NASCAR and a Rainout

Love NASCAR. Hate the reporters. Or are they journalists? What is the politically correct 21st century term? Jesus its so hard for me to keep up. These guys are nothing but wussy ass sycophants.
The guys down in the pits that interview the drivers. My god you can even see it in their eyes. They are fans, not journalists. Especially that big nose guy with the hat; he's the worst.
They lob softball questions at these guys and then stand back so they can absorb the aura. Talk to them like they are gods and never ask hard questions.
The guys in the booth are a little better because most of them are former drivers and/or crew chiefs. They know what they are talking about and they worship the sport, not the drivers. They have been through the drill, they are hardened, they know who and what the drivers are. They will stand by them, they respect their performance in the face of danger, but they don't blow kisses at them.
Well, maybe Darrell Waltrip does. But I cut him some slack. He is a very emotional guy and I can identify with that. He was calling the Daytona 500 when his brother won it. Darrell was actually cheering his brother on during the last lap. He was criticized big time for not being professional in the booth.
I loved it. It was the right thing to do.
The coverage of NASCAR is so soft it is pathetic. They use these animated characters to accompany illustrations and explanations. The commentators are forced to talk about these goddamn cartoon freaks like they are real. Digger, this. Digger that. Is Digger still around? Christ I hope not.
The most dangerous guy in the booth is Larry McReynolds. They are trying to expand the sport to appeal to a larger audience and kill the red neck image. This is the wrong guy for the job. He says things like "let's don't forget" and "Has went" and a million other ignorant redneck expressions. Jimmy Johnson has went to the garage? Please.
I think Dale Earnhardt drove into the wall and killed himself on purpose because he was afraid NASCAR would soon be forcing him to wear a skirt and say nice things.
In addition, NASCAR is very much like a cult. A depraved religion. The guys that rule that sport rule with an iron hand. They emasculate the drivers and dictate what they can eat, when they can sleep, they schedule bathroom breaks for them and they slap their wrists when they use dirty words. And god forbid any of them should criticize NASCAR. Kevin Harvick is sitting in the corner on a timeout.
Reminds me of the New Hampshire State Liquor Commission, which is the strangest organization, top to bottom, that I have ever worked for. Talk about a cult. But that's a story for another place and time.
I was royally pissed that the Daytona 500 was postponed yesterday. I wanted to watch that race from start to finish. My whole one day weekend was set up to revolve around digging the race. My guts have been ripped out and I am exhausted. All I wanted was to relax and sit in my recliner and watch the race with Carol. Catch my breath a little. Feel human. I was going to do appetizers, then cook a fabulous meal.
Nope.
But I figured something out. Figured out exactly where my karma is at. It occurred to me in a flash of clarity that all I have to do is to want something with all my heart and all my soul for it NOT to happen. If I want it, if I need it, if my very survival depends on it - it ain't gonna happen.
I have to change my approach. Change my thinking. I have to fool karma.
So, in that spirit, I say to all my enemies - Live long and prosper.