Mike Keefe Sr., midwestmotocross.com senior correspondent, once was the proud pilot of a YZ400F. Now, disillusioned by false memories of past glory, burdened by the weight of unmet expectations and dejected by the further ridicule of his peers, which cuts deeper and quicker with no more big, blue bitch on which to spirit away (see story), Keefe Sr. has shrunken to a shadow of his former self.

A writhing wretch of fear and apathy that now spends its days cocooned amid spent silencer packing and soiled gear, Keefe Sr. has spun a web of fantasy. This self-woven mental prison alone keeps him suspended above the never-ending abyss of pure insanity that continually licks and leaps like black flame at his dangling appendages.

Pity drives us, and we seek to learn more of the sad state of this thinning waif of a man.

We find the creature hidden in its hole, a shallow burrow into the garbage and old motorcycle parts that insulate its garage -- the very garage from which the big, blue bitch was stolen in the autumn of 2002. Naked but for duct tape and puffs of the aforementioned silencer packing, it senses our presence and furiously sniffs the air, as if it could smell its visitor over its own stench. After a quick glance in our direction, it cowers against the far side of its den and hides its face. Some time later, faintly glowing eyes pierce the heavy darkness of its home like candles in the moonless night.

Whether scorched by the vision of an unbroken visitor, the flames of the pit of its advancing dementia, or in a pathetic attempt to draw attention and encourage communication that somehow might pave the road of its salvation, the creature cries out.

"It burns! It burns!" it shrieks, gnawing at his hands and feet as if attempting to free its body of tainted flesh that has touched the fiery madness. "Saves us! Saves us! Nice Master, who comes to see us in our humble home. Don't hurts us, no. Precious! Precious will save nice Michael. michael! michael!

"Don't worry, Michael," we tell it in a soft voice with out-stretched hand. "We're not here to hurt you. We want to help you. Tell us what we can do."

After nearly a moment of silence, a shrill hiss penetrates the dense air of the room. "No! Yous can't helps us. No! Only Precious! Yes, our Precious will save us. michael! michael! Pretty Precious, pretty blue Precious. Precious will come back. You go away! Leave Michael. Michael must prepare for Precious." As it speaks these last words, it claws at the broken and dirty gear lying among its own filth in the burrow, attempting to wrap it around its wasting pale body.

"No, Michael." We're driven by our own compassion but feel the sting of the words ourselves before we even speak them. "Your Precious is not coming back. It's lost forever, Michael. It has been several months. The police found nothing. The insurance denied your claim. You need to move on."

"No! You lie about Precious!" The creature's moans and incoherent mumbling are made even more indistinguishable by the saliva now overflowing from its mouth and nostrils. "Precious will return! My Precious, my Precious. She will not leave us. She will not leave us. Precious! Please, Precious."

We continue the debate, but with every spoken word, the creature slips further toward madness; time pushes it forward more quickly than our reason can pull it back. Before long, convulsions take over and the creature falls into unconsciousness, physically drained if not psychologically lost forever.

Mike Keefe Sr.'s sanity is bruised and his mind is permanently spoiled with some memory of what was taken from him, but he can be saved from doom. However, the merciful in the world must act fast. We can never replace his "Precious," but if enough of us pull together, perhaps we can provide an ample substitute. Recovery will not be quick -- alas, nor complete in any case -- but it can begin. Remember, even the simplest of tasks takes the longest to finish if never started. Here, we face a great challenge, but not an insurmountable one.

To help in the Save Michael's Sanity Campaign, please PayPal your financial contribution to jholter@midwestmotocross.com.

All funds received in this account will be used to purchase Mike a new big, blue bitch.

Thanks!