Ohio Girl

If a redneck’s head explodes in the woods and there is no one around to hear it does it still make a sound?

Hell yes it does and it was confirmed just a few minutes ago with that collective, high-pitched, whistling sound followed by a loud, quick “pop.” I know, you thought it was a car backfiring, but it was the exploding heads of thousands of Dale Earnhardt, Jr. fans. Well, hundreds anyway. Those without internet or cable hook-up out in the trailer parks and backwoods will find out a little later.*

Junior announced he will be driving for Hendrick Motorsports—will be teammates with whiny, pretty-boys Gordon and Johnson--in 2008. He has gone to the other side. He has joined the enemy. My, how the world does turn.

I must admit I had hoped against all odds and gossip that this would not happen. Part of the fun of NASCAR is transferring the frustrations and annoyances of the everyday to the race rivalries on the track and I have gotten a lot of therapeutic, mileage out of the Gordon-Earnhardt divide. It will take the punch out of the family betting pool too which has largely fallen along the same lines.

I must also admit I am excited for Junior. This is his chance to race in the best equipment available and to do so without the shadow of the Intimidator always one step behind. He will prove his skill once and for all, or he won’t. That’s all a fan can ask for.

*I am 100% hillbilly on my mother’s side and 75% on my Dad’s. Hillbillies--being the kissing cousins of the rednecks—are therefore permitted to make fun of fellow hillbillies AND rednecks safely, without being offensive. You know, just in case you were wondering.

If you heard cursing last evening somewhere in the distance, it was me. We had to cover the kids' ears and everything. In the final lap at Talladega--the final few rotations of the tires, really--Junior, the guy who has been blue collaring through the season, who recaptured his restrictor-plate rythym, who was just about to take the checkered flag, was taken out. Booted.

At first glance it looked like Jimmie Johnson might be the culprit which would freakin figure. It turned out to be Vickers, who won, and i can find some forgiveness for him. As did Junior. Johnson on the other hand, well, we can still blame him for something, can't we? He immediately hit the microphone with his sob story about being wrecked by a teammate. His mentor Gordon was on not long before belly-aching about bump-drafting after getting caught up in the big one that almost wasn't.

What is it with their whining?

For Vickers Talladega turned out to be the perfect kiss-this to the Hendricks teammates he is leaving behind. For Junior, wrecked and all, he managed to finish 23rd and advance one position to 6th in the championship standings.

Good for them. Good for Dega.

This is a classic field. Classic pasture. Look at the hillbillies playing corn hole. What the hell is corn hole? You throw a sack in a hole. Of course it gets a lot harder with each beer.

This is a big ass hill. Only halfway up. Damnit! My left boob just popped out of my bra. Effin wall of humidity pushing my big ass back down. Finally here. Look, there’s beer.

Ah, the sound of those engines. I love the way they sound going around the track. Is that Morgan Shepherd? Yes, the ‘Racing with Jesus’ car. We all cheer for him cause he is old. And funny. Jesus built his hotrod!

Michel Jourdain. Michel. Meeeshell. I like the way that sounds. I am going to cheer for him cause I like to say Meeeshell dramatically. We joke that the Sheriff of our county might arrest him for being a suspected illegal. Sucks to be Mexican.

These are the best seats I have ever had. Worth the hundred steps to the tower. I feel like I might fall off though. It is so steep. How did the Mayans walk around on those temple steps in Peten?

Is that a giant, dancing Oreo? Yes. And it has a handler. Must have picture.

Hah! They are booing the governor of Kentucky. Sucks to be a Republican governor facing criminal charges. Oooh, is that a giant pretzel?

Why is there water squirting on my thigh? This bidet is malfunctioning. What a minute, do they have bidets in Kentucky? Son-of-a-bitch, there is toilet water on me! Someone stop the toilet water!

Why is everyone cheering? Apache helicopters. Apache helicopters doing tricks. This is the flyover. “These are YOUR Flying Tigers.” MINE. They are cool, but I bet Iraqi children don’t get as excited when they roar over head. Uh-oh, did I say that out loud? Crap.

