“Some say that he only knows two facts about ducks, and that both of them are wrong.” -Jeremy Clarkson
We all love the Stig for his enigmatic silence, his sublime racing skill, and Jeremy Clarkson’s intros of him/it/whatever, but there is also the element that he is not quite human, but somehow more than human, giving him an aura of inexplicable je ne sais quois. This is what is so fascinating, so intriguing, and so attractive about the persona that is the white-helmeted driver we call the Stig. Where did the Stig come from? Finland? Mars? I suppose that’s what began to eat people up inside – who was this tame racing driver?
I for one, was happier never knowing if he really is confused by stairs or if his sweat really can be used to clean precious metals or if he really is allergic to the Dutch. In my mind, he was all of these and more.
Sadly, on Monday, the blogosphere was awash with his blood. His identity has been revealed, his mystery, his lifeblood, rendered obsolete.