WhiteRussianOnline:
2002 Northern Ireland Destruction Derby Champions!
WhiteRussianOnline is famous for many things. Stupid stunts, stealing stuff
from bars, sleazing in nightclubs, running vicious scams and generalised mayham.
And now, we have finally won an award. Not one of those namby writing-awards,
but something much more pride inducing. This year, with 50 other fired up
petrolheads in busted-ass cars, we entered the Northern Ireland Destruction
Derby at Nutts Corner race track. And we won.
(The WhiteRussianOnline Destruction Derby team: The J-man and DOV).
How to book a racing driver
Its past the crack of noon, boxing day 2003. As normal at any time before
4.00pm, DOV is snoozing merrily in his bed. Riiinggg-riingg goes the
mobile phone. DOV stirs.
"Vasthnf. Whatafah. Hello?", he manages on the third attempt.
On the other end of the phone is "Tools" Wilson, a man who's hobby,
judging on past experience, seems to revolve around coming up with schemes that
are either:
a) Illegal
b) Highly Dangerous
c) Highly illegal and dangerous
(Tool's scams us into the V.I.P. section at Heathrow airport coming home from
the Paris motorshow. Never. Never have the other passengers seen such barbaric
behaviour, as six grown men start shoveling complementary drinks and food
into their hand luggage. Lusty Phil, who took this picture, managed to fit his
own body weight in Heiniken into a rucksack the size of his head).
True to form, he has a scheme for DOV to get involved in. This is typical of
Tools: he never seems to get himself into trouble or injured as a result of his
schemes, but somehow DOV always does.
One particular example was when Tools persuaded DOV to get a motorbike, since he
himself was riding around, unlicensed, insured or taxed on what was then the
most powerful production road bike in the world; a Honda Fireblade. In a token attempt to be remain
legal, DOV bought a little 125cc learner bike. Needless to say, DOV got arrested
within a week; whereas Tools was still roaring about the countryside at 180
miles an hour.
Anyway, on this particular morning, the conversation that ensued would seem
strange to someone unfamiliar with Tool's schemes and the WhiteRussianOnline
mentality.
Tools: "Bai, there's a destruction derby on at 2pm - we have a car but no
driver".
DOV: "OK. Give me ten minutes to find my suit and aviators".
(DOV: Prepped and ready for action)
How to prepare and setup a Racing Car
Arriving at Tool's house, DOV was initially concerned about the condition of
his ride for the big event: an aging, bonnet-less, crash damaged Mark II Ford Fiesta.
(The WhiteRussianOnline MkII Fiesta. Pictured BEFORE the Destruction Derby).
However, the team began an "A-Team" style overhaul on the little
Fiesta, and transformed it into a machine more than capable of taking on and
beating 50 cars bigger than it: an automotive equivalent of a weasel. Small and
cuddly looking to the untrained eye, but completely and utterly devastating when
riled.
Click here for a run-down on how to turn an innocent-looking MkII Fiesta into a
weapon of mass destruction!
Playing dirty
True to form, Tools had a plan to give the Fiesta he edge it needed off
the start line, a plan which was both Dangerous and probably illegal. But this
time Tools really excelled himself.
The most vulnerable point on any Derby car is the radiator: lose this fragile
item and the car dies very quickly, and because the rad is at the front of the
engine it is often the first thing to go in a crash. Tool's plan was simple:
position the mighty Fiesta in front of whatever the biggest car on the track
was, then off the start line reverse clean into him rather than going
forward - a tactic which, coupled with the Fiesta's sturdy tow-bar, should almost
guarantee the ruination of the poor sod behind.
But surely the dude in the car behind would see it coming?
Not if you've removed the bulbs from your reversing lights he won't!
(The team work on a strategy guaranteed to ruin someone's day on the starting
grid)
Arriving at the circuit
The team arrived at the circuit, where we met up with the J-man and his
surgeon brother, the Orthopod. The J-man looked on in concern as the rest of the
team set to smashing all the windows and sunroof out of the Fiesta with the
jack, so that the
glass wouldn't end up buried in DOV's face after the first collision.
With the J-man's arrival, it was time to further discuss tactics for the main
event. Lusty Phil brought his own special brand of enthusiasm to the team,
scampering about relentlessly in a his aviators.
(Lusty Phil: "I think you should hang out of the sunroof: it'll give you
maximum visibility with no loss of safety. I feel this is a plan with no
apparent flaws"
DOV: "Sold").
The Grid
Finally, it was time.
The 50 odd cars roared onto the start grid of the track. Who was behind DOV?
Well, well, well. If it isn't a giant Mercedes 190e - a truly ridiculous tank of
a car, and one of the sure favorites to win. With its sheer weight, big engine
and solid chassis boasting rear wheel drive, it was a real threat to everyone on
the circuit.
Luckily "Tool's" plan and the Fiesta's modifications worked better
than anyone could have hoped.
Picture the scene:
The Mercedes driver, confident that he has the right tool for the job: sure he
spent a little extra on his car, but it was the favorite to win and the prize
money would pay for it. Ha! Look at that stupid punk in front in his tiny,
fragile fiesta.
Better give it the gas on the start line and teach the fool a lesson for
entering in such a stupid little tin can of a car.
Meanwhile, DOV, calm behind his aviators, pushes the Fiesta's clutch in and
snicks the gearbox into reverse.
No reversing lights come on, since the bulbs are safely in Tool's pocket.
Holding both the clutch and accelerator to the floor, a glance at the tacho
reveals the fiesta bouncing off the limiter at 8,500rpm. No problem. The
radiator mods would stop the little car overheating.
