Grrrrrr!!!!

jmcgrew47

jmcgrew47

Active Member
Is anyone else annoyed by the weather forecast for this weekend? Does it really have to rain every flipping weekend? :mad:
 
I am with you. It seems that it is the Mother Nature story every Friday and Saturday every weekend and more. This is getting dumb, but none of us can change it!!!:mad:
 
Don't think we are in for too much damage this weekend. Looks like Tri City will yet possibly be put off for another week. And Belle Clair will probably be running on Sunday. As far as Saturday goes as long as there is no monsoon weather Friday i see no reason why Pevely and Highland will not be a go on Saturday. With being a fairly dry week and nice temps and wind to help dry these tracks. Saturday is supposed to be nice as well as sunday. So the weathermans prediction is that all tracks will run this week except for Tri City. Sorry guys as i am sure Kevin and Tammy are wanting to get this season started as well as all the racers there. Hey maybe mother nature will take a turn thursday night and friday and let us get our first friday night of racing in for the year:confused::eek::confused:.....Thats a dream though i think. Either way good luck to all this weekend.

Tom
 
As much as I wish it would stop raining so we can go racing, I also wish for dry weather so the farmers can get in their fields and plant before early May. There are a number of fields that still have standing water on them.
 
To Rain or Not To Rain...

To rain, or not to rain, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Weather
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To race, to win;
 
No more; and by a race to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural heats
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To hotlap, to race; —
To win, perchance to dream: — ay, there's the rub;
For in that race of speed what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal track,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a night;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of the fans,
The InTimmydator's wrong, the flagman's arrogance,
The pangs of DNF's, the scorer's delay,
The insolence of the cornerman, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy slide-jobs,
When he himself might his elimination make
With a bare rivet broken? who would these burdens bear
To grunt and sweat under a bent J-bar,
But that the dread of something after the pits close, —
The undiscover'd non rained-out race, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, — puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to other tracks that we know naught of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of rain;
And race pitcrews of great speed and ability,
With this regard, their performances turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Hamlet, Act III, scene (sort of)
 
Bomber Momma said:
No more; and by a race to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural heats
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To hotlap, to race; —
To win, perchance to dream: — ay, there's the rub;
For in that race of speed what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal track,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a night;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of the fans,
The InTimmydator's wrong, the flagman's arrogance,
The pangs of DNF's, the scorer's delay,
The insolence of the cornerman, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy slide-jobs,
When he himself might his elimination make
With a bare rivet broken? who would these burdens bear
To grunt and sweat under a bent J-bar,
But that the dread of something after the pits close, —
The undiscover'd non rained-out race, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, — puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to other tracks that we know naught of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of rain;
And race pitcrews of great speed and ability,
With this regard, their performances turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Hamlet, Act III, scene (sort of)
Click to expand...


OK... you put more effort in that me!!!! :p:p:p
 
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a race.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, The Tempest (sort of, I took liberties, again)
 
since everyone wants poetry, here is mine.(kinda fits the weather)
there was once a man from belfast...
his 8a11s were made of brass...
and in stormy weather, they clanged together...
and lightning shot out his a55...:D:D
 
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