Since competing in a local air race a few weeks back, on the heels of the Kentucky Derby and the Indianapolis 500, I’ve been wondering if this fascination—this lust to compete—is just part of our DNA. Are we genetically programmed to pit ourselves against each other to prove who’s the fastest, the most cunning, the most daring, the “best”—or maybe the cleverest cheater? I suspect research will eventually establish that this obsession has roots a million or so years ago when a Homo neanderthalensis challenged a Homo sapiens to a race across some frigid Eurasian steppe. At stake was the deed to an exceptionally warm and dry limestone cave in the best part of town (location, location…). When the underdog—the sapiens guy—won, onlookers jumped up and down, brandished big sticks, and grunted: “Hey, dude, this is fun. Let’s chisel a trophy outta that rock. We can sell T-shirts, maybe roast a mammoth or two.”
Cheating on an Air Race
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