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The Brown Noser

Enough with the Backroom Politics of the Monster Truck Circuit

Published Monday, February 25th, 2008

I am a human being, endowed by my ancestors with courage, compassion, and a tremendous capacity for hope. Hope that stands stalwart against adversity. Hope that shields the heart from even the most violent and relentless of storms.

But with the recent corruption of the Monster Jam monster truck circuit, all hope is lost.

There was a time, not long ago, when a man could walk tall and proclaim himself a Monster Jam enthusiast. When a Devastator t-shirt or a King Krunch visor was considered a mark of respect-no, an oath of fealty-to a titan of steel and fiberglass. The pilots of these colossi were fueled by a love shared by all champions: the deep, straining, somewhat inappropriate passion for victory. They challenged themselves and each other to launch their behemoths over more and more shitty cars, and to drive around a big dirt field with ever greater speed and precision.

Times have changed. Monster Jam has become a Monster Sham.

A trial of heroes has been reduced to nothing more than a pathetic spectacle, the shameless parading of once-proud drivers in once-mighty chariots, shackled by the demands of a corporate bottom line. Rally after rally, popular trucks like Grave Digger and Donkey Kong are given the center stage in an effort to pander to an increasingly unrefined crowd. Independent trucks, once the backbone of this great sport, have all but vanished; no longer could one hope to see a Purple Shame or a Wilting Lotus alongside the likes of Annihilator. There is no market for soul.

Were that not enough, this corporate tyranny has committed one atrocity that, more so than any other of its crimes, cannot be forgiven. I refuse to suffer a world in which kids' seats are no longer just five bucks.

In my estimation, there exist two types of monster truck fan in this world: those who are blind to the grave injustices done to a matchless art, and those who have already left their greatest joy for dead. Hear me now, executives of Live Nation, Incorporated, owners and operators of Monster Jam (along with such other fine events as Ozzfest): until there is some indication of reform amidst this ruin, consider me among the latter.

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