Heartland-from Huntsville, Alabama, at the Banquet 400, Kansas City, Kansas
Slowly, through a three-day, nauseating migraine things are finally starting to come together. I've collected the disparate bits of yarn from hither and yon, and am now knitting a little thinking cap that will make it all clear to me. I intend to have my thesis ready by next weekend. Ala Pee Wee Herman, I will keep "knitting and knitting and knitting..."
As you all know, Oh Best Beloveds, I tend to be a little mean. Pain makes me meaner. But through my recent pain have come some epiphanies.
Thanks to our good friend Rankin Rob and his lovely, kind, gentle, wife, Kat, I've realized that if a headache had a sound, it would be that of the soprano saxophone. As soon as I realized that, my migraine assumed that sound. One searing note blaring endlessly through my head like a cheap Chinese aluminum goose.
I realized that not everything that comes from Kansas is bad, and not everything that comes from Alabama is good. Our good friends The Drive-by Truckers, 'Bama Bred themselves, most of them, have often told us that nothing good comes from Alabama, particularly Huntsville. They may be right on the latter. Scroll to NATIONAL ANTHEM for more.
Kansas City's race track produced some of the best racing I've seen this year, (up until the utterly insane mileage-driven finish, which was interesting, but not really racing...) and NBC's coverage was much better than anything I've seen out of TNT and/or FOX this year. They must be doing the unthinkable at NBC, that being "listening to the fans". They still leave a lot to be desired, but improvement should be noted, I think. Another plus for Kansas is the #07 driver, Clint Bowyer. He's no Dave Blaney, but he kinda makes me laugh. As Jeff Burton once said, "He's kinda goofy." He also looks like he could be "The Lost Burton Brother", and I don't mean Brian.
On to the pre-race commentaries.
THE INVOCATION: Cole Cochran made another nice sermon for us, this one a tad longer and heavier on the "Jesus in the Passenger Seat" and "Racin' the Race of Life" type analogies. I think that's cool. I like it. I liked it more because there was a young kid standing directly behind him who was wearing a very worn and tattered black t-shirt with a Confederate Flag on it.
In Kansas.
OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM: Heartland. (Lofton Creek Recording Artists from Huntsville, Alabama)
Much like the "singer" before Saturday's Busch Race, these boys just got too damned ambitious. There looked to be six or seven of them onstage, and Cec and I both thought, "Oh dear God, they're not ALL going to try to sing are they???
The answer turned out to be "No." They were all trying to do something, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't singing. In the beginning it seemed more of a Foster Brooksian drunken recitation, with incidental vocalizations by a gentleman who Cecil thinks was just trying to "warm up" and didn't realize his mic was on.
Cecil said the lead, er... , person sounded like he was, "..the kind of drunk you get after being up 2 or 3 days, 'n' yer all rubbery and you shoulda been in bed a looooooooong time ago." And Cecil would know about this state, as it's the state he's been in every time he's ever gone to the state of Kansas. Hell, maybe that *is* The State of Kansas. "Welcome to Kansas! The most hammered State in the Union!"
Ol' Foster Brooks stumbled around for awhile in a most pitiful fashion. I swear if he was a dog he'd a been Old Yeller at the end of the story, or that dog in To Kill a Mockingbird. Not deserving of their immenent fates, but obliging themselves to the firing squad for the Good of Mankind.
And then "the band kicked in". Four, five, six? part harmonies were attempted, and for a few brief notes it seemed the rest of them might have been on key and loud enough to drown out their leader. But alas, they all seemed to lose all sense of pitch simultaneously, and any recollection of whatever "arrangement" they were trying to follow, and it became something akin to a room full of five year olds on crack, screeching and squawking, entirely oblivious to all around them.
How can the great state of Alabama produce The Drive-by Truckers, The Greatest Rock and Roll Band on Earth, The Saviors of Rock and Roll, and also produce the likes of Heartland? Must be some kinda Hindu "you must destroy to create deal" or something.
ONE STAR from me, because I felt sorry for them. They're probably great guys I'd love to hang out with. Probably.
ONE STAR from Cecil, "...for the one part when they all came in and.... I'm probably being over generous, but... where they were all singing and kinda covered up that other guy?, ...and... ....yeah, I'll give 'em one."
