- Jul 25, 2002
- 10,053
- 0
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Has officially began . . .
Like a sceen from the '50's . . . or 'Grease'
<CLIP>
Screeching tires are about the last thing you want to hear these days in Iraq. Too often they signal a car bomber zeroing in on his target, or wary drivers fleeing from danger.
But for the 200 or so young men who gathered Friday to watch drag races in the park next to Baghdad University, the squeal and smell of burning rubber were symbols of their country's new freedom ? and a relief from the day-to-day violence.
Plus, it's really cool to drive fast.
"I love this!" yelled Hussein Matrout, moments after botching the slalom course.
The 21-year-old mechanic had lost control of his souped-up BMW and spun out, winging a couple of tire barriers. Rather than rush through the rest of the slalom, he turned a couple of skidding doughnuts before cruising to the finish line amid the jeers of spectators urging Matrout, "Get out and never race again!"
Between races, young men gathered in chattering groups, popping hoods and comparing rides. Custom paint jobs, wraparound shades and gelled hair gleamed in the spring sun, and muscle shirts bulged.
Mohammed Ibrahim, 28, a Jordanian-born mechanic, was dressed like a rock star: black on black on black, multiple silver rings and a mullet hairdo. Of his four cars ? "all American," he boasted ? his pride and joy was a white Camaro with racing stripes and skull decals.
For these gearheads, the races at Jadriya Park every Friday ? the Muslim holy day and most everybody's day off here ? satisfy a long obsession with all things automotive. It wasn't until Saddam Hussein was ousted by the U.S.-led invasion in 2003 that their passions could pick up speed.
Years of United Nations sanctions and a near-monopoly on the imported-car market by cronies of Hussein's son Uday greatly limited the number of vehicles coming into Iraq. Small groups of aficionados tinkered in semi-secret garages and indulged their racing addictions in abandoned industrial areas.
Uday and his inner circle were themselves car fanatics, cruising around the upper-class Mansour district of Baghdad in their Porsches, Lamborghinis and Camaros. Uday was notorious for confiscating anyone else's car he liked ? especially Corvettes.
"Everybody was afraid for his car," said Yasser, an army sergeant who requested that his last name not be used. "If Uday found it, he would take it for himself."
But Hussein's fall brought a new era. With no real border restrictions or customs, and no Hussein-family mafia controlling the market, cars and parts flooded into the country.
In early 2004, the Iraqi Autosports Club was formed and the group began searching for a suitable track.
Street racing is not an option in Baghdad, with its constant traffic jams and its roadblocks and barriers to slow down car bombers. The city's well-armed police, army and U.S. checkpoints mean any potential speed demon is taking his life in his hands.
Matrout proudly recounted what happened when he was caught peeling rubber on a Baghdad street last month.
"The police thought I was a car bomber," he said. "They were so mad at me for scaring them that they threw me in jail for two days."
The car club finally secured a home at Jadriya Park several months ago, and the Friday morning rallies have gained a hard-core following. Events include the slalom and a 400-meter drag race, followed by the so-called display portion, which consists mostly of drivers wheeling in circles until their tires shred.
But even on this festive morning, the realities of life in a shattered and fearful city were never far away. Police cruisers patrolled the edges of the crowd, and a U.S. Bradley fighting vehicle was visible on a nearby hilltop.
"We need to release our sadness and our concerns over everything that's happening," said Ali Adil, a 21-year-old college student who won Friday's drag race in his 1998 Toyota Celica. "This is a safe place. It's guarded. There's inspections. We can relax here."
Almost every car at the rally seemed to have been the recipient of hours and hours of loving care, some with chrome hubcaps, turbocharged engines and painted flames.
Then there was the guy driving the "Brazili," slang for a Brazilian-made Volkswagen Passat, one of the most common cars in Iraq. The battered sedan stuck out by a mile: The would-be racer looked like he'd borrowed Mom's car.
For the drag race competition, crowds gathered around the finish line as racers came screaming past in pairs. Every new finish brought a new round of cheers, jeers and applause.
Halfway through the competition, the spectators exploded in shock and laughter. Grown men danced in place.
