Hey buddy, how y’all doin’? Y’all sittin’ here? Lemme jest move mah cooler and mah dawg. C’mere, Clinton, heel boy, goddam, heel! Leave the man’s leg alone! Pleased to meet ya, Ah’m T Jubilation Cloutier. Dang, dropped my corn-dog.
Oh, the T’s fer Tiresias, but folks round these parts think that’s a STD so Ah don’t publicise it much. This your first time at Indianapolis? Ain’t she grand? Don’t that there Brickyard look the purtiest shade of off-lime-yeller through the smog?
Ah’m a bonerfied formula one insider. Ah bin comin’ to the grand pricks for, hell, easily the last three years. Ask anyone, they all knows old T Jubilation.
Got 50c off the price of that there corn dog down yonder, jest cause Ah knows the management. Hell, last year Ah even said howdy to the guy who switches on the heaters they put round them tyres in the garage.
He said to me, ”Hi,” he said. They know me here. Watch this. Hey Clarence, gimme another corn-dog! No, it’s me, T Jubilation. Tiresias. From jest now. Clarence, where you goin’?
Dang, look at them F-16s comin’ in over the paddock! Dang! Dang! No, Ah’m okay, Ah jest get a little nervous in the company of military hardware: me and some guys in Desert Storm in ’90 got mistook for Eye-racky infantry by a F-16 like that. Ah’m okay now, the shakes go away eventually if you wait long enough. Dang, dropped my corn-dog again.
Ah couldn’t help noticin’ yer accent, and Ah’m guessin’ yer not from around here? No, no, lemme guess. Y’all are from … Missouri? South Africa! You don’t say. So y’all are near Liberia. Lousy.
No, Ah ain’t never been abroad, although Ah nearly once won a vacation to Silverstone to watch the Briddish Grand Pricks. Ah would go, but the wife, Areola-Sue, don’t reckon it’s safe in mainland Europe ’cause her grandpappy got hisself shot by some military police in 1944.
Rain … do y’all have rain in Africa? Neat. Yeah, they reckon the Michelins could do okay in the — whoeee! Did y’all see Juan Pablo smoke that overblown kraut? Did ya see, huh, did ya? Why do Ah support Montoya?
Hell, son, ’cause he’s an American! Okay, a Latin American, but jest cause he talks Latin instead of English don’t make him any less American. You know he’s from Colombia? Yeah, they named their country after our first space shuttle.
And Schumacher’s an American name, too. Them Germans, goddam expansionists, always claimin’ stuff that ain’t theirs. Think about it: the great American family names — Roosevelt, Steinbrenner, Schwarzenegger — they all been claimed by Germans. Cloutier? No, that’s New Orleans French, my great grandmother was a French duchess who only pretended to be a hooker so she could be party to secrets of state.
They’re doin’ what? A penalty! Well how in tarnation was Juan Pablo supposed to get around Barichello but by takin’ the dangerous inside line and pushin’ him off? Goddam Brazilians. Jest because their country is a purty little island in the Mediterranean, they thank they’re all that. Jeez, Ah feel sick. Poor Juan Pablo, seein’ his dream shattered like that, and by those stinkin’ Eye-tallian cars, goddam Europeans.
Yes, Ah know Williams is powered by BMW, which is a European brand, but at least they don’t flaunt it by usin’ long foreign words in their name.
C’mon, Clinton, heel, Ah cain’t watch no more. If y’all will excuse me, Ah’m goin’ home to watch the tape. If yer frame-by-frame through it, ya can sometimes see a pixel in the bleachers that might be yerself.