But, a very special one and probably one of the last few taken of him.
Thank you!
Nascar misses him and Jr does too. I know he turns to DJ, Pops and some of the older drivers now, but it's not the same.
Weird, I mused, while chalking it up to strange bedfellows and bizarre coincidence.
But then … along came the Nextel Media Tour.
It was here that I learned that O. Bruton Smith, robber baron and capitalist of great magnitude, was in favor of national health care. He said on Tuesday that the government ought to provide health coverage for all workers. What’s next? Greenpeace comes out for oil drilling in the Everglades? Karl Rove joins the ACLU? Lex Luthor studies at the feet of the Dalai Lama?
Perhaps I was hallucinating as I sat in the back of the Lowe’s Motor Speedway media center. I mean, I was still depressed after hearing Dale Jarrett suggest earlier in the day that my friends in the media were responsible for Ford laying off 30,000 workers? Oh, the shame! By the time I got to LMS, I was thinking of sitting at the feet of the Dalai Lama myself. When I heard Humpy Wheeler invent the word “prolifigate,” I had begun to think that someone had slipped a mickey in my iced tea.
But have no fear. Following Brother Jarrett’s advice, I plan to heap praise upon praise on all the fine new Fusions coming out of the plant in Hermosillo, Mexico. Meanwhile, I’ll reserve harsh judgments for the guttersnipes building Toyota Camrys in Georgetown, Ky. That way maybe Ford can reopen that Mexican plant included in its recent list of closings.
Because it’s all my fault. I’m in the media.
Tony Stewart’s visiting President Bush, and that couldn’t possibly hurt. Brian France recently said some things that actually made sense, though, in fairness, I was probably preoccupied with his hand gestures, which can have sort of a hypnotic effect. NASCAR’s Car of Tomorrow looks like a front-engined version of a Grand American sports prototype, even if curmudgeonly Jack Roush still insists it’s a “work in process.”
It’s not just NASCAR. I could handle that. Something just strikes me as weird when there are gay cowboy flicks at the Cineplex, the best rapper is white, and the best golfer is black and the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese.
I can’t roll with the flow. I can’t chill. My life would be so much easier if I just became a public-relations-conscious writer. All I need to do is write good things. Then I’d get along beautifully with everyone, particularly athletes with plenty of money, I’d stay permanently in NASCAR’s good graces, and all the people reading my columns would tumble off in a dreamless sleep somewhere shortly after the halfway point.
Anyone still reading? Then I guess I’ve failed yet again.