No shit," promised American Airlines spokesperson Lindy Burger. "The pilot in question was out of his ever-loving mind. A fuckhead of galactic proportions. His inventive swearing was unfortunately mistaken for a Christian dogmatic rant."

American Airlines packaged the clarification of the incident with a passive-aggressive apology to any Christians who were stupid enough to mistake the pilot's announcements as endorsing any particular religion. Actually, the apology was about 75% aggressive and only 25% passive, judging by the wording and an elaborate passive-aggressive formula M.I.T. scientists worked out.

Burger, consenting to an interview in her office, as long as we kept the door open, explained it was American Airlines policy to allow pilots to swear in the cockpit. It was also possible she stressed such swearing is conditionally allowed providing they do not broadcast foul language over the speaker system, but this reporter was distracted by a woman saying "cockpit" and forgot to finish writing the quote.

"If it's requested," continued Burger, "American Airlines will release the fucking black box and let everybody get a whiff of Rodger's whack-ass ranting. That motherfucker can rattle them off like he has fucking Tourette's."

Burger also described the policy of hiring pilots who were former alcoholics which sometimes created uncomfortable social situations on the planes. According to Burger, alcoholic pilots with half a buzz on start calling around looking for Alcoholics Anonymous and come across American Airlines in the phonebook first, and management usually feels to sorry for them to turn them away when they show up. Plus, they think it will be funny. Pilots, once freshly on the wagon again, are shaved, showered, given a clean suit, and a job flying national and international flights.

Those who were on hand for the Feb. 7 incident accuse pilot Rodger K. Findiesen of asking the Christians on board the plane to "testify" to the power of Jesus Christ, their lord and savior. Many on the plane made claims to extreme discomfort and feeling singled out by a religious preference, while others felt it was distasteful and inappropriate.

Disagreeing with the assessment, Burger said, "Christian? Rodger? Shit, he can't even say it when he gets half a beer in him. No, more than likely what happened was he knocked back a few at home or made a stop by the drink cart on the way to the front of the plane and cut loose a little bit. Forgot his microphone was on, I bet. We had a similar incident in 1997 with him. Check it out."

Agreeing to check it out, this reporter screened a cassette tape from Burger's desk which she sometimes uses for training sessions or fun at college parties. On the tape, an apparently inebriated Findiesen talks either to the co-pilot, himself, or an invisible friend, including several verses of a song presumably titled "Lick My Salty Balls" set to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

"Ack. Fuck the pissin' president. God, am I shit-hammered. Stretched all up on a fuckin' (inaudible)… that's the way. Take a fuckin' parachute and let this sumbitch crash right into a fuckin' mountain. D.B. Cooper woulda done it… (inaudible wailing)… Ah, Shelly, you fuckin' bitch, Jesus hanging on a crucifix, you done me wrong, bitch. I love you. Still love you, baby. Glory, glory, halle-fuckin'-lujah, still love you, baby… Man, I'd love to get a (inaudible) with a cow sometime. That's got to be…"

Stopping the tape, Burger assured that Findiesen would receive treatment for any possible problem with alcohol, and that he had indeed found someone after Shelly.

ister, Ohio passed an official ban on gay marriage Friday, making it one of the most swinging states for gay bachelors, but a real bummer for those seeking to settle down. More importantly, however, was the way Ohio Republicans backing the hate-filled measure put a really positive spin on the whole thing, calling it a positive reinforcement of marriage for children and families. Children and families, of course, still not allowed to marry each other.

Gov. Taft, not related at all to former fat president Taft, but certainly could stand to lose a few, signed the bill known among the ignorant as a "defense of marriage" act, following the lead of 37 other states to pass such acts. Ohio's is the nation's most stringent, stressing the refusal to recognize such marriages publicly and even denying unmarried partners of state employees, in heterosexual or homosexual relationships, the right to marital benefits.

Original provisions of the law were scaled back, including requiring anyone involved in a marriage had to love their partner, guaranteed fidelity and honesty between them, and punished with strong fines anyone entering into marriage under "dishonorable" pretenses, including premarital pregnancy, a drunken nuptial, or just doing it for a laugh. Lawmakers quickly recognized 98% of marriages in the state would become illegal and then simplified the measures of the bill.

Rev. Rutherford Haymaker supported the act in its initial stages, and like his colleagues, fears for the state of marriage without such laws in place.

