The Last Column!
Color me gone. I am outta here. Adios, Amigos. This space available, effective next month.
Alas, our esteemed “publitor” (i.e., publisher-editor) prefers his editorial columns to be more “now” than “then,” penned by columnists who care enough about current events to bleed ink all over this page — er, screen view — month after month. I understand completely. Were our working relationship reversed (which it was, ironically, at Petersen’s Drag Racing magazine, 1987-88), this former editor might feel exactly the same way. However, as a columnist, it ain’t me, Babe.
I hate to admit the sad fact that I can no longer muster the spirit to rally these fingers into rising up against The Establishment, which is so far gone that no amount of rallying is likely to help. As if aping NASCAR’s less-than-successful Chase format wasn’t enough to finish off any optimism I might’ve maintained about the purity of modern drag racing, the last-ever old-fashioned, down-to-the-wire points race was tainted on its next-to-last day by
the champion-to-be’s blatant defiance of a starter’s firm instructions to refrain from launching, on national television.My mind bounced back to other officials I’ve observed. Both Larry Sutton (Lions) and Harry Hibler (San Fernando) were known to throw a leg over a frame rail and actually straddle the gyrating body of a flame-spewing dragster, directly in the face of a driver who dared not heed the starter’s command. NHRA’s own Buster Couch, Rick Stewart’s immediate predecessor, was known to press a shop rag against a helmet visor, and none too gently. Ron Leek (Byron) might’ve been expected to reach in and yank Tony Schumacher’s helmet off — with or without his head still inside. The only thing for sure is that such a blatant violator would’ve been immediately disqualified from that event, if not forever.
My gut hurt for Stewart. I’ve known and liked him since the mid-Sixties, when “The Iceman” was simultaneously setting Top Fuel records and surviving multiple crashes that should’ve killed him. [Insert shameless plug here: Order the “Seven-Second Love Affair” video from www.HotRodNostalgia.com and see for yourself! --D.W.] This is one official who has earned and deserves the full respect of each driver. The poor guy was only trying to do his job: protecting an oil-dripping driver from himself, plus preventing unnecessary carnage to man, machine or track surface.
Real sergeants know better than to defy any direct order from a superior. Real sanctioning officials back up their employees in a real way. Real millionaires laugh at $20,000 fines. Real racers from another era might’ve meted out their own form of justice following such an infraction against their common code of honor and respect.
I’m not blaming anyone, nor any particular incident, event or season for weakening my interest, although 2006 was a real bummer, beginning with watching Goodguys self-destruct during the March Meet that wasn’t. Blame the slow death of my enthusiasm on a series of disappointments going all the way back to all-reserved pitside seating and seeded-in Ford and Dodge Pro Stock Trucks (a full second slower than Grumpy and the S-10s).
I hate the way today’s fuel cars smell and sound; their methanol-diluted loads burn my eyes, and the cackle at idle is gone. (Go smell and hear any nostalgia fueler if you doubt these old nostrils and ears.) If we must have rev limiters, must they result in more breakage, more expense, more danger, more down time? Haven’t these fuelers been running 4.40s for an awfully long time, already?