Friday, September 08, 2006
LET PETER BROCK REST AND ME DRIBBLE IN PEACE
So the day of judgement has come and gone.
All that waiting, the anticipation, the guesswork, the estimates, the planning of my near future, all for naught.
I got another three weeks.
The pelvis specialist has decided to let me wait and get more scans and x-rays before making a final decision.
I don't quite understand why really.
If my pelvis has not united in the near six months I've been here, then it's not going to miraculously unite in another three weeks, is it?
The likelyhood of that happening is as about as much as successfully attempting to extract intelligent remarks out of a footy player.
Pretty darn much unthinkable.
I also had my filling done today.
You see, during the initial embrace of the semi trailer, I had chipped a tooth.
That tooth then developed a cavity and needed some dental attention.
I didn't realise this however, for a long time.
That was mainly due to the amount of pain killers I was on.
So, off I went to the dentist.
This time, I asked for some anaesthetic. ( the last filling about a year ago was implanted without it, out of choice )
I figured I'd had my fair share of pain this year and I just couldn't be bothered with more today.
I can't remember the last time my face felt like it was sliding off my skull.
And trying to drink was confusing.
The liquid would go in through the straw and then more than successfully escape through the left side of my mouth.
Can you imagine what I must have looked like?
Parked up outside the busy RMIT on Swanston St on a Friday lunch time, people everywhere.
In a wheelchair, dribbling out of the left side of my mouth, laughing ( to and at myself ) at how ridiculous I must look.
All I needed was some ear phones on and to be singing to Radiohead to complete the picture.
So it's back to the waiting game for me, now I know how that David Hicks feels.
Never knowing when he's going to get released, or a trial, or anything else for that matter.
I suppose I don't get the same loving care and attention from the dirt farming, inbred middle american hillbillies they call inmate care assistants over in Guano Tonne Or More Bay.
At least that breaks up his monotonous passing of time.
I on the other hand, have a few things to keep me sane.
One is my laptop, kindly sponsored by my mates, and when that gets a bit much, I have my 6 string guitar.
Also my relatives and mates keep an eye on me and make sure I'm not getting too screwed up by this enforced hibernation.
Speaking of hibernation, what I thought was to be a winter break in air conditioned comfort is now stretching into spring.
Tell you what though, it had better not encroach into summer or I'll be mighty pissed orrrf!
My hibernation is temporary though unlike yet another Aussie icon.
Today, Peter Brock collided with a tree, side on and died pretty much instantly, whilst competing in Targa West in his Daytona.
Like Steve Irwin, he touched and was loved by many people, he also was passionate about his occupation and he also died unexpectedly doing what he loved.
And like Steve he also had a goofy side.
We all remember the success he had on the race track, after all he won Bathurst 9 times ( the most by a single driver ), but he did flutter with a goofy invention called the "Energy Polariser".
This was a box of crystals and magnets, which supposedly made the car perform better.
After fitting them to the Brock Holden Commodores, he had a falling out with General Motors and that brought about the end of their long relationship.
Yet he kept on racing.
And it was the copping it on the chin and carrying on again attitude that made him so successful and respected.
I spoke with my best mate Lumpy about it today and he raised some very valid points about the kind of events like this one and the problems with them.
The cars and stages used are fast.
Very fast.
Unlike the dirt rally cars, these vehicles are not restricted.
You can pretty much run any kind of car you can get your hands on and this brings on very high incidental and average speeds.
Of course, the faster you go, the more you increase the chance of encountering a dangerous situation.
Yes, they look great when they go past at a million miles an hour, and yes they feel great when they're being driven at a million miles an hour, but the ever increasing popularity of bitumen rallies both amongst competitors and spectators will inevitably incur more deaths and injuries.
Methinks there will be some scapegoating involved and maybe a rethink of the nature of these events.
When a professional racing driver dies in a smash and a recreational motorcyclist doesn't it just goes to show that if your number's up, then your number's up isn't it?
( It didn't take long, only a few hours in fact. )
Steve Irwin was told he could take one thing from earth to heaven.
So he whispered in God's ear.