Start your engines boys. Oh yeah, start ‘em real good. Race that car hard Michel! 

First lap. The cars roar by.  Love the smell. If we were closer there would be rubber raining down on us. Is it weird that I feel all atwitter in my special places?

Caution. There goes Shepherd. I guess Jesus should keep his day job. Did I say that out loud? Oh crap.

Caution.

Caution. Oooh. That looks like a bad wreck. Red flag. Yikes. That guy can’t get out of his car. Should I feel weird enjoying a spectacle where people might die? How Roman Coliseum is that? Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Stupid NPR always analyzing crap. It’s fun. THEY race cause its fun. Oooh look, the beer guy.

I love night races! Why have I never been to a night race? The lights are so pretty.

Biffle. Biffle. Bifffffffffuuuuuuuuuullllllll.

Okay Yeley. Yeley’s not bad. J.J. Joe Gibbs. I can get with that. Who is the guy in second place?

#84. Not in my program. Rob noticed him in qualifying. No sponsor. That’s cool. A new guy with no sponsor in second.

New guy with no sponsor is looking pretty racey. Anyone know who the new guy is? Look at everyone flipping through the program. Ask the guy with the scanner. No one knows.

New guy with no sponsor took the lead! I love new guy with no sponsor. Hold on. Hold on. Don’t mess up the restart! New guy, hold it steady! Hit your marks, new guy! Hit your marks!

New guy won!!!! How cool is that? Nice to see a car wins without corporate logos everywhere. Of course, he will have them by next week. Still don’t know new guy’s name. David something? The announcer says David something is crying tears of joy. Aw. That’s nice.

Ooohh, look, fireworks.

Pretty.

Speaking of Disney-sized guilty pleasures, did anyone see Talladega? That Dega high has had me skipping around all week. I wanted to be there and normally would have been--reveling in peach cobbler and sun-burnt necks and "get-er-done" yelled across the parking lot. Alas, this April it was not to be.

Tony knocked the wind right out of me when he flipped and took that crazy ride upside down in the Busch race. And Truex, Jr. made me misty with his three-fingered, victory salute. On Sunday, I had to borrow some meds from a friend to cope with the rained out race. On Monday, I stayed home from work and watched it.

The constant lead changes--two fast lines of cars leap frogging past one another--gave me butterflies. Jr. broke my heart when he broke his engine. The final laps had me jumping. I just knew Smoke was going to light them up. But then there was Johnson. Where the hell did he come from?! He blew over the start finish line and i threw the remote. 

Heavy sigh. I can't wait for October.

I have been a NASCAR fan for a while (thanks again, Chandra) and excepting races that I have seen live and in-person (including that 25 car pile up at Talladega!), the last two weeks have been some of the most rewarding of my fan career. It wasn’t just the 18 cautions at Bristol. Or even Junior riding around at Martinsville missing three of four corners on his car. It was the whole package. Everything this race fan hopes for:

Action: Crash. Bang. Boom. Fast racing in a comically, compact space. Bump and run for the win. It was quintessential Bristol with slightly less vitriol. Kurt Busch took the win after scooting Kenseth out of the way, clinching a Brothers Busch sweep of the weekend. And I liked that snow angel performance on the start-finish line.

Talented Driving: Seriously. Over the last few weeks Junior and company have redeemed--through hard work and humor--their folly of the season past. At Martinsville the Bud car was reduced to a heap thanks to an early accident and a late, a-hole move by Newman. But what a glorious heap it was! Junior kept it on track, worked his way through traffic, and beat Kyle Busch across the start-finish line by a bumper (well, if he had a bumper) for fourth.

Anyone but Gordon or Johnson Winning: Right back at ya’ Wonderboy! With my apologies to Chandra, I have ended up on the red side of the vast Gordon-Earnhardt divide. I did not choose it. I ended up there quite unconsciously; instinctively. And although it is often mean and irrational, there is no turning back. I’d rather Busch than Gordon (Bristol). And I would most certainly rather Stewart than Johnson (Martinsville), the latter of whom has already won twice this season.

