Musings Of A Hardcore Legend

In Mick Foley's latest book, he sums up the difference between a conservative and a liberal with a story involving a late-night road trip and two ill-fated raccoons. I found it to be rather insightful.

I have read articles ranging from speculative to scientific on the physical, genetic, or psychological differences between conservatives and liberals, which basically deal with whether political sensibilities are a learned or instilled behavior, or a combination of both. For me, it all comes down to my traumatic raccoon experience. A couple of years ago, I was heading out onto the highway, about half an hour into a four-hundred-mile trip. I've always loved the peace and solitude of the open road, especially when accompanied by some good tunes or a few promos to cut in my head during the course of a late-night sojourn. As a matter of fact, it's probably the thing I miss most about life on the road.

I was really looking forward to this particular drive when a raccoon suddenly darted out into the middle of the highway. I swerved to avoid the little masked bandit, but in doing so, hit a second raccoon whose presence had, until that last split second, been unknown to me. It was a direct hit, a sickening thud that left no doubt as to its victim's fate - roadkill for sure. I turned to my right to see the first raccoon scamper off into the safety of the roadside brush. And in that one moment, my entire trip was ruined. No number of quality tunes could assuage the sadness I felt. Not so much for the dead raccoon, for his demise had been quick, relatively painless, and honorable - after all, it had been the hardcore legend who got him. No, my sorrow was reserved for the surviving raccoon, who would be left to wander aimlessly, ransacking suburban garbage cans without the special friend my Chevy Impala had made such an impression on.

Look, there's no way to rationalize this type of reaction. You're either going to care about the sadness of a surviving raccoon or you're not. You're either going to hit that thing, pop in a CD, and continue your drive unaffected, of you're going to do four hundred miles behind the wheel with a heavy heart.

So if that makes me a bleeding heart, I guess I'll wear that badge with pride.