When his wish arrived he said to God:
"I said crock, not Brock!"
.
All that waiting, the anticipation, the guesswork, the estimates, the planning of my near future, all for naught.
I got another three weeks.
The pelvis specialist has decided to let me wait and get more scans and x-rays before making a final decision.
I don't quite understand why really.
If my pelvis has not united in the near six months I've been here, then it's not going to miraculously unite in another three weeks, is it?
The likelyhood of that happening is as about as much as successfully attempting to extract intelligent remarks out of a footy player.
Pretty darn much unthinkable.
I also had my filling done today.
You see, during the initial embrace of the semi trailer, I had chipped a tooth.
That tooth then developed a cavity and needed some dental attention.
I didn't realise this however, for a long time.
That was mainly due to the amount of pain killers I was on.
So, off I went to the dentist.
This time, I asked for some anaesthetic. ( the last filling about a year ago was implanted without it, out of choice )
I figured I'd had my fair share of pain this year and I just couldn't be bothered with more today.
I can't remember the last time my face felt like it was sliding off my skull.
And trying to drink was confusing.
The liquid would go in through the straw and then more than successfully escape through the left side of my mouth.
Can you imagine what I must have looked like?
Parked up outside the busy RMIT on Swanston St on a Friday lunch time, people everywhere.
In a wheelchair, dribbling out of the left side of my mouth, laughing ( to and at myself ) at how ridiculous I must look.
All I needed was some ear phones on and to be singing to Radiohead to complete the picture.
So it's back to the waiting game for me, now I know how that David Hicks feels.
Never knowing when he's going to get released, or a trial, or anything else for that matter.
I suppose I don't get the same loving care and attention from the dirt farming, inbred middle american hillbillies they call inmate care assistants over in Guano Tonne Or More Bay.
At least that breaks up his monotonous passing of time.
I on the other hand, have a few things to keep me sane.
One is my laptop, kindly sponsored by my mates, and when that gets a bit much, I have my 6 string guitar.
Also my relatives and mates keep an eye on me and make sure I'm not getting too screwed up by this enforced hibernation.
Speaking of hibernation, what I thought was to be a winter break in air conditioned comfort is now stretching into spring.
Tell you what though, it had better not encroach into summer or I'll be mighty pissed orrrf!
My hibernation is temporary though unlike yet another Aussie icon.
Today, Peter Brock collided with a tree, side on and died pretty much instantly, whilst competing in Targa West in his Daytona.
Like Steve Irwin, he touched and was loved by many people, he also was passionate about his occupation and he also died unexpectedly doing what he loved.
And like Steve he also had a goofy side.
We all remember the success he had on the race track, after all he won Bathurst 9 times ( the most by a single driver ), but he did flutter with a goofy invention called the "Energy Polariser".
This was a box of crystals and magnets, which supposedly made the car perform better.
After fitting them to the Brock Holden Commodores, he had a falling out with General Motors and that brought about the end of their long relationship.
Yet he kept on racing.
And it was the copping it on the chin and carrying on again attitude that made him so successful and respected.
I spoke with my best mate Lumpy about it today and he raised some very valid points about the kind of events like this one and the problems with them.
The cars and stages used are fast.
Very fast.
Unlike the dirt rally cars, these vehicles are not restricted.
You can pretty much run any kind of car you can get your hands on and this brings on very high incidental and average speeds.
Of course, the faster you go, the more you increase the chance of encountering a dangerous situation.
Yes, they look great when they go past at a million miles an hour, and yes they feel great when they're being driven at a million miles an hour, but the ever increasing popularity of bitumen rallies both amongst competitors and spectators will inevitably incur more deaths and injuries.
Methinks there will be some scapegoating involved and maybe a rethink of the nature of these events.
When a professional racing driver dies in a smash and a recreational motorcyclist doesn't it just goes to show that if your number's up, then your number's up isn't it?
( It didn't take long, only a few hours in fact. )
Steve Irwin was told he could take one thing from earth to heaven.
So he whispered in God's ear.
When his wish arrived he said to God:
"I said crock, not Brock!"
.