NASCAR on Sundays has replaced Mass for me. The race always starts with prayer. Charting Jr.’s progression (or lack there of) and his finishes--methodical and meditative—reminds me of praying the rosary. I sit and stand and kneel a lot during a race according to my emotional responses—just like Catholic calisthenics. And instead of reciting the creed I bond with fellow congregants through the TV. Peace be with you. And also with you, my Bud-drinking, woo-hooing brethren.

Missing this ritual on Sunday due to rain delay left me off-kilter. Spiritually starved. I had a friend tape the race, (still can’t work my VCR), but my schedule did not permit me to watch until last night. Sweet serenity. 

I already knew Kahne had won the race. Good for Evernham and for Dodge. I also knew that all eyes were on Bill Lester. “The first African-American to race in Cup in 20 years.” This was the refrain throughout qualifying—where Lester did well—and the rest of the weekend. It was exciting. And there was some symmetry to him starting with Bill Davis Racing in Atlanta—where the Civil Rights Museum resides. It was also a little horrifying. Amidst all the homage to Windell Scott (the only African American to ever win a Cup race) and the excitement over Lester there was little discussion about the challenges they overcame, or why NASCAR has had such a White face.

It was hard too, to ignore Lester’s irritation at always being introduced as the African-American. He wants to race. He has worked hard--has moved up through the Truck Series. He could give a crap about being the first anything. “I’m just living MY dream,” I think I heard him say.

One of my dreams came true at Atlanta--seeing Jr. run a decent race! He worked hard all day coming up through traffic to finish third. He put in the same work at Las Vegas the week before only to have a tire problem and penalty land him 27^th. And what about Petty? Eighth! The man finished eighth! In post-race interviews Kyle was all grace and light. Enough to make a believer out of anyone.

And all the people said, "Amen."

“Poor Mexico! So far from God, so close to the United States!”  -said by Porfirio Diaz, President of Mexico, over a century ago

And even closer to NASCAR...

The Busch Series took the good ol’ boys global for the second year at the Autodromo Hermanos Rodriguez in Mexico City. The road course track—named for the famous Mexican racing brothers—is a dandy with a long series of  curvy S’ and all sorts of bumps and turns.

There were no dogs on the track this year—a decidedly Latin American spectacle—and DW did not attempt to translate “boogity, boogity” into Spanish this time. But there was plenty of fun, perhaps most especially the ire of Mexican fans when Kyle Busch took homegrown Michel Jourdain out of the running. A contrite Busch came on the radio and said, “Well, I guess I am hated by all of Mexico.” He got that much right.

And let’s give it up for the Mexican singer who performed The Star Spangled Banner. She made her way through it with a straight face and hitting most of the notes. But I know she was thinking, “what a god awful mess of a song.”

Boris Said came in second after looking like an easy winner early on. Goossens, a Belgian driver, made it into the top ten. Contreras and Fernandez pulled 11^th and 12^th—the latter overcoming a crash with McMurray who also made his way back to the front. And rookie Denny Hamlin got the win in a car that looked stout all day long. The kind of car that could give the Border Patrol a run for its money.

Oh, Tony. It seems you are off your medication again. You were so calm and almost reasonable last season. As charming as that was, there is a part of me that is glad to have you back. Being your fan feels rather like being a battered woman who is desperately in love with her a-hole husband. If loving you is wrong, I just don’t want to be right.

Champion Stewart finished the Bud Shoot Out with dire predictions of death and destruction. Using the specter of the fifth anniversary of Dale Earnhardt’s death as his backdrop, he declared bump-drafting out of control and said he was increasing his life insurance policy. Feel free to put me down as a beneficiary.

In all seriousness, he has a point. Or at least SOME point. Many have remarked on the dangerous new habit of bump drafting in the corners. Even Moms in minivans would recognize that’s not so cool. But bump drafting, otherwise, is a necessary part of restrictor plate racing. And racing, after all, most certainly IS a contact sport.

NASCAR nevertheless responded by saying they would monitor aggressive driving and level penalties at those behind the wheel. True to their word, they did just that. And who do you suppose was the first offender in the Daytona 500 on Sunday? Say it with me now…Oh Tony.

