BEST OF JODY’S BOX: IF I WERE THE DEVIL, I’D REALIZE THAT MY WORK HAS ALREADY BEEN DONE

By Jody Weisel 

If I were applying for a job as the devil, and by that I mean the Prince of Darkness, my resume would list these things as my objectives once installed in the position.

I would gain control of the world’s best racing series — Supercross, the AMA Nationals and the GPs—and run them with such witless abandon that I’d subvert the original meaning of the sport. Then I’d reconfigure them to line my pockets and those of my minions.

I would weaken the rulebook, break traditions and worship the worst in man’s racing instincts. I’d design tracks that had little or nothing to do with actual motorcycle racing, but were instead serpents’ nests—with few survivors.

If I were the devil, I would encourage rowdiness from the fans, with screams, chants, the cheering of meaningless slogans and a laissez-faire approach to human conduct. I’d sell alcohol in cups the size of Kentucky Fried Chicken tubs with even larger price tags—and then stand back when the drunkards threw beer on the young family three rows below them. Then, I would send the same louts out into the parking lot, bleary-eyed and staggering, to gun their pickup trucks through the crowd as though they were some idolized Formula 1 driver, the same automobile jockey that I would make sure was also seen staggering out of a nightclub at 2 a.m. with the starlet of the moment.

“IF I WERE THE DEVIL, I’D….”

I would dupe the young into believing that winning is all that matters and character counts for nothing. I would seduce young men by getting them to kneel at the altar of the latest foul-mouthed miscreant who can ride fast, live high, roll cars, do hard time and throw his future away seeking Internet glory. I’d invent the phrase, “He’s just a kid,” as the catch-all excuse to cover every misdeed.

If I were the devil, I’d make it socially acceptable to cut the track, take performance-enhancing drugs, and push the fuel, sound and production rules to the breaking edge; and I’d assign men to enforce these rules who are unscrupulous in how they do or don’t administer justice.

I would advance the careers of the double-dippers, the weak of moral fiber and the embezzlers-in-training until they ran the sport. I would ensure that every up-and-comer got a posse to lead him in the wrong direction, a handler that looked out for his own best interest, and I’d make sure that every star had at least two paid-for best friends.

If I were the devil, fathers would do my dirty work by sacrificing fiscal sanity to live vicariously through their sons. They would rant like whirling dervishes at every childish mistake, throw tools at random, swear like sailors and protest any other father’s kid that stood in the way of victory (even if the victory might be 9th place in the C class). This way, the devil’s work is sure to be passed on to the next generation. If only one family crumbles, my effort has been worth it.

“IF I WERE THE DEVIL, I’D….”

If I were the devil, I would cheapen human life by having the sport turn its back on those who have been ruined by the modern home-school hoax. I would encourage high-powered companies to sign 12-year-olds to big-buck contracts in the same way that drug dealers give the first hit of heroin away for free. And, when the “next big thing” falters at 18 years old, I’d wash my hands of him and go looking for an 11-year-old.

If I were the devil, I’d make it seem uncool to play by the rules, be respectful of those who came before or to take your hat off during the playing of the national anthem. “That stuff is for squares,” I’d say.

If I were the devil, I’d make the world believe that the sport of motocross is the best it’s ever been. I would ignore the fact that we sell 1/20th of the dirt bikes we sold before we were on live TV, because that could lead to the realization that television hasn’t sold a single bike. Face it, more people would watch the “Real Housewives of Supercross” than the actual races—if it were an option. As the devil, I don’t want doers; I want voyeurs.

On second thought, if I were the devil, I’d realize that my work has already been done.

(with thanks to Paul Harvey)

 

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