Wasn’t Evel Evil?

It makes sense for Evel Kneivel to pray. After all, a man’s got to believe in something outside of himself when he’s turned himself into his own prey. I can’t say that I haven’t let out a few prayers in preparation for this interview with him.

Though I do at times get a little concerned that my obsession with Evel has turned him into a little bit of an idol for me.

I wouldn’t be the first. When Evel was baptized, it triggered hundreds of people to rush forward in hopes of their own holy shower. Though I’m not sure how many followed his vows to walk away form “the gold and the gambling and the booze and the women”; I’m not even sure if Evel followed that vow.

You have to wonder if what Evel was doing –repeatedly risking his life—could be considered a sin or not. If there is a God, does this God frown upon spectacle at the risk of one’s life?

The most peculiar thing about it is that they call him a born again Christian. We’ve seen Evel born again. We’ve seen Evel come back to life on so many occasions. We already discussed how half the bones and all the blood in Evel’s body aren’t even his… perhaps he ended up with enough body parts from other Christian’s in is body that that’s what made the switch?

When I was little I went to a large Baptist church. It wasn’t that much different from seeing Evel Knievel make a jump. The audience was just as captivated staring at a man making rather wild gestures that had something to do with life or death. I don’t go to church anymore, and I’m not quite sure what I believe, but perhaps that’s part of where my fascination with Evel comes from, some collection of neurons still want some human being to stand up and demonstrate an act of faith –religious or not- that reveals something significant about fate. 

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Won't you fly? Or will you fall?

It’s not just Evel; we’re all cyborgs in this strange world. I realized this the other day while typing up some questions and researching more on his life. I don’t think Evel is just Evel. Evel is more of an attractive symbol of this churning machine that makes up human nature. We all want to be a hero. We all want to fly. We all make our lives dependent on something external, causing us to be somehow organically bionic creatures of desire.

We have our goals, our tasks, routines, functions, and we all have our dreams. We want to fly. I want to fly. Do you?

I sometimes think before going to sleep “am I really that interested in Evel Knievel? Or am I just interested in becoming Evel Knievel?”  The reason we are all so obsessed with these daredevils, Olympians, and rebellious pioneers is that they give us some sense of hope. Some sense that we can jump over a thousand monster filled crates and not go plummeting down into them! Some sense that we can jump over a million, flaming lions and just keep flying away! It gives us a sense that we could just take the simple jumps and risks in our own lives and not fall flat on our faces.

I dream about meeting Evel and failing… I dream about falling. I make eye contact with him, he hits the ramp flying away from me and I just sink. I’m falling away from everything, from this opportunity, from my purpose, paralyzed by the intensity in his eyes.

What will his eyes look like in person?

I realize it’s not just a fear of meeting him, it’s a fear of meeting myself too; of seeing my own failings reflected in his pupils. He has literally risked his life on so many, fully public occasions. I am afraid to encounter my bionic self and realize it’s just an unarmed, naked me.

I want to be a gladiator too. I will take my jumps. This jump. Wouldn’t you? Won’t you? Won’t you fly? I will. Will I? Well, we’ll see.