"It's high time Ohio stepped up to the plate to define marriage for everybody out there," claimed a happy Haymaker, drinking a fifth of bourbon with this reporter in a bar of confused sexual origins. "Let's face it—marriage is about to fall apart in this country. Both the husband and wife get to work now, the children are all running 'round unsupervised, and they watch M-TV shows where men kiss other men and their sexuality gets all confused. I got statistics that say over half of the marriages today, the partners actually agreed to marry each other. That's crazy. If marriage isn't prearranged and conducted with improving family relations and passing down property to offspring, what the hell is it for? This is what happens when you kill all your kings and queens, all sorts of confusion erupts. They had a revolution in Russia and now I hear a man can marry a goat over there. It's blasphemous."

Other opponents of gay marriages were slightly more informed, like Ohio Republican Rep. Jim Stuckus.

"It's my sincere hope when the gays realize they can't get married, they'll see how futile it is to be gay and go back to being straight, like we're all supposed to be," Stuckus said. "We've all fantasized about being gay, and having intimate relations with someone else of the same sex in a Shoney's men's room. But eventually we all grow up and stop masturbating to weightlifting magazines and realize it's time to settle down, and we'll never have a viable political career if we head off to join some dance troupe with a guy named Trent."

Misty-eyed, Stuckus peered out the window and added, "Sweet, sweet Trent."

The Ohio bill passed in close quarters to a Massachusetts Supreme Court ruling allowing the constitutionality of gay marriage in that state. Some critics say the ruling is further proof New England has gone "all queer" lately, while others say it was just a drunken night of Supreme Court ruling following the Pats victory last Superbowl Sunday.

The smell of exhaust, the thunderous roar of engines, the crashing plang of crashes. The air of the Daytona 500 still lingers, and though as of press time I can't declare the winner yet, aren't all we NASCAR fans the real winners?

The think-tank "steering" NASCAR, so to speak, has been increasing efforts to publicize the variety of NASCAR fans there are out there, and to broaden the appeal to those who believe it a sport for the trailer park set. But those like yours truly have known for years that NASCAR speaks volumes about the human condition. Man and machine in a life-or-death struggle against other men and machines; it is the essence of what it means to be a sentient being in the twenty-first century.

It is time NASCAR "outed" those cowardly intellectuals who still publicly deny their affection for the sport of stock car racing. Not to cast unkind dispersions on those doubtful souls, it is difficult to acknowledge just how much we love the thrill of car racing when it is so sadly stigmatized in our culture. The tragic assumption is that NASCAR appeals only to the undereducated working classes, the passive drones lacking upward mobility, the drunken and shirtless, but we can finally reveal the brilliance of NASCAR and our enthusiasm for it now that we've found safety in numbers.

I remember as a youngster, sitting in front of the fire and listening to the melodious voice of announcer Rudy Skaggs as he provided commentary on the Daytona 500 over the a.m. radio. My parents listened along as well, smiling joyfully, as mother carved her decorative wax candles and father worked on his novel. Though I mostly cheered for Dale Earnhardt (before he was Dale Earnhardt Sr.), I admit it was a joy simply to hear anyone win.

The ecstasy never diminished. I went away to college at Cornell and labored intensely toward my philosophy degree, but the weekends were spent with my NASCAR enthusiasts group, other students of philosophy, the humanities, the sciences, business, or refrigeration repair, watching the bouts on the television and discussing the nature of modern man and his relations to technology, vis-à-vis the loss of humanity and the mistakes of unwelcome pit stops later in the race, all between commercials, of course.

Would that I were one of those pilots of the gods! That could accelerate my own chariot adorned with logos by Quaker State and Tide, edging ahead of the greatest athletes of all time, such as Richard Petty and A.J. Foyt. If only the nerves of steel were mine, the lightning reactions needed I owned, and I had a driver's license. But lacking these, I am fortunate like the rest of us to be a spectator at this, the greatest test of human and engine endurance the world has ever seen.

The Daytona 500 of 2004, as tradition dictates, has drawn the most notable celebrities. Ben Affleck, LeAnn Rimes, and the president George W. Bush. Only the noble game of stockcar racing could attract such individuals of diverse backgrounds and professions—the men and women at the top of their respective fields. Of course, in the presence of such newspaper-worthy names, other intellectuals are unfortunately disregarded, but I understand many others turned out for the event. Placido Domingo, Susan Sontag, Joyce Carol Oates, George Will, Noam Chomsky, Ben Kingsley, John Updike, Ralph Nader, all are fans of the sport of kings. Unsurprisingly, I might add; for aren't we all?

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