I am not much of an active person but I do occasionally torture my body with exercise by attending Bachanalian orgies and show n’ shines. However I tend to be a slacker, lounge on the couch, turning into a summer spud, excelling in the joy of eating, drinking and being totally useless fronting the plasma screen.
Today my Couch Potato opportunity centered around the V8 Supercar series first race of the year, the Clipsal 500, from the one-sandwich-short of a Grand Prix track in Adelaide.
Economic conditions being what they are, I decided to be a stay-at-home tight-arse and view the opening round, two race circus through the tube.
Last year, the blue four letter word boys walked away with the silverware and even worse, won their fornicating third Bathurst in a row! Brocky’s spirit would really be stirring by now – The Holden crew put up the occasional good fight in ‘08, but like the President remarked to Monica, ’Close, but no cigar!’
Enter 2009, new rules, new E85 ethanol based fuel and no more compulsory pit stops with the exception that everyone must complete at least one fuel stop.
All teams could now carry over, save and re-use tyres and each race will score stand alone points instead of the calculated aggregate pile of fertilizer we have been used to recently.
This year, the Lion MUST Roar (or my Ford friends would laugh at me again). Funny, I am still trying to convince them that Eric Bana’s new film, Love the Beast is a Ford film with a happy ending!
Fed the kiddies earlier, so they wouldn’t turn on me – One long haired, ankle chewing black moggie who answers to the name of Chucky Catzilla and an eccentric leg humping black dwarf rabbit called, Cutzzo!!!
Some television commentators have as much charisma as clowns with rectum scans and they all have expert opinions, but seldom offer solutions…
I turned on the HD TV and surround sound, cooled the tinnies, placed the party pies in the oven, put the ‘dogs on the boil and with daughter Mark2 at work, I settled in for the long haul.
Shutting the mobile down and having denied the regular squeeze a visa to come over, all systems were go, no distractions – Home alone. The Potato was on the couch and ready to go racing!
Practice brought bad news for GM with only a single car in the top five after Friday’s top ten shoot out.
The traditional one lap crack dash for cash saw the Fords of Jamie Whincup and Craig Lowndes clinch first and second spot respectively, with Garth Tander in the Toll HRT Holden third, while Holdsworth’s Commodore and Winterbottom’s Ford were disqualified for kerb hopping.
…more commercials – Frustrating! They never call a commercial break when YOU really need to go, they wait till you’ve done your business and come back, then…Whammo, off to a break!
I am convinced that they hide gremlins inside the goggle-box watching your every move and reporting back – There should be a Royal Commission on BS, but who gives a toss?
Five Fords and Holdens made up the top ten grid positions and the opening race was underway at a frantic pace -Whincup on pole bogged the start and fell back to fifth which allowed Tander into second chasing Craig Lowndes in the lead. Behind them, the 28 car nose-to-tail freight train cleared the first chicane without incident.
Coming back from an ad break on lap 10 the cameras zoomed in on the remnants of a monumental pile up at turn four involving Michael Caruso (who escaped injury) in the GRM entry -The brand new Valvoline oiler trashed after being shunted by Murphy’s Commodore and hitting the wall. The pace car came out bunching up the field…
Ding-dong! What! Its the bloody door bell – Ignore it! Ding-dong! Go away! Ding-dong! Persistent buggers.
Tearing myself away from the action, I take a sneak peek through a crack in the curtains only to see two beady eyes peering back at me from the other side – Sprung! I was just getting into it and now I’ve got to open the flaming door!
Groaning in disbelief, I was confronted with a Seventh-Day-Artichoke-Latter-Day-Lettuce-Ministry-of-Kingdom sky pilot with nosey off-spring in tow, attempting to redeem me by shoving some flimsy magazine under my nose like it was a ticket to the pearly gates or something.
“Sorry, no thanks, I don’t want salvation, I would rather snuff it a sinner – After all , I much prefer the type of woman that ends up in the other place – In heaven you see nun, get nun….I’m really busy…..good bye….have a nice life”….SLAM! No….not another lame message break!
A few laps later and more on track drama with Murph’s ride forced to pit for repairs. A quarter of the race over, it was Ford one, two, three, the Fish Bend mob, fourth and fifth, but the real battle was happening further down the field from sixth to ninth with a number of competitors hammering it out in some very close panel-swap racing.
I was trying to note the track positions when the cat pranced down the stairs from its penthouse retreat and made a beeline for the speaker boxes.
“Chucko don’t scratch the speakers! No Chux! CHUX! You are peeing me off, stop scratching – Ok, ok, I’ll let you out.”
Chucky disappears through the patio door leaving it open just in case the fur-ball finds it closed and decides to climb the flywire mesh again…Oh, oh, the land-line phone is ringing.
“Hello!” Unbelievable – A Bollywood telemarketer was trying to flog me a time-share deal. OUCH! The cat silently sneaked in and attacked my toe with gusto. Flicking the feral feline aside, “Can I call back at a convenient time Sir?” – “NO, I am permanently inconvenienced and NO, I don’t want to time-share any jello-wrestling-spaghetti-bending-kick-in-the-nuts trip up the Ganges or anything else for that matter!” (Silence) CLUNK!
