Let’s Go Back to 1990…
Decorate your man cave. Start a museum. Or simply anger your wife by bringing home some more old stuff.
There we were, the wife and I digging through boxes of memorabilia and assorted keepsakes and whatnot (read as “cleaning up the back room in the Studio again”), and she stumbles across a number of goodies that sparked some serious synapse activity. There’s some serious goodies in the boxes (amongst the crap I’ve tossed out, and useful stuff she donated), and many will hit the auction block soon… And a few will be made available to collectors, or those seeking to start a museum, finish a collection of their own, annoy your own wife by bringing home more stuff… whatever..
Anyway,that said, check out this nifty bunch o’ stuff from the old Street Machine Nationals East days…
What’s really cool here is the all-over print Beretta tee. It’s damned-near mint (the logo on the chest is showing some age, but still… unreal), and is just a killer tee in its own right. There are wrist bands, a vehicle pass from the ’89 edition, a gate ticket, and a complimentary pass, too.
The tie-dye looking shirts have more wear (in sales lingo, that would be “genuine vintage” look, not some crappy filter), and are Large in size. I had, honestly, thought these were long gone.
There’s also a dash plaque from ’93 (with a matching lapel pin)…
This stuff had somehow escaped my eye for a long time, and by fate or whatever other mystical intervention, the box with these items has made it through numerous cleanings and purgings of “Hell, I never even open that box… throw it out!” days. Is is destined to remain in my Studio, passed down from generation to generation, where, eventually, on an interstellar trek to a distant galaxy in some 400 years, my great, great, great, great, great, great, great (oh, you get the idea) grandkid will spill grape jelly on it, and ruin almost half a millenium of preservation… with preserves, ironically.
Suffice to say, it sparked some heavy cruising down memory lane… These were the days when cars were built for fun, and the whole mood around the fairgrounds was one big party. Very few egos, not much in the way of “power parking”, or showing off how big of a check you could write, or whole you could dig with credit and multiple mortgages. Pro-Street was well into the wave of excess, and, oddly enough, the cleanest, simplest cars were getting more and more looks, thanks to guys like Scott Sullivan.
Kinda makes you almost eager to accept big hair, acid-washed jeans and loose cassette spools again, just for the atmosphere. Bare-bones street machining. Crank windows, avoiding potholes because drag shocks lacked certain, um, handling characteristics, the scent of racing fuel the clatter of solid lifters (just over that tick from your leaky header gaskets)… scrounging wrecking yards for an HEI distributor or that alternator bracket… The REAL good times indeed. The times that inspire slack-jawed response from today’s fairgrounds folks.