Truth or Daredevil

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings
My wife made the correct assertion when she heard that Evel Knievel had died. She said that she hoped that he hadn't succumbed to some boring or pedestrian cause. He should have gone out in a shower of sparks and a roar of thundering engines. He should have gone out with a bang. Sure, he had settled his account with Kanye West, and that got him a nice piece of press. He survived hepatitis with a liver transplant, but hurling himself across vast distances at high speeds into asphalt and hay bales didn't kill him.
The family across the street were big boxing fans. They always had a crowd in to watch Muhammad Ali maintain his heavyweight championship. Back in our basement, we had ABC's Wide World of Sports tuned in to the next big jump that Evel had planned for us.
He was a man who looked a little like Kenny Stabler, dressed like Elvis, and talked like a drunken sailor. George Hamilton did a nice job of softening his image a little in 1971, and six years later, he Evel co-starred himself with none other than Gene Kelly in what would be the beginning and end of his action film career: "Viva Knievel." Just three years ago the legend was reborn, directed by John Badham and starring George Eads. Almost thirty years since his last stunt, and even though it was a TV-movie, there was still something that brought us back to watch.
I never was much of a daredevil myself. I rode a motorcycle, and the one or two times that I tried anything dangerous, I ended up getting hurt. But never hospital hurt. Not broken bones hurt. Never life-threatening hurt. I left that for Evel.
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
-"High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.