Thursday, July 7, 2011

Going Racing, Baby

We're going racing, baby. Going racing.
On Sunday, July 17, I will be sitting in the stands of the New Hampshire Motor Speedway, chilling, thrilling and exceptionally willing to lose my mind in pursuit of a good time. With 100,000 of my closest friends.
Racing is one of life's extremes. You either love it or you hate it; there is no middle ground. Kind of like synchronized swimming. I was not always into racing; my family was not a racing family, but we did watch candle pin bowling on Saturdays. My wife's family got me into racing at the tender age of 24 and thank god they did. My father-in-law, brothers-in-law, and some friends made an annual trek to the Pocono Raceway, and when Carol seduced me into her family they included me in the trip. I sat there bewildered with absolutely no idea of what was going on. Didn't know who the drivers were, didn't know who was leading, didn't know why the fans erupted in cheers at what seemed to be random points during the race. But I did know that I had a cooler filled with ice cold beer at my feet. I was pleasantly amazed to learn that you can bring booze into the track. How bad could this sport be?
My formative years in racing were spent in drunken delight, soaking in the hot Pennsylvania sun, in complete ignorance of what was going on around me. Probably been to Pocono at least 20 times, and every trip was memorable. I just can't remember them.
Eventually the sport got under my skin. It's a spectacle, man. Once you begin rooting for a specific driver, you get passionate. I was a Rusty Wallace fan. I picked him because I loved his car. He drove the Kodiak car and there was a big ole bear on his hood. I know, that's a girly way to do it. Most race fans follow a driver up through the ranks and make an informed choice. I had no racing knowledge so I did what I had to do. I lucked out though; Rusty turned out to be a man, a real driver,a fighter, outspoken and controversial. And he won a championship, which is enormously difficult. He was not a soft spoken girly man like Jimmie Johnson.
Going to a race is a commitment. We get to the track at 8:00 a.m. and usually don't leave until 8:00 p.m. We hook up with Carol's brother and sister-in-law (very cool people) and a bunch of their friends from Maine. Park five or six cars side by side, set up the folding tables, break out the food and the day begins. The first drink of the day is a great ritual; Captain and OJ or mimosas, the joke from the designated bartender is "50/50 OK?" I'm talking 16 ounce party cups baby. We eat breakfast and lunch in the parking lot, with a shopping trip to break up the routine. Race fans are a strange lot; shopping is a religious ritual for us. Browse the trailers until you see a shirt you absolutely cannot leave without. I love it, and if you think it's silly you can kiss my ass. Gonna get me an awesome Kevin Harvick shirt this year; he's currently NUMBER 1 in the points standings, and the driver I have been rooting for since I got over the shock of Rusty's retirement.
It's 1:00 or 2:00, the race is about to start; you are in the stands, anticipation is delicious. "Gentlemen start your engines." When those engines crank for the first time I get goose bumps. Got 'em right now just writing this. You watch the first 20 laps in delirious joy and then settle in for the long haul. My cooler is perfect. A twelve pack of ice cold beer and six nips of Crown Royal. I have also left a bottle of Crown Royal in another cooler back in the car with twelve more beers for after the race. Heavenly. Crown Royal has gotten me and a lot of unsuspecting acquaintances in trouble over the years; it's part of the tradition.
The engines screaming, the smell of burned rubber, the huge crowd, the racing, the accidents, the speed - I love it all. Ever been in a crowd of 100,00 people? Passionate people cheering on their drivers, standing, gesticulating, just generally letting it all hang out. It's therapeutic, baby.
And no fights. Small minded people like to characterize race fans as ignorant red necks. I have been going to races for 30 years now and I have never seen a fight. Coolers at a Patriots game would result in bloodshed. Maybe race fans are a little more evolved than you think.
The race is over, we're back in the parking lot grilling supper and waiting for the traffic to ease up. We create our own community on race day and it is very cool. Twelve hours of shooting the shit, eating, drinking, shopping, sharing a common passion with friends and relatives. It is a mega event made personal by the continuity of racing friends. We may not see some of these people until next year's race but whenever we get together it is free and easy and laughter makes it all work. We go to two races in NH every year; some of the faces change but the core group has been together for a long time.
I am excited. I am ready to roll. I predict that Kevin Harvick will win on July 17 and that Jimmie Johnson will wreck.
And you can take that to the bank, Eric.

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