Features
High Life Wednessday, October 22, 2003
13
Where’s Max? Getting an earful of destruction
A raging vehicular brawl
highlights a weekend
at the state fair. Max
brings news from the front
row of the arena.
By Max Socol
Editor-in-Chief
There are precious few things
in life that deliver exactly what
they promise. Time and again I
am disappointed by TV and radio
host ads for “The Greatest Show
on Earth” and the “Blockbuster of
the Summer.” In fact, I have
difficulty recalling any event or
demonstration that ever lived up
to its own hype.
Until now.
The demolition
derby is, for the
“derby virgin,” or
“dergin,” an almost
religious
experience. The
smoke, the fire, the
lights, and the bad
announcer all create
an ambience akin to
a Dixie baptism.
When I arrived at
the coliseum,
however, I confess
that I was
unimpressed. As I
drove into the
center, I made the
first mistake of a
demolition derby
carnival: under no
circumstances are
you to allow a carny
to direct your
parking. I was forced to park in
what seemed to be, by all available
landmarks (pavement, other kinds
of pavement). High Point.
After wandering aimlessly
through lots A through L, I finally
arrived at the Special Events
Center, eager to begin my journey
into the twisted metal of the
unknown. I caught sight of the
arena through the double doors
along the wall, closely guarded by
a coliseum employee. I eagerly
approached and asked her to let
me in.
“No, no, you need
to get a stamp on your
hand from the carnival
staff.” Unperturbed, I
wandered back outside
and over to a couple of
important-looking
guys behind the
carnival gate.
“Can I get a stamp
to get into the show? I have
admission money right here,
r 11 just—”
■
but anyone who has needed an
admit slip from Grimsley before
would have been more than
prepared to deal with the situation.
Besides, the strange route gave
me a chance to check out the
educational aspect of
the Central Carolina
Fair, the “Agricultural
Fair.” And really, how
often does the
opportunity to pay
money to stand in a
huge shed, with many
very similar animals all
reeking of hay and
manure, present itself?
Not very often!
After my brief tour of various
award-winning chickens (“Best
dividers, with rows and rows of
seats extending in all directions. I
sat high enough up in order to see
all the action, and to kill time
before the show I began glancing
around me, scoping out the crowd.
I even kept a tally of total mullets
spotted, until I realized they were
in the majority.
Suddenly, the room tensed.
The suspense was thick enough
to cut with a knife, as the house
lights went down and the brighter
arena spotlights came up...and
went down again, as paramedics
rushed to the floor to tranquilize a
man who had just gone through an
epileptic seizure due to the lighting
change. The action was
incredible; the show had not even
SlX-i
At
“No, we don’t do that.
You need to go around the front
admission booth, through
that barn.”
I glanced in the direction he
gestured, and there was indeed a
really huge barn in the parking lot.
It was a bit of a runaround, I admit,'
.Norfair.com
dressed,” “Swimsuit,” “Tastiest
barbecue”), I made a beeline for
the Events Center again, in order
to make it to the show on time.
Inside, the excitement was
intense, to say the least. The arena
consisted of a huge pit of mud and
dirt surrounded by highway
started yet and already people
were leaving on stretchers!
The first round was a sleeper,
however. Only four cars competed
in what the announcer described
as the “featherweight” heat, and I
would have drifted off entirely if
it were not for the choking smoke
and engine rumbling.
It was the second heat that
hooked me.
Over ten cars emerged, all of
them built from the finest junkyard
scrap. From the green light, the
match was a chaotic, frenzied
nightmare of sparking metal and
peeling tires. Early on, it became
very clear to me that I had chosen
a seat too close to the arena, as
clods of mud and dirt came flying
up at me from the pit. I was nearly
hit in the chest by an exceptionally
large chunk, but the elementary
school child in front of me
valiantly took the clod full in the
face: casualty number two on what
I came to know as the “Derby
of Tears.”
Heat Three was more
of the same, but with one
annoying exception.
Three radio talkhosts,
from 98.7 the Zone, 102
Jamz, and Oldies 93, were
given cars to crash, and
had their helmets wired in
order to comment on the
match while driving. It
seems like an intriguing
concept, but only if the
particular DJs are actually
entertaining. Instead, the
audio feed felt like
listening to Gilbert
Godfrey and his two
brothers, all of them on
methamphetamines. The
match concluded in a
satisfying manner,
however, when the 98.7
car exploded in a small
and unfortunately non-
lethal ball of flame.
Choking on the smoke filling
the indoor venue, I beat a hasty
exit after the final match. But after
such incredible experiences, I can
safely say I will be back. Probably
with earplugs, but back all
the same.
Slick Rick’s Top Ten Words That Sound Dirty
10. Divseminalc —the’ opposite of to .seminate...
9, Penalize—naughty!
8. Streptococcus—dirty!
7. Titular—those dignitaries .sure are titular!
6. Interbastation—do it while quilting!
5. Mastication—you can do a whole lot of that with a hot dog...
4. Decocker—to serve and protect!
3. Honorable discharge—^you’re not green anymore!
2. Spermophile—^they sure love those nuts?
1. Censorship,
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