Goin' to the Derby

Let me begin by saying that I'm a civilized woman. I read voraciously, I go to the theater and I consider myself to be fairly well educated. That being said, I LOVE the Demolition Derby. It's truly one of my guiltiest pleasures. I love everything about it - the cars, the drivers, the paint jobs. There was a green car in last nights' match which had "The Pickle" painted on one side. Another car had the phrase "Time Out - I'm Texting" spray painted across the back.

I liken the Derby to an ancient gladiator fight. At last night's match, in front of my children, I actually screamed "Finish Him!" I was shocked at my own behavior.

Still, I can't deny that it brings out something primordial in me. As soon as the car engines fire up and the siren goes off I start cheering. It's all so loud and muddy and crazy - three things that, under normal circumstances, I detest. There is something very freeing about letting it all go and cheering with abandon when a car sprays the crowd with mud. I have discussions with total strangers in the stands about the cars and the competition. "Oh boy, he's really stuck now!" "Look, his radiator just blew - it's all over for him" "Wow! That was a HIT!" If you knew me in my everyday life, you would realize that this just isn't who I am.

Still, once a year, the redneck from deep within surfaces and I just let it fly. And it feels gooooood.