Over the decades one learns life has its ups and downs, kinda like the Earth’s rotation where one daily sees the sun, then doesn’t.
Shortly after we’re convulsed from the womb we become convinced - reinforced by most everyone short of a W.C. Fields-like uncle - “It’s all about me, baby!”
(Given that humans at first unshakably believe they’re at the center of the universe it only seems logical that the Geocentric model would be at the heart of early astronomic theory. Speaking of “Geocentric,” one wonders how well Aristotle or Ptolemy would’ve fared in today’s TSA airport checkpoints, “Really, sir, I swear, that’s my name!”)
At some point each of us start realizing that life has cycles which, distilled as simply as possible, range between “good” and “bad,” up and down, in and out, and, well, you get the point: it ain’t always gravy. We’d like it to be, but it ain’t.
Tears are inevitable. Indeed, maybe such is the reason that laughter feels so doggone good.
Thus, it’s really no great surprise should a driver or team or manufacturer exit a series or sport altogether.
Given that change is inevitable, the focus shouldn’t be so much centered upon who might leave or how life changes but that it does change and how such might best be mitigated.
The Rolex Series’ powers-that-be long ago learned manufacturers come and go, as do teams and individuals, and sought to find a formula by which racing could continue.
With Pontiac’s demise (and now is said will immediately affect - as in THIS weekend - teams, drivers and the series, alike) one wonders from this spot how the future will unfold.
When I long ago feared that nighttime monster under my bed, I also knew the dawn would come.
And it will, again.
Later,
DC
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