Hans Christian NASCAR

Gather round little ones and let me tell
you a tale that is sure to warm your hearts and answer every question you ever
had. Well, every question we feel you need answered. Now, if you find some of
the answers a little hard to believe, let it be known that gold as high as a
mountain was spent in the making of this tale which should be sufficient to lend
credibility to it’s truthfulness.

A long time ago there was a man who rode a
wild stallion and he loved to engage in competitions with other men, to prove
that he and his stallion were better. His stallion, black as the night, would
snort fire and smoke and, even though the other men would never admit it, it was
a sight that caused fear and trepidation in their hearts. Many a man would be
leading these competitions only to have the man on the black stallion come up
from behind and cause their own mount to jump in terror, out of the way of this
superman and his thundering beast.

This story was the same over many years.
Many times the man on the black stallion would fail to win the competition but
all the other competitors would leave knowing that he had been there. His marks
were left on various steeds and riders like badges of shame, that he had been
allowed to scar them, even in defeat. This man was flocked to by the masses and
became a shining symbol of their hopes and dreams. Many would part with many
hard-earned pieces of gold, just to be able to wear this man’s colors.

As often happens with legends of this
sort, the day came that the mighty man on the black horse met his match. Dueling
with the ferociousness of a cornered lion, against what seemed like an army of
angry enemies, he went toe to toe with three in particular. One to his left,
riding a bright silver mount, proved to be the fastest of them all that day. One
to his right, on a golden stallion, just there to challenge him to the very end.
And one directly behind him, on another dark mount, almost as intimidating as
his own. As the man on the black steed challenged forth, he could be seen with a
devilish grin on his face, locked in a battle that he would have never traded
for all the gold in the kingdom. These were the battles that he lived for.

His three closest competitors, in awe of
him in the arena, all considered him one of their dearest friends away from the
conflict. But, with the competition coming to a close, all four were locked into
a violent and epic struggle that man will tell tales about for centuries to
come.

Within the closing seconds of the
competition tragedy struck and the man on the black stallion was taken from this
life, his mount expiring along with him. No one is exactly sure what happened
but he and one of his friends came in contact with each other and a third friend
crashed into him, sending both of them and their fine steeds into the barrier
surrounding the arena. The man on the black stallion did not get up and would
not, ever again. His fellow competitor rushed to his side but his heart fell
when he realized that there was nothing he could do to save this man, his dear
friend.

There was a cry sent up from the masses of
the kingdom. "How could this have happened?" Were these competitions
not watched over carefully and ruled by the king, so that no competitor would
get hurt seriously? It was a well known fact that injuries did, in fact, occur
in these competitions on a regular basis but, the king always assured the
competitors and spectators that all was well and that there was nothing to be
afraid of. Other competitors had been stolen from this life; some before they
even had a chance to shine for even a single moment on the battlefield. But
their deaths had been all but ignored. "All is fine in the kingdom."

With the loss of this hero to the masses
the king could no longer ignore the cries of his loyal subjects. He needed to
act and he needed to act fast. He appointed a group of men to study the accident
and come up with the reasons that this man had died. He implored them to take
their time because he would not be rushed into judgment. He told the masses that
he would oversee the study and that there would be nothing released until the
study had been concluded. However, within days, amid the screams and demands
from the people for answers, he offered them a small morsel, as if to shift
their gaze from him and his group to another.

He called a meeting in the palace square
and let it be known that a belt on the saddle of the black horse had been found
broken. He did not make any accusations as to who was responsible, nor did he
say that the broken belt was what caused the death of this hero of millions.
But, this small bit of information had the effect he desired. The focus of the
masses was shifted from the king to the small shop of a saddle maker, the man
who had been making the saddles for the man on the black stallion for years.

This man, a kindly old gentleman, was seen
for years at the arena, talking to competitors, befriending them and offering
his services to all that would like them. The competitors, seeing that the man
on the black stallion used this saddle maker’s wares, also used them, hoping
that maybe the secret to winning was in the saddle. The saddle maker toured the
paddock area, instructing many on how to properly use his products and would
even leave a free saddle or two in the stable of a young struggling rider. He
knew his saddles were the best and he wanted all to have the very best when they
were locked in heated competition with each other because he knew that, when
used properly, his saddles would go a long way towards preventing injuries.

It was also known that he would stop by
the stable of the black horse and would comment, many times, that the
intimidating rider was not securing his saddle properly. Even though it had
worked fine in the past, there was the off chance that in the future, it may not
work the way it had been intended and could result in injury. But the rider
always patted the saddle maker on the back and told him that it was working
properly and that it was just more comfortable for him and his horse to have it
secured this way. The saddle maker always relented, feeling that this man had
survived many problems in the arena and had walked away from all of them. Maybe
he was right.

Alas, the king’s study was completed and
the masses fell silent so as to hear the words that would tell them what had
taken their hero from them. The king began his speech by telling his loyal
subjects that much time and expense had been made in the completion of the
study. Then he let his advisors take over and for the next couple of hours, they
spun a tale that was clearly meant to shift blame and cover their tracks. When
it was over, the masses were left with more questions than they had ever had,
the most pressing of which was had the king outlived his usefulness?

The competitors have lined up one by one
to say that they support the conclusions of the study but, with the iron fist of
the king held firmly over their heads, it was no wonder that they would agree
with whatever the king said. They competed because the king allowed them to
compete. They competed under his rules and his thumb, knowing that, for the
moment, it was the best thing to do.

The saddle maker was left to twist in the
wind. He was a convenient scapegoat and provided all the target necessary to
deflect any criticism directed towards the king. No substantial mention was made
of the improper use of the saddle by the hero rider. It was only mentioned in
passing. Though the study made absolutely certain to say that the broken belt
may not have saved the man, it went out of it’s way to make sure that the masses
were left with the idea that the broken belt did, indeed kill him. Whether it
said it in plain language or not.

So children, thus ends the fable of the
man on the black stallion and his friend the saddle maker. The rider challenges
all foes in heaven astride his trusty midnight black stallion and the saddle
maker suffers the wrath of the masses, all because the biggest fable of all was
the one bought and paid for by the king.