By now, instead of watching the wonderful desert stages on Eurosport, you will have gone through the stages of grief and sorrow – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
Yes, Dakar 2008 was cancelled due to, what else, terrorists. I for one will never get out of stage no. 2 – FURIOUS ANGER at some indubitably dumb fucks with guns who spread fear for what can be NO good reason what-so-fucking-ever.
I grew up watching the Dakar, cultivating foolish dreams of sometimes getting stuck in a Mauretanian sand-dune myself. If there is something I HATE with particular passion, it is being forced to give up on childhood dreams, no matter how zany they may seem to others – or myself.
At any rate, at the peak of my motorcycle prowess, it was only the cost – a hundred grand – that kept me away, that kept me from ripping up the desert and wheelying down that final beach in Senegal. [I dare you not to believe me!]
Where should a man go to prove his worth now? To the kitchen, to see how many hot dogs he can eat in one minute?
Indeed, the cancellation of Dakar 2008 may prove to be the final blow to the survival of the greatest race in the world. Africa is falling – yet again – into the hands of these indubitably dumb fucks with guns, and there seems to be nothing anyone can do about it.
Frankly, I’ve had it with the whole bloody continent. You can only blame history for so long. Indeed, so long, beautiful Africa. There are other deserts calling, you know. The show will go on – although it will never be the same again.
Hope you’re happy now, terrorists. You’ve won a useless continent. Luckily, you can hardly ruin it much more than it already is.