THE FLYOVER: Three Fabulous F-16 Fighting Falcons who flew in early in a cavalier fashion to drown out a healthy portion of the abuse of our National Anthem. Extra points to NBC for turning up the audio for the jets for an extended period to further save our delicate musical sensibilities.
THE COMMAND: George Fucking Lopez and Jackie Fucking Joyner-Kersee!!! WTF?!?!, you say?
Oh yes, Best Beloveds. Oh yes. The "Minorities" That Saved The Day. God Bless Them Both, they totally flat-out fucking RAWKED! In unison, they shouted like they were genuinely glad to be there. They smiled. Their eyes twinkled with a fiery "What's up with the gimpy White People gleam". They grinned, and after an exhuberant "GENTLEMEN!!! START YOUR ENGINES!!!!", Joyner-Kersee did a lengthy Pete Townsend windmill with her free hand, as she let out a Rebel "whoop" into the microphone she held in her other hand. Oh hell yes.
Side notes: I was compelled to eat not one, but two Banquet Pot Pies during the race, and my headache went away. Afterward I tried to sleep through the remainder of the race to insure a win for Jeff Burton, however the racing was too fucking exciting - hence a respectable 5th place for our Jeff B, leaving him leading the points for Virginia, with Chesterfield's own, Denny Hamlin, running second in overall points.
Next weekend we wrap up the Gardens of Good and Evil (Alabama and Kansas) commentaries in Talledega and get on to racing that makes a little more sense. No wait - then there's Lowe's....
As you all know, Oh Best Beloveds, I tend to be a little mean. Pain makes me meaner. But through my recent pain have come some epiphanies.
Thanks to our good friend Rankin Rob and his lovely, kind, gentle, wife, Kat, I've realized that if a headache had a sound, it would be that of the soprano saxophone. As soon as I realized that, my migraine assumed that sound. One searing note blaring endlessly through my head like a cheap Chinese aluminum goose.
I realized that not everything that comes from Kansas is bad, and not everything that comes from Alabama is good. Our good friends The Drive-by Truckers, 'Bama Bred themselves, most of them, have often told us that nothing good comes from Alabama, particularly Huntsville. They may be right on the latter. Scroll to NATIONAL ANTHEM for more.
Kansas City's race track produced some of the best racing I've seen this year, (up until the utterly insane mileage-driven finish, which was interesting, but not really racing...) and NBC's coverage was much better than anything I've seen out of TNT and/or FOX this year. They must be doing the unthinkable at NBC, that being "listening to the fans". They still leave a lot to be desired, but improvement should be noted, I think. Another plus for Kansas is the #07 driver, Clint Bowyer. He's no Dave Blaney, but he kinda makes me laugh. As Jeff Burton once said, "He's kinda goofy." He also looks like he could be "The Lost Burton Brother", and I don't mean Brian.
On to the pre-race commentaries.
THE INVOCATION: Cole Cochran made another nice sermon for us, this one a tad longer and heavier on the "Jesus in the Passenger Seat" and "Racin' the Race of Life" type analogies. I think that's cool. I like it. I liked it more because there was a young kid standing directly behind him who was wearing a very worn and tattered black t-shirt with a Confederate Flag on it.
In Kansas.
OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM: Heartland. (Lofton Creek Recording Artists from Huntsville, Alabama)
Much like the "singer" before Saturday's Busch Race, these boys just got too damned ambitious. There looked to be six or seven of them onstage, and Cec and I both thought, "Oh dear God, they're not ALL going to try to sing are they???
The answer turned out to be "No." They were all trying to do something, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't singing. In the beginning it seemed more of a Foster Brooksian drunken recitation, with incidental vocalizations by a gentleman who Cecil thinks was just trying to "warm up" and didn't realize his mic was on.
Cecil said the lead, er... , person sounded like he was, "..the kind of drunk you get after being up 2 or 3 days, 'n' yer all rubbery and you shoulda been in bed a looooooooong time ago." And Cecil would know about this state, as it's the state he's been in every time he's ever gone to the state of Kansas. Hell, maybe that *is* The State of Kansas. "Welcome to Kansas! The most hammered State in the Union!"
