NASCAR and race car drivers. Could it be any more appropriate. People who make their living going round and round in circles; putting ever more creative applications of power into not actually getting anywhere, other than where they started from, all so that one individual can take great pride in getting back to square one ahead of every one else.
And if that weren't enough, a sport that, like no other, wears branding as their labels to the highest form of rolling advertising.
But what do the fans get? Other than the chance to brand identify with their winner heros? The thrill of waiting for one of these idiots to crash and burn; the steel bending, body rending, spectacular displays of pointless momentum meeting the rude awakening inherent in not always being able to turn away from physical reality.
Yup. It's almost a metaphor of poetic justice.
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