Behind, the Mercedes driver gets ready to ram into the back of the little
fiesta, chuckling to himself about how surprised the poor driver will be.
Inside the Fiesta, DOV adjusts his tie, and takes his hands off the steering
wheel to stop his thumbs dislocating from what is about to happen.
The flagman raises the flag, and DOV twists his clutch foot sideways on the
peddle, still holding both it and the accelerator to the floor; keeping the little
car screaming at the top of the rev counter.
A Pause.
The flag drops, and DOV viciously "Sidesteps" the clutch, allowing it
to bounce from the floor with the needle of the revcounter well off the scale...
A veteran of many car crashes on public roads, DOV tries to go limp.
Cut back to the Mercedes, where the driver can only watch in horror: as he
lauches off the line towards the back of the little tin-can Fiesta, it comes
hurtling straight back at him, tyres smoking and engine screaming. He
manages to hit the brake peddle with both feet a split second after the
dreadful towbar on the little car buries itself deep into his engine bay.
He just has time to see his own horrified reflection in the other drivers
aviators, before the little Fiesta clunks into first gear and wheelspins off,
pulling his radiator clean through the Mercedes grill and dragging it up the
track.
For the Mercedes driver, the race is over.
(DOV says: "Better luck next year. Maybe you should try a tank).
The Race
DOV has crashed so many cars, and other vehicles for that matter, that it has
got to the point where he has enough time to instinctively try and duck out of
the way of a cars airbag - an item which has given him numerous facial burns on
several occasions.
His crashing experience allowed DOV a major advantage over other competitors,
allowing him to drive tactically; always trying to take hits on the angles of
the cars and never flat edges. In these circumstances, crumple zones are not your
friends: just try and save the car, and trust your c-spine and head to take all
the impacts fate can through at them.
Some fools were smashing headlong into each other all over the place, and soon
dead cars were littering the track...
With some fancy j-turns, angled impacts, and the tactic of spinning other cars
into things rather than actually hitting them with any impact, the field was
thinning out nicely.
Cars were destroying themselves all over the place, and soon competitors were
entering billowing clouds of radiator steam at ridiculous speeds, careless to
cars coming head-on from the murk!
In the later stages of the event, with only a few cars still alive and kicking,
it became tougher to avoid being hit. Time for plan two: DOV drew on the
experience of numerous track-days with Tools and late night suicidal driving runs
with Xeelee down twisty coast roads. Plan two involved driving the track at such
a suicidally high speed that, should anyone try and actually hit the Fiesta, it
would be travelling at such a speed that everyone involved would surely be
killed.
Plan two worked superbly, with the Fiesta now lapping at a speed that meant only
someone with a death-wish would try and take it on.
Soon, the Mighty Fiesta was on it's own: doing a victory lap with steam
billowing from its now-ruined radiator, the smell of coolant and oil blowing
over DOV. Against all the odds, it looked like we had won!
(The little Fiesta, billowing various important engine fluids, is the last
car moving. Or is it...?)
God rest thee, little Fiesta, the angel of the Lord holds thee now.
As DOV came thundering down the back straight towards the giant cloud of
radiator steam from his competitors, the dirty cheating scum struck.
Out of the cloud came reversing a massive Volvo, who had been "playing
dead" since the start of the Derby with a burst tire. By the time he came
into sight from the steam, he was doing in excess of 20mph backwards up the
track, just in time to meet the fragile little Fiesta coming the other way doing
about 30mph...
DOV never even had a chance to break, and just about got his feet away from the
peddles and his hands off the wheel to stop them getting smashed to pieces.
(The Fiesta, buried into the back of the Volvo).
It has to be said, the entire event was worth the moment when the crowd saw
a guy in a suit climb out through the Fiesta's sunroof, since the door frames
were too warped by the crash to open, and casually adjust his aviators.
WhiteRussianOnline certainly made an impact!
The Aftermath
As soon as the last car stops moving, it's a tradition for local gypsies, pykies
and travelling people to rush onto the track to scavenge for the best bits off
the stricken cars - batteries, airboxes and the like.
But one man vaulted the fence, outpacing everyone into the centre of the circuit
towards a battered VW Polo. It was our team surgeon, J-mans brother, the
Orthopod.
"How noble", we thought, "rushing to help whoever is trapped in
that car".
Surprised onlookers watched in horror as the Orthopod shoved a gippo out of the
way and proceeded to pull the entire carberetor out of the stricken VW, a look
of triumph on his face!
(The Orthpod spots something...)
(...and he's got it! With the skill and finesse possessed only by an Orthopedic
surgeon, he rips the carbs clean out of the engine bay with his bare hands!
Result!)
(DOV shows off his handiwork: "Well, that's another car wrecked - but at
least this air filter doubles as an attractive hat").
Next time...
Big plans for next year, I think. Imagine what we could do given the
funds and the time to prepare...
A fully sprayed Fiesta in WhiteRussianOnline colours...?
Team overalls?
Who knows what the future holds, but with "Tools" Wilson providing the
hardware and the WhiteRussianOnline team providing the sheer abject stupidity,
it's bound to be good.
(See you at the Destruction Derby, Boxing Day 2004).
-Article brought to you by DOV
The WhiteRussianOnline Destruction Derby Team 2002 were: The J-man,
"Tools" Wilson, Lusty Phil, Davy G, and the Orthopod.
-Picture and visuals: The J-man and
Davy G.
-Thanks to Tools, for trying to get
me killed. Again.