For a man worried about crashing and dying he seemed remarkably willing to smash into anyone who looked at him cross-eyed. In a dramatic lane change he booted Kenseth into the grass. Kenseth, in turn, became the second driver to be penalized after attempting payback coming off pit row.

While Tony’s Bi-Polar meltdown sure made things fun, there was plenty of good, old-fashioned racing to enjoy as well. My brother showed up in his number 45 cap. He was giddy to see that both Petty teams had qualified well. “This is gonna be their year,” he said, “I can feel it.”

While both Petty and Labonte suffered setbacks, Petty managed to get interviewed ON-AIR prior to the race, as well as plenty exposure riding through the infield with Carl Edwards’ tire in his window. It was a pretty sight to behold.  

I was rooting for Junior as well as Stewart. He looked good in the Shoot Out and held his own at the 500--despite a baffling mistake--finishing in the top ten. That’s a breath of fresh air for the fans that watched his performance go all to hell last season. Stewart, for his part, pulled off a top ten as well, despite being sent to the back of the field twice for violations.

It was my sister-in-law with her Gordon cap that went away smiling. In the family betting pool she chose most of the Hendricks guys. My brother muttered “cheater” under his breath over and over as Johnson headed towards the finish line.

Johnson’s crew chief was ejected for the whole week after a post-inspection violation was discovered. It is not the first such incident for that team. As Ryan Newman said, something like 3 of his last 4 wins have come after rules violations. And word came today that Knaus will be suspended until Bristol .

No matter. Johnson won the race. My sister-in-law won 25 bucks. 

I had a friend tape the race on Saturday night because I had a loud, long date planned with a brown, syrupy man called Jack. He was still hanging around like cotton in my brain cells when I realized—30 laps left to go—that the race had been rained out and was happening NOW. They were racing live on TNT.

I had just walked to the corner for fatty, fried food in green long johns and baggy sweatshirt—no bra—with day-after sunglasses. I laughed at myself for being equal parts foolish and brave, leaving the house like that. And I said a little prayer of thanks for noticing a white, plastic bag caught high in a tree. It waved against a sky full of snow not ready to fall and was beautiful, really beautiful, I thought.

I turned on the TV to distract myself from considering too much what I was about to eat, and there it was—racing. I had to adjust my eyes to the clear skies of Daytona--woozy headed and so many months without this spectacle.

A rookie won, inspiring commentators to declare him “the real deal.” Dale, Jr. was looking good. And Tony Stewart was complaining about something as soon as he hit the finish line.

Ahhhhh, we’re back. And it feels so right. Now I’ll have better things to do with my Saturday nights...

The leaves have all hit the ground and are hanging about in wet piles around my garage. The farm fields I passed on the way to my folks’ for Thanksgiving were all vacant. And we have had our first lake effect snowstorms here in the land of Cleve. Winter is upon us. (If only this freakish-global warming-60 degrees-BS would oblige.) And that means the NASCAR season has ended. Lucky for me, and those like me, who drown the doldrums of the everyday in Bud Light and fast cars (I am trying to be romantic)—just as the end of the 2005 season marks winter’s march, the beginning of 06 will herald the start of its retreat. Sort of. You get my metaphor. Or is it a simile?

The race at Homestead turned out just as I had hoped. Stewart won the championship. Johnson choked. And the Julia Roberts of NASCAR—Carl Edwards—came in third. Biffle won the race and pulled off a second in points. (Bifff-Fuuull!) All that’s left is the awards banquet in New York where the drivers will swap their fire suits for tuxedos and will all show up with the same date. (Seriously, can anyone tell the NASCAR girlfriends apart?) I plan to tune in if only to see what will happen with 10^th place driver Kurt Busch. He is entitled to a speech at the podium, but after being suspended from his team, will he show? Or will he use the time to say exactly how he felt about the suspension?

I have started knitting again. The perfect winter activity. I put up the Christmas tree complete with my Dale, Jr. ornaments. I will trade Bud for egg nog and I will funnel my Go Smoke energy into Go Bengals! Sorry Cleveland, I will always be a Southern Ohio Girl at heart.