A camera focused on the screen of a 24 inh, flat HDTV. Yet the news footage was not in color. It was in black and white, archived news footage of a tragedy that had happened over sicty-five years ago. Footage of the 1955 Le mans disaster; a major crash occurred during the 24 Hours of Le Mans motor race at Circuit de la Sarthe in Le Mans, France. Large pieces of debris flew into the crowd, killing eighty three spectators and French driver Pierre Bouillin and injuring nearly one hundred and eighty more.
The light of the televisions images reflected in a macabre dance in a closeup of two eyes that filled the screen in their madness.
Jack'd the Ripper:
"I have to admit, that I never really understood the fascination with motorsports, NASCAR and race car driving. That sort of thing. I never understood why this 'indulgence' was even considered a sport in the first place. I mean, what you're basically watching is a number of cars racing around in a circle, continuously. Over and over. Just to see who is fastest, and who can cross that finish line first."
"I suppose there are the random breaks, where the race car driver pulls in for a quick tune up, to have tired replaced or rotated, and then we're treated to a display of who can fix their car the fastest, and back to the race that really matters. Fascinating!"
"At least, my mother believed so."
White Chapel -
1989
Little Jack'd:
"Mommy...?"
Little Jack'd had finished his breakfast of cold cereal and toast, eager to run to the family living room and turn on those all-important Saturday morning cartoons. Only to find his mother in her recliner, with the television already turned on -- to the races. A little piece of Little Jack'd and his hopes felt crushed. To a child in school, Saturday mornings were the time to most look forward to, and five glorious hours of animated entertainment. Only his mommy did not know, or did not care, and her only care was for her own amusement.
Mommy:
"Shh! Can't you see I'm watching the races?"
What, like she couldn't carry on with an exchange with her only son while the races were on? Was she afraid she might miss the wave of a flag or something?
Little Jack'd:
"I want to watch cartoo-"
But his words were cut off by a sharp cuff to the side of the head, sending him tumbling to his bottom on the hard wood floor of their apartment.
Mommy:
"I said I'm watching the races!"
Footage from the Old Bridge Township Raceway Park in 2008 danced in those manic eyes. A race that saw Scott Kalitta, one of the most successful racers in American drag racing history, involved in a fiery and horrific crash. His engine had exploded in the race, damaging the parachute meant to slow the car down. The dragster continued through the sand trap and over a retaining wall at approximately 125mph before striking a crane.
Jack'd the Ripper's head tilted to the side, like a puppy engaged in watching something both curious and fascinating.
Jack'd the Ripper:
"I always thought that more were drawn to the sick relish of car wrecks in these races than they were the actual races themselves. People have always celebrated the violent and the macabre. In hockey if the game ends without a single fight, tooth knocked out or face plastered against the guard partisan's, you can feel the disappointment from the masses. If a car race ends without a single crash, the sick and twisted wonder if they can get their money for their ticket refunded or not. And, in wrestling, people no longer care for a clean cut athletic contest. They want to see tables and ladders and chairs -- Oh MY! They want to see fights taken out into the audience! Faces raked across razor sharp barbed wire!"
His head tilted to the opposite shoulder.
Jack'd the Ripper:
"So you'll understand, won't you -- Agostino Romano?"
"It's nothing personal, and has absolutely nothing to do with you being a virtually useless racecar driver. Or former one -- whatever. It's all about entertainment, you and I giving the crowd what they want. Giving them their money's worth. Or rather .... me, giving them what they want. Your blood. Your broken bones. Scar tissue. Your sad little cries of anguish. Until there's simply nothing left of you to play with. Your career, an endless cycle of hopelessness. The never ending race car loop. The never ending cycle."
"The snake, eating its own tail."
