The current Mayor of Baltimore City has stated she is proud of the Grand Prix (RIP) and embarrassed by The Wire.
How ironic. This column is proud of The Wire and embarrassed by the Grand Prix.
On a happy note, with a car race through downtown Baltimore during Labor Day weekend for three consecutive years, no one was killed.
Can you image the pitch?
Okay, we shut down some of the busiest streets near the tourist areas and let speeding cars maraud through.
What could possibly go wrong?
What about other visitors not interested in the race or folks who, um, work downtown?
Luckily, the only things that died were dozens of trees. To reiterate, old and stately and healthy trees were removed from the concrete environs.
Not to mention the barbed wire and barriers. Charm City looked like a cross between a prison and a gulag for weeks and lots of money was lost.
City denizens were upset. But, hey only voters, who cares?
Confession inre The Wire. This column has only seen the final season when the narrative was sliced into thirds: the drug story, the newspaper and the politicians. And weren’t the actors doppelgangers for the real people.
The reason that watching this series was difficult is because the show beautifully told an ugly story. And the actors’ true-life counterparts can be seen sitting in front of boarded up houses. Today.
The Wire was/is excellent television. And instead of being ashamed of the tale, let’s change it.
What can Baltimore do to help the poor, addicted and unemployed?
Maybe pretend they are developers.
Good-bye Grand Prix. Don’t know who is gonna miss you.