Caledonia Argus

Demolition derby: ìthe most beautiful thing in the worldî

Posted: 7/8/03

by Andrew Miller
Argus Sports Writer

I was in great need of a Big Adventure. June had passed, and the sum total of my summer excitement had come from writing lyric poetry about martial arts master Chuck Norris, and mailing it off to strangers.

When July rolled around, I had resigned myself to spending my summer free time sitting in the apartment, listening to old jazz records, and typing the word ìsesquipedalianî again and again on my computer.

The story of civilization, I thought to myself one night, is the story of lonely men. And then the phone rang.

ìGreetings from the underground,î said the voice on the other end, in a low, frenetic monotone. The voice belonged to Randle Jenkins, an old friend who tended to surface at precisely the right times.

ìSurely you know why Iím calling,î he said. ìEitzen. Fourth of July. The most beautiful thing in the world.î

ìWhatís that?î I asked, confused.

ìThe demolition derbies,î he said. ìCars, mini-vans, combines. Destruction, carnage, mayhem. It will usher in a bright new era for mankind, and it is imperative we bear witness. Are you with me?î

ìWell, I think-î

ìHesitation is for the weak!î he bellowed. ìBe ready at 0600 hours. Iíll pick you up in The Beast.î

The Beast is Randleís nickname for his Sherman tank. He had purchased a decommissioned tank at a police auction overseas this past winter. I knew how eager he was to test its capabilities on the highwayñ the driverís manual boasted that it could go from zero to twenty miles per hour in just under nine minutesñ but I didnít think it was a good idea.

ìDo not, under any circumstances, bring the tank,î I told him. ìItíll be impounded before you get it out of your driveway. And think about the towing fees.î

ìFine,î he said, ìIíll bring the hovercraft.î

. . . . .

Randle arrived early, just before 5 a.m., and roused me from a deep sleep. Knowing Iíd be dozing, he brought a megaphone with him.

ìRise and shine, trooper,î he said into the megaphone. ìOpen those peepers. Pack your gear. Weíve got business.î

On the drive over, Randle checked to make sure Iíd brought the necessary amenities.

ìCameras and film?î

ìCheck,î I said.

ìHigh-power binoculars?î

ìCheck.î

ìSix liters of hard liquor and twelve cases of beer?î

ìLook,î I said, ìthis is the Family Fun Fest. We canít have any of your booze-addled shenangians. Not today. Iím representing the newspaper. We need to present ourselves as gentleman.î

ìGotcha,î he said, raising an eyebrow. He reached under the seat, pulled out several issues of Maxim magazine, and ran them through a paper shredder heíd had mounted on the dashboard.

ìRandle Jenkins, gentleman for a day,î he said with a laugh. ìI like that.î

. . . . .

While I spent much of the day meandering about Eitzen, taking photos for the newspaper, Randle scoped out the demo derby pit. When it came time for the big show, he had the raw logistical data necessary to provide color commentary. Once the derbies got underway, he assumed the personality of Howard Cosell.

ìWhat a fine fracas weíve got lined up todayî he said to no one in particular, as the compact cars waited for the announcer to give the signal. ìThe pit, moistened to a thick slippery slurry. Combatants, arrayed in hostile ranks. Engines, purring like rabid panthers. And here they go!î

Those uninitiated into the cult of demolition derbies canít fathom the joy it brings. Itís exactly what you think it isñ cars smashing each otherñ but itís so much more. The sheer visceral thrill it provides is unparalleled in modern sporting. Eitzen, the undisputed Combine Demolition Derby Capital of the World, is a perfect venue for such an event, with an amphitheater to amplify the buzz and rumble of motors, and a derby pit that, after several heats, begins to resemble the Roman Colosseum after a long day of gladiatorial combat.

The day concluded with the combines. Randle continued with his commentary. I was fixated on the big machines, and only caught some of his oratory. I seem to remember him sputtering phrases like ìhulking mechanistic majestyî and ìlumbering beatific behemoths,î but he was drowned out by the crowdís ìoohsî and ìaahs,î as if the firework display scheduled for later that evening were a visual pittance compared with the combines.

When all was said and done, Randle and I drove home in silence. He dropped me off, and as I opened my mouth to say my goodbyes, he raised his hand to halt me.

ìSay nothing,î he said. ìThis is a sacred day.î

I walked the flight of stairs up to my apartment, and did what seemed the natural thing to do after a day like this. I picked up the phone and called my mother.

ìMom, youíre not going to believe this,î I said.

ìYou combed your hair?î she asked.

ìNo.î

ìYou started brushing your teeth again?î

ìNope.î

ìYou found a girlfriend?î

ìNo, better,î I said. ìI just witnessed the most beautiful thing in the world.î

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