Trophies Suck!
By noderel:
Yeah, I know. I’ve won a few so they don’t mean much to me. Not so, bucko. But itis the trophy itself that has no importance in my life. I mean, winning somethingin hot rodding like the 9-footer at Oakland was significant, but way more of a milestone would be taking the top speed of the meet at the salt. THAT is something.Because it requires far more than parking on a cement floor and getting out the wax.
Don’t get me wrong, when you achieve the pinnacle of any sport or hobby, you've had to put in the effort. Otherwise, just go to a sporting goods store and buy yourself an award. But a trophy seems to be all the less important the larger it becomes. At least, the taller it becomes. During the 1950s and 1960s, every little parking lot car show vied to present the tallest trophy around, usually something about the size of a broom stick, and as meaningless. I got a ton of them.
But I had a solution to the problem of ownership: I gave them away soon as I got home. Every kid in the neighborhood wanted a trophy, and they would eagerly haul anything shiney to their bedroom. Usually for no more than an overnight, when they would come sheepishly back to my garage proclaiming that their mom wouldn’t let them have any more pieces of wood and plastic. Damn, what then?
I solved that problem by breaking the awards down. The plaque could often be removed and nailed to some convenient 2X4 in the garage. The wood was often good hardwood, so I had a large box for those pieces (although I don’t remember ever having reused the wood). The tinfoil and other cheap metals found the trash, and then I could often slip the kids the car or winged lady or whatever was left.
Way back when, if you won a roundy round heat race, you got to be in the main event. If you won that, you probably got a two dollar trophy and a five dollar bill. You deep sixed the trophy immediately, or better yet, sold it back to the promoter for a buck.
This is why I have steadfastly refused to give away meaningless trophies at the drags or the lakes or the car shows. If I pick a car, it is usually for safety, or for imaginative engineering. Not for shiney paint or flashy threads! For that very reason, there is usually all kinds of background muttering when I give an award. But I don’t give a damn what joe lunchbox thinks, I care what the rod builders think. Because they know what is going on, while average tire kicker is lucky to find his own ass with the paper.
Years ago I was close with Al Slonaker, producer of the Oakland Roadster Show, and he would ask me to MC his trophy awards program. He liked to accommodate the bike crowd, which served very well to keep Sonny Barger and his ilk from trashing the show. One time, I announced a motorcycle class winner, whereupon a biker chick strutted onstage, took the trophy, which was half glass, walked to the stage edge, and dropped it on the cement floor. I never flinched, and the crowd never accommodated the female with any comment at all. But, I kind of felt the same way about all the trophies. Why bother?
I think I have become too jaded by all this winner, second winner (first loser), etc.I like it as the LA Roadsters do their show. Just give the exact same pewter beer mug, suitably inscribed, to every entrant. Some guys I know have kept every one since the beginning. I have a few scattered here and there, mostly as holdersfor pens and pencils.
One guy I know was a cameraman in Hollywood, and during the course of his career he had won several Emmys and Oscars. He had them scattered throughout his house, and into the garage, as well. Trophies. Big whoopee do! You can’t eat trophies.