And now for something completely different:
No political posts tonight. It’s been a disheartening week, politics-wise. Suffice it to say that I’m one of those Democrats who now finds himself seriously considering voting for John McCain.
No running posts tonight. I got in some good runs this week, but nothing to write home (or a blog post) about. I have some hard training to do over the next 3 weeks if I’m going to have any shot at a PR in the 10-miler.
No, tonight’s post is about … yes, you guessed it … monster trucks.
When we took our seats at the arena, the 6 trucks gave little hint of the destruction to come – in fact, the way that they were neatly arrayed down at one end of the floor, they looked like larger versions of the miniature Hot Wheels and Matchbox versions that I’m continually stepping on in my 4-year-old son Will’s room.
On the other side of the arena, the trucks’ victims were lined up in two neat rows. While these junkers obviously didn’t get to the arena under their own power, they were at least still recognizable as cars. That would change soon enough.
I surveyed the crowd. While I did see a lot of camouflage, trucker hats and more than a couple of flannel shirts with the sleeves cut off, it was actually a family-friendly atmosphere. Our crew fit right in.
The lights went down and the emcee came out. He yelled into the microphone – “Who’s ready for some monster trucks?” Giddy with excitement, Will raised his hand and jumped up and down in his seat – “I am, I am!”
And then the mayhem started. I had almost gone without the ear protection – I figured that if my ears had been through The Who, The Stones, Aerosmith, Ted Nugent and many other concerts with the amps turned up to 11, they could handle some souped-up pickup trucks. Fortunately good sense (actually my buddy Brad’s good sense) prevailed and I took them along. Good call. These trucks were insanely loud.
Will now asserts to anyone who will listen that he is going to be a monster truck driver when he grows up.
Hey, it beats law school.