Sunday, August 2, 2015

Surprised by a smash-up

I’m sitting in the grandstand of the Ozark Empire State Fair in Springfield, MO, crossing two adventures off Our List.

(Our List is a bunch of things my husband and I want to do together as spectators, just the two of us, so we can leave early if we hate them.)

Tonight it’s Monster Trucks.

And Demolition Derby.

And so far, we’re not budging.

We’re loving the Monsters. And so is this crowd. A collective, raucous cheer rises with each crunch of metal, bounce of skyscraping wheels, deafening roar of unmuffled engines.   Allen and I are clueless. (Why did that guy win?) (Why is he doing donuts? Where is he going?) But we’re loving it anyway, absorbing the thrill  of the crowd, watching everyone leap out of their seats, punch the air, cheer on these trucks. Trucks with names. Barbarian, Outlaw, BountyHunter, TailGator and Smashosaurus (I kid you not).

And now, the Demolition Derby.

Four, six, no eight misshapen, ratty tatty cars grumble and sputter onto the field. They park, heads in, in two lines of four with their tails toward each other.

Someone drops a flag and it’s a go.

WHAT A HOOT! These little cars spit and spin, smash and push and wobble like Weebles. They dig in and grind their way into and out of pileups.      

I’m shocked at how much I enjoy this. Me. Non-combative me. Non-violent me. I’m loving the pounding these banged-up little cars give each other.

And my favorite? The one with a painted message: “Don’t Tell G-Ma.” HA!

Right now, G-Ma's sitting in the middle of the field, her rear end stuck under the tailgate  of a station wagon. Her wheels spin dust bunnies, but she's going nowhere. The other car’s trapped, too. Then WHAM. G-Ma’s  slammed from the side. (In unison, the crowd reacts: “OHHHH!.”) And WHAM,  she’s slammed from the other side. (“OHHHH!”)  And then she breaks free (“YAY!”) The crowd’s on its feet! 

The station wagon immediately plows into a third  car (metal flies; crowd: “YAY.”) Two cars sandwich a third.  (“OHHHH.”) And yet another loses its front bumper.  Someone lost a tire. (A cacophony of cheers  ensues.)

No one but me seems to notice G-Ma’s not getting her wind back. She coasts outside the action. And just sits there.

And now it’s over and a winner declared (a last-man-standing sort of win.) Wreckers, front-loaders and Bobcats cart off the sick and injured.
And now, it’s just G-Ma. She’s cooled down and her driver gets her running. Backwards. But on her own volition, she leaves the field. Backwards.

No one seems to care.

But me.

I silently cheer.

Because I’m loving this.

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