The Brazili had won its heat.
Like a sceen from the '50's . . . or 'Grease'
<CLIP>
Screeching tires are about the last thing you want to hear these days in Iraq. Too often they signal a car bomber zeroing in on his target, or wary drivers fleeing from danger.
But for the 200 or so young men who gathered Friday to watch drag races in the park next to Baghdad University, the squeal and smell of burning rubber were symbols of their country's new freedom ? and a relief from the day-to-day violence.
Plus, it's really cool to drive fast.
"I love this!" yelled Hussein Matrout, moments after botching the slalom course.
The 21-year-old mechanic had lost control of his souped-up BMW and spun out, winging a couple of tire barriers. Rather than rush through the rest of the slalom, he turned a couple of skidding doughnuts before cruising to the finish line amid the jeers of spectators urging Matrout, "Get out and never race again!"
Between races, young men gathered in chattering groups, popping hoods and comparing rides. Custom paint jobs, wraparound shades and gelled hair gleamed in the spring sun, and muscle shirts bulged.
Mohammed Ibrahim, 28, a Jordanian-born mechanic, was dressed like a rock star: black on black on black, multiple silver rings and a mullet hairdo. Of his four cars ? "all American," he boasted ? his pride and joy was a white Camaro with racing stripes and skull decals.
For these gearheads, the races at Jadriya Park every Friday ? the Muslim holy day and most everybody's day off here ? satisfy a long obsession with all things automotive. It wasn't until Saddam Hussein was ousted by the U.S.-led invasion in 2003 that their passions could pick up speed.
Years of United Nations sanctions and a near-monopoly on the imported-car market by cronies of Hussein's son Uday greatly limited the number of vehicles coming into Iraq. Small groups of aficionados tinkered in semi-secret garages and indulged their racing addictions in abandoned industrial areas.
Uday and his inner circle were themselves car fanatics, cruising around the upper-class Mansour district of Baghdad in their Porsches, Lamborghinis and Camaros. Uday was notorious for confiscating anyone else's car he liked ? especially Corvettes.
"Everybody was afraid for his car," said Yasser, an army sergeant who requested that his last name not be used. "If Uday found it, he would take it for himself."
But Hussein's fall brought a new era. With no real border restrictions or customs, and no Hussein-family mafia controlling the market, cars and parts flooded into the country.
In early 2004, the Iraqi Autosports Club was formed and the group began searching for a suitable track.
Street racing is not an option in Baghdad, with its constant traffic jams and its roadblocks and barriers to slow down car bombers. The city's well-armed police, army and U.S. checkpoints mean any potential speed demon is taking his life in his hands.
Matrout proudly recounted what happened when he was caught peeling rubber on a Baghdad street last month.
"The police thought I was a car bomber," he said. "They were so mad at me for scaring them that they threw me in jail for two days."
The car club finally secured a home at Jadriya Park several months ago, and the Friday morning rallies have gained a hard-core following. Events include the slalom and a 400-meter drag race, followed by the so-called display portion, which consists mostly of drivers wheeling in circles until their tires shred.
But even on this festive morning, the realities of life in a shattered and fearful city were never far away. Police cruisers patrolled the edges of the crowd, and a U.S. Bradley fighting vehicle was visible on a nearby hilltop.
"We need to release our sadness and our concerns over everything that's happening," said Ali Adil, a 21-year-old college student who won Friday's drag race in his 1998 Toyota Celica. "This is a safe place. It's guarded. There's inspections. We can relax here."
Almost every car at the rally seemed to have been the recipient of hours and hours of loving care, some with chrome hubcaps, turbocharged engines and painted flames.
Then there was the guy driving the "Brazili," slang for a Brazilian-made Volkswagen Passat, one of the most common cars in Iraq. The battered sedan stuck out by a mile: The would-be racer looked like he'd borrowed Mom's car.
For the drag race competition, crowds gathered around the finish line as racers came screaming past in pairs. Every new finish brought a new round of cheers, jeers and applause.
Halfway through the competition, the spectators exploded in shock and laughter. Grown men danced in place.
The Brazili had won its heat.
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