Ol' Foster Brooks stumbled around for awhile in a most pitiful fashion. I swear if he was a dog he'd a been Old Yeller at the end of the story, or that dog in To Kill a Mockingbird. Not deserving of their immenent fates, but obliging themselves to the firing squad for the Good of Mankind.
And then "the band kicked in". Four, five, six? part harmonies were attempted, and for a few brief notes it seemed the rest of them might have been on key and loud enough to drown out their leader. But alas, they all seemed to lose all sense of pitch simultaneously, and any recollection of whatever "arrangement" they were trying to follow, and it became something akin to a room full of five year olds on crack, screeching and squawking, entirely oblivious to all around them.
How can the great state of Alabama produce The Drive-by Truckers, The Greatest Rock and Roll Band on Earth, The Saviors of Rock and Roll, and also produce the likes of Heartland? Must be some kinda Hindu "you must destroy to create deal" or something.
ONE STAR from me, because I felt sorry for them. They're probably great guys I'd love to hang out with. Probably.
ONE STAR from Cecil, "...for the one part when they all came in and.... I'm probably being over generous, but... where they were all singing and kinda covered up that other guy?, ...and... ....yeah, I'll give 'em one."
THE FLYOVER: Three Fabulous F-16 Fighting Falcons who flew in early in a cavalier fashion to drown out a healthy portion of the abuse of our National Anthem. Extra points to NBC for turning up the audio for the jets for an extended period to further save our delicate musical sensibilities.
THE COMMAND: George Fucking Lopez and Jackie Fucking Joyner-Kersee!!! WTF?!?!, you say?
Oh yes, Best Beloveds. Oh yes. The "Minorities" That Saved The Day. God Bless Them Both, they totally flat-out fucking RAWKED! In unison, they shouted like they were genuinely glad to be there. They smiled. Their eyes twinkled with a fiery "What's up with the gimpy White People gleam". They grinned, and after an exhuberant "GENTLEMEN!!! START YOUR ENGINES!!!!", Joyner-Kersee did a lengthy Pete Townsend windmill with her free hand, as she let out a Rebel "whoop" into the microphone she held in her other hand. Oh hell yes.
Side notes: I was compelled to eat not one, but two Banquet Pot Pies during the race, and my headache went away. Afterward I tried to sleep through the remainder of the race to insure a win for Jeff Burton, however the racing was too fucking exciting - hence a respectable 5th place for our Jeff B, leaving him leading the points for Virginia, with Chesterfield's own, Denny Hamlin, running second in overall points.
Next weekend we wrap up the Gardens of Good and Evil (Alabama and Kansas) commentaries in Talledega and get on to racing that makes a little more sense. No wait - then there's Lowe's....
posted by The Dixie Butcher at 3:56 AM
4 Comments:
Heh. We'll do some live reports from Talladega for Willard's. It will be just like the last days of the Roman Empire if Gordon ties Earnhardt's career wins record at Talladega. Make sure Cecil brings all the guns.
Sorry about the soprano sax. It's one of those things that you feel better after you've shared.
Hey by God. I ain't been watching this crap lately, but if Godboy catches Ironhead at Tallafuckingdega, I'm going to become an F-1 fan. By God.
Remus Dawson
Dixie, this is great stuff. Man, you've got talents:
"Cole Cochran made another nice sermon for us, this one a tad longer and heavier on the "Jesus in the Passenger Seat" and "Racin' the Race of Life" type analogies. I think that's cool. I like it. I liked it more because there was a young kid standing directly behind him who was wearing a very worn and tattered black t-shirt with a Confederate Flag on it."
I knew it all along, but to see it in black and white (err, silvery thingie) is great.
Glad you feel better.
Avoid the year-old Spaghettios.
Today I send my best baby Cecil off to Dega - lookin' forward to the field reports, y'all stay tuned, I'll try to post them as they come in.
F-1 ? Oh Remus, no... you don't wanna do that... You'd be in good company, though. I hear legendary Muscle Shoals session God, David Hood, is an F-1 fan. Go figger.
Jinxy: Yes, I'll be avoiding expired Spaghettios from now on. (Actually it was a TWO year old can- the expiration date was 2005. Sept., I think. ) And thanks for the compliment, you're too kind. I hope you & Rob have noticed I don't pester you via email near as often since we started the blog, so you're mission was a success on that front!
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