The CSR green sugar-cane juice had an increased consumption rate of 30% compared to last year’s petroleum product and teams were running their tanks almost dry by lap 40.
Already half way through and the refueling pit stops were coming in fast but under the new regulations only two crew were allowed to change four tyres, making the process look like Sammy the Slug’s big day out!
The leading four remained the same as Russell the Enforcer was slowly climbing up the charts, so was Paul Dumbrell in his Holden, while the Stone brothers’ Fords and the Kelly brothers’ Commodores were off the pace.
Only divine intervention would stop the Broadmeadows bunch from making a clean sweep at the finish. Seriously, for its sheer domination, if Team Vodafone were a horse, the stewards would order a swab!
Still on a short fuse, Chucko was not letting off (chew, scratch, hiss) FOOD NOW – Fussy little piss-ant, eats only fresh roo meat and full cream milk at room temperature which means more time wasted nuking its food in the microwave …All the time gnawing at my foot to hurry up the service.
I could still hear the commentary but couldn’t see vision from the kitchen. Courtney stalled in the pits. Setting Catzilla’s food down in the laundry finally abated the relentless cat attack , just in time to hear, “…And now a word from our sponsors.”
Ok I thought, I was going to beat the gremlins, visit the loo and return with plenty of time to spare!
Cutzzo the house trained rabbit resides downstairs between the toilet and large bathroom, kept from the rest of the house by a small barrier.
The bunny has a wicked fetish and every time anyone ventures into the toilet, it seizes the chance to run laps around the bowl like a NASCAR racer, occasionally pitting to copulate its frisky pink bits with one’s arm or leg – One day I might just give the little bastard a wee sprinkle!
You’ve got to be kidding! Short break, only two ads…Crossing back early – Lap 69, Tander’s car suffering from engine failure dropped its load and went smoking around the track until the marshals black flagged it out of the race to the ironic cheers of the Blue fans. “A crappy Conspiracy” I muttered under my breath as I flushed the latrine imagining Fords going down the drain.
In a hurry… CRASH, BANG… I stumbled over the rabbit proof fence just in time to see a blur of black escaping, dart into the living room and go behind the stereo unit!
Suffice to say, last time randy rabbit did a runner, it chewed through the phone and power cables – How do they do that without being zapped? I had to ferret it out fast before it destroyed any more wires!
No thanks to off-spring Mark2, both my pets have developed addictions.
Chucky can overdose on Cheese Twisties and at the mere scrunch of a Twisties pack will come flying in from ten blocks away.
The rabbit on the other hand, has a banana eating habit and whenever it sniffs one, hoppy goes ballistic!
So, no pleading, or promises of a bugs bunny photo in drag and weird ideas about throwing in the toilet-roll (it likes to root that too)! A peeled banana taped to a broom-stick slowly and surely enticed rabbito from behind the entertainment console and when it pounced, I quickly overturned the laundry basket over it – Gotcha Mr. Waaabbbit!
With Cutzzo happily engaging the banana under cover of the plastic laundry basket I resumed watching the few remaining laps left… Then joy for the Red fans – Mr. 888 Lowndes, on lap 74 lost control, spun, hit the fence and limped into the pits- That’ll teach those rabid blue and white Neanderthals to laugh at Toll’s demise.
Four laps from home it was sweet karma as the incident changed the entire scenario – Amazing, the General was now running two and three behind Whincup’s Hogster in the lead… The phone again!
“I don’t want any of- Oh, hi!” It’s daughter Mark 1 complete with bun-in-the-oven calling (squeezing grandchild out in September). She assumes that I am going to help with the delivery of Mark 2’s hired BBQ spit, “…cause it’s so heavy an’ it doesn’t fit in anyone’s car an’….” What is that smell coming from the laundry? “Pussys’ just done magoos and missed the sand pit – Got to go. BYE” Juggling and dropping the phone as all hell broke loose. ”Shiiiiiit!”
DISASTER… Chucky’s bushy tail like a Pro Hart paint brush was leaving brown smelly smears on the white tiles… Ding-dong, ding-dong. The door bell was hard at it again… an oven full of Chernobyl pies were burning… smoke detector siren screeching relentlessly… the hot dogs were boiling over and with an upside down out-of-control laundry basket darting aimlessly around the lounge room floor, I made a desperate lunge for the cat.
This was not my lucky day!
Amongst all the mayhem and frenzy I did manage to see the last lap – After blowing the start, Jamie Whincup picked up for Ford where he left off from last year by winning the first half of the Clipsal 500.
What looked like a bad hair day for the Holden brigade was saved by Lee Holdsworth’s Commodore which came in second and Will Davison in his first drive for uncle Tom’s HRT, completing the podium for third.
With a another 78 laps scheduled for tomorrow my advice is, hang on to your yarbles with both hands boys and glue your eyes to the screen because it’s going to be a roller coaster of a ride!
I have had enough, I’m leaving the animal house behind on Sunday and heading for the Antipodes Festival Glendi!
Catch you next week for the Australian Grand Prix!