I Wish there were a ‘Sarcastro Signal’

Because there’s hay to be made of Tracy Moore moving in next to the fairgrounds and complaining about the noise all while insulting hillbillies.  I mean, are there any poor people she likes?  First was her public humiliation of the McDonald’s employee who failed to understand her proper place in the universe and now this.

I don’t know what funny thing to say about it, but clearly the Blogger Emeritus would!

16 thoughts on “I Wish there were a ‘Sarcastro Signal’

  1. Eh, I remain unconvinced that it’s necessary to accept something or not speak about what improvements you’d like to see just because it was there/that way before you arrived.

  2. All while insulting hillbillies? I mean, I agree that there’s something weird about confining races to between 3 and 11. And clearly the race track is where it is because historically the people who’ve lived there weren’t in any position to complain.

    But I stand by my question about whether there are any poor people she writes about that she likes.

  3. Yeah, the piece could have been done without the hillbilly references. The 3:00 time is because the neighbors asked that they not be out there practicing during school hours, because it was disturbing classrooms.

  4. Ha, well, that makes sense then. I mean, I’m of the opinion that, as cool as it is that there’s been 90 years of racing at the fairgrounds, that’s now not only a terrible spot for racing, it’s a terrible spot for a fairgrounds. Cities grow. We’ve grown out to and way past the fairgrounds. And it’s time for that to become something else.

    Fine. But Moore still irks me.

  5. Like Beetlejuice, if you say my name enough, I’ll show up.

    Haven’t read Her Ladyship’s diatribe against the local peasantry yet. But I think it’s safe to assume that she hasn’t read The Redneck Manifesto.

  6. ok, I gave it a once over.

    From what I can tell, she doesn’t want to live near working class whites, the motor sport hobbies favored by working class whites and Logan’s, the Ruth’s Chris of working class whites.

    That about cover it?

  7. Auto racing bores me to tears now. But when I was kid my dad, a former NASCAR driver himself, used to take me to races all over the South. Dad sold socks to flea market venders and small town clothing stores all over the South and he took me with him.

    I loved racing then. What little boy woudn’t love the roar of a dozen race cars? It was just good fun. I had no idea that I was hillbilly, or that the sound probably got old for people who lived near it. However, I bet many of those people’s childhood memories begin with the distant roar of those engines.

    How many frustrated mechanics and flour mill workers were gods on Saturday night as they slid their supped up Gremlin over the line to win a mini might championship? This place sounds as if it has stories and history oozing out of it’s gates.

    What a shame that we have sold out to normality to the extent that little is unique anymore. Nor do we give a spit for our history. I lived for most of the 90s in Asheville. Our racetrack there, too, was demolished. It was in the dead industrial sector of town. But the Biltmore House was less than a mile down the river. The owners of the House, the Cecil’s, English lords married to Vanderbilts, wanted to put up a luxury hotel on the grounds.

    The site is now a cool park with a skateboarding facility. Now the hillbillies dream of being Tony Hawk and wouldn’t know Junior Johnson from Charo.

  8. Casey, your dad was a former NASCAR driver?! Is there any other mysterious fascinating thing you’d like to reveal about yourself? Fulbright scholar, founder of Tennessee, NASCAR family. What’s next? Are you related to Bigfoot?

  9. Dad didn’t last too long. He liked to drink Geroge Dickel a bit too much, Canadian Mist in a pinch. He also tended to steal his race cars, or at least many of the parts, especially tires. But many drivers did that back then.

    His career came to an end one night at the Old Lakewood Raceway in Atlanta, now the Lakeland Ampitheatre. He had been drinking for a week and was pissed drunk. But he had to run the race and just finish to keep enough points to keep racing. So he decided to follow the slowest driver around the track and just finish. Well, the slowest guy spun out and dad calmly turned and follwed him into the center of the pits, which was a lake at that time. He drove straight into it. He never raced again.

    That is a true story.

  10. Here is a picture of the speedway back in the day. Picture dad calmly turning his car up the bank and jumping into the lake as he follows the car in front of him.

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