Pinecrest Speedway had a Powder Puff Division, women only, racing their husband's or boyfriend's cars. It was a ball! Some of them would be lapped 5 times in a 6 lap race. Others would throw the fear of the Lord in anybody that came near them, such as the Starter, light poles, the pit gate, the grassy infield or fellow competitors. Lorainne 'Never Lift' Hallahan comes to mind.
Racetrack owners seem to believe that faster cars are more exciting. Ain't so. That nice looking cars provide a more professional look and make a better field. Not true. That throwing a lot of yellows makes it more interesting. Nope. Pinecrest might have thrown a yellow if a driver was hanging out of a burning car unconscious. Might not, too. Depends if he was any good or not.
Tough competition is OK, but if the babe in the 18th row doesn't know that the guy driving the #5 car looks like Brad Pitt, it all goes for nought.
There has to be family stuff going on.
"Ladies and gents, let me introduce the marching band from Orillia Secondary School. They will entertain you with 1 lap of the track - probably doing it faster than Mary Lou May just did in the Powder Puff race heh! heh! heh! - with all the tunes that won them second place in the CNE competition 2 weeks ago. Let's hear it for the Orillia Marching Band!
After that, folks, please take a walk through our massive tent outside, which shows all manner of foods grown locally and which are for sale. Better get over there quick before the supply of hot hot hot dogs, crispy french fries and cold cold Coca Cola is sold out!
There's also singing groups, a fiddle contest and a bunch of old guys showing off their restored antique cars!
And did I tell you that our race winners from last week will be there to chat and sign autographs?
Enjoy the intermission, folks, we'll be bringing you the Feature race shortly!"
Auto racing boring? Not in this scenario!

This Soup Should be Canned

Colin Campbell is a great guy - or, at least so says Bob McCown of The Fan 590. McCown says, "Campbell is honest, personable, hardworking and always available to sports media"

He said nothing about Campbell's being competent.

People tend to honour and preserve what they are. After all, it's taken them 50, 60 - maybe even 70! - years to figure out why they're hanging around here on planet earth, so right, wrong or indifferent, they're going protect their hard won identity.

So when Campbell, as NHL disciplinarian, is put on the spot to make a judgment, say, as in Matt Cooke's cowardly, blindside hit on Marc Savard, his instincts will probably say, "This SOB Cooke should get 30 games and $50k fine!" Then he'll think, "I don't want a grievance from the Player's Union though - nobody's ever been handed such a penalty. And there's no specific rule that you can't make a blindside hit - even though Cooke raced almost from his own blue line to nail Savard, one of the smallest players in the NHL. And I want to keep the sports ink-stained wretches and broadcasters on side, so I'd better be able to give them credible reasons. And I'm reporting to Daly who's a politician, and who will challenge anything I propose beyond a slap on the wrist, and I don't want to get a 'Satisfactory Minus' on my appraisal in case Bettman starts asking questions. I think I'll just go with the flow - just like the referees did the nite of the game and say I have no grounds for a suspension or fine."

So Cooke (and any goon with similar intentions) escapes scot-free to blindside again at will. As long as they don't hit them in the head with the end-to-end rush with which they impale their helpless victim on the boards and glass.

So much for one superstar-in-the-making. Like Steve Moore after the courage-challenged hit-from-behind by Bertuzzi, I suspect that Savard will never be back. Or if he is, he'll be a shadow of his former self.

Let Campbell apply to join McCown on the Fan. See how the buddy concept works then.

It says here that before the NHL becomes an even greater laughing stock, this Soup should be canned.

Speechless

I had just finished a delivery to Waterloo and was returning to Hwy 401 via a 2 lane road which was backed up with bumper-to-bumper traffic, all behind a heavily overloaded pickup truck which was wending its way at a top speed of 60 kph.

Eventually, with cars passing this mobile chicane and turning off onto other roads in frustration, I was able to get close enough to read the license plate OLD.BERT

"Old Bert!" I exclaimed, that's my brother-in-law, the millionaire farmer!"

I watched as he slowed, then stopped in front of an impressive home in Westmount, where a refrigerator stood alongside a paved driveway. I thought it looked pretty good for a fridge to be scrapped and sent to recycle, but stranger things have happened on Bert's Monday morning salvage hunt for items for which he would be paid at the scrap dealer.

Bert had a problem with this one. It was too big to fit in the remaining room in the truck, and too heavy for him to hoist. He gave his pal Jack, who rode shotgun, a knowing look and Jack immediately passed a sledgehammer through the open window.

With two mighty blows the door went flying, hinges torn asunder. Going to the back of the unit, he took more swings at the compressor unit, and refrigerant suddenly exploded wildly from a ruptured hose.

Turning to Jack he smiled, "Looks like this is one unit we won't have to pay to have an environmental vacuum!"

With the compressor motor and the door removed, Bert was able to lift the items into the truck and tie them into place with an old electrical cord.

As he was about to leave, he turned and was surprised to note a person staring at him from the driveway, a look of astonishment on his face. With his snappy blue coveralls, he looked like an installation or maintenance person. He had a dollie. The label on his uniform said "Sears".

"Sir" he said, "I just went up the driveway a couple of minutes ago to dispose of the cardboard and wooden skid and was returning to pick up this brand new state of the art fridge, for which our customer has just paid $3,000. Do you have any suggestions as to what I can tell him?"

For the first time in the 44 years I have known him, in spite of a notorious fluency which matches that of Trudeau, Clinton or Obama, Bert stood staring open mouthed, uncomprehending and speechless.