God, I fucking hate people who enjoy “drifting.” I know, I know – I’m upsetting all eight of you. This rant is a bit more specific than some of the others, but is nonetheless just as deserving of my scorn and lack of original humor.
To explain – no, there is too much – to sum up: I work at a job that requires me to watch TV all day (no, it’s not awesome. Stop saying that. If it was so awesome, I’d be telling you about it all the fucking time, which I do not because I work for a stable of morons and freaks who manage to take a thing like watching sports all day and turn it into shrill, painful torture at the hand of ruthless, soulless despots who like to wear your organs as shoulder accessories. But I digress) and, recently, I had to watch a drifting event on the Speed network.
Quoteth the great Wiki: “Drifting refers to a driving technique and to a motor sport where the driver intentionally skids the rear tires through turns, preserving vehicle control and a high exit speed.”
Now, I’m very partial to your stick-and-ball sports, the ones that require, you know … talent. Take it away, Big!
Josh: I’m much better at video hockey.
Paul: That’s not a sport.
Josh: It requires hand and eye coordination.
Paul: It’s not a sport if you don’t sweat.
Josh: What about golf? It’s a sport and you don’t sweat.
Paul: It’s not a sport if you let a machine do all the work.
Josh: What about car racing?
Paul: Shut up, Baskin.
While not a huge fan of watching a shitload of cars go left for 500 miles and suffocating Mother Earth along the way, I do respect motor sports and the drivers. Why? Because they are taking one of man’s greatest inventions, the automobile, and they are fucking REP-RE-SENTING. Cars are awesome for one of three reasons: 1) they get me from point A to point B in waaaaaaaay less time than a horse, or a train, or my own two feet, and I get to smoke and listen to Kyuss really fucking loudly, 2) many of them go ball-splitting fast, which leads to 3) the possibility of horrible, fiery, awesomely gruesome deaths.
So I’m watching the intro to this drifting event, and in order to get the novices up to speed (sorry), the announcer says that drifting is “action sports meets motor sport; there’s no checkered flag here.”
Right. Ok. Sounds like gym class after they eliminated dodgeball, but go on …
“Their main concern is overall impression. What total impact can drivers create for the fans, but more importantly, the judges, who’ll be scrutinizing their runs even further.”
Whoa. Judges? Really? Like American Idol? Which one is the gay one?
“There are four specific criteria within drifting: speed, angle, line, and overall impact.”
Wait, wait, wait. You lost me after “speed.” Are we drawing fucking charcoal portraits here or are we driving some souped-up race cars? With big, loud-ass engines and enough horsepower to drown out a Nickelback concert (that’s not a joke, I’m hoping someone actually does this)?
I watched roughly three dozen of these “runs,” and the most exciting thing that happened was when the two cars actually touched (Gosh! Golly! Gasp!) or one of the cars’ back tires went off the road and onto the dirt, which is called “dropping” (as in dropping turds). And yet there seemed to be plenty of spectators there, gobbling that shit up.
Congratulations, then. You’ve been enjoying ice skating on wheels. Or Dancing with the Cars. Oh, and you’ve also taken some world-class vehicles and the rampant and mesmerizing machismo under their hoods and turned them into fucking Zamboni machines. Way to go, taintlickers.
And if anybody has the audacity to say that it takes skill to do this, allow me to respond with: Nick Hogan.
I fucking dare you to refute that.