Pine Nuts: The thrill of the roar |

Pine Nuts: The thrill of the roar

The roar of a cigarette boat on Lake Tahoe, the roar of Daytona, the roar of a pack of motorcycles, the roar of men going into battle, these are sounds that enliven men, not all men, but many men, and a few women.

Why do men attend sports events when they could watch them from home? It’s the roar of the crowd. It makes the blood in their veins dance. I know this first hand as I used to be energized by the sound of my ’55 Chevy after removing the muffler. There was no sweeter sound to my ear, and when our high school principal rushed outside to arrest me, I was already down the road, drawing families to their windows as I went. It’s the thrill of the roar.

Mercifully, Mother Nature relieves us of this testosterone toxicity as we grow older, and she accomplishes this feat with a gentle combination of maturation and loss of hearing.

As we grow more mature we come to realize that the roar of a cigarette boat on Lake Tahoe, while exciting the six passengers onboard, is annoying 6,000 persons on shore who were previously enjoying the serenity of the lake.

Daytona is a waste of octane fuel. Take it from the slowest driver in the great state of Nevada, people who drive with their hair on fire should seek help. All vehicles, including Daytona race cars should have governors installed to limit their top speeds to 50 miles an hour on the straights, 30 miles an hour on the curves.

Motorcycles? We stop cars to inspect them for agriculture. We stop trucks to check their weight. We should stop motorcycles to check for interminable noise, and while we’re at it, limit packs of motorcycles to four to insure their collective clamor will not wake up General Grant in his tomb.

The thrill of the roar of men going into battle? There’s nothing like it. In boot camp, it’s the sound of a platoon of 70 young men barking the Devil Dog, “OO-RAH!” This effectively turns 70 Cocker Spaniels into 70 Dobermann Pinschers. It’s impulsive reflex, and it works with every generation.

As we grow more mature we start to see cigarette boats as arrogant, Daytona as senseless, motorcycles as an annoyance, and the roar of men preparing for battle, while important for those men going into battle, the battles themselves are mindless.

Along with maturity that relieves testosterone toxicity, there is the merciful loss of hearing. When I tell people about my powerful new hearing aid and they ask, “What kind is it?” I usually hear, “What time is it?” And respond, “Five o’clock somewhere!”

In closing, as an OG, Older Gangster, I believe if we live long enough, Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, will release us entirely from testosterone toxicity and allow us to live our remaining years in the sweet serenity of silence. Just imagine how quiet it will be on the other side, if we can just keep those harpists from fingering their harps during nap time…

Learn more about McAvoy Layne at

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