FIVE LAPS: Primal scream Monday
My daily 5 a.m. wake-up calls mean that I'm fried after 10 p.m. and comatose by 11, which means I didn't make it to the end of the Richmond race. But I'm glad I missed it, because I think my house would have been down at least one TV set. (Yes, I'm a Junior fan.) Thanks to the miracle of the daily paper and the Intertubes, I spent my Sunday morning wrapping my still-sleepy brain around what had happened Saturday night at my hometown track.
Here's the transcript (sorry, I destroyed the audio) of my wife's conversation with me Sunday morning:
Lap 1 (the wife): So, who won the race last night:
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ......
Lap 2 (wife again, prying what's left of the Sports section from my hands): Kyle Busch won?
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ......
The interview continues after the jump.
Lap 3 (the wife): Says here he beat your boy Dale Jr. ...
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ......
Lap 4 (the wife): Sorry he beat Junior. Didn't you say Junior was going to win?
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ......
Lap 5 (the wife, after a long pause): Do you need to go back to bed? Should I take you to the Urgent Care? Honey, you're scaring the kids ...
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ......
(sound of recorder clattering to the ground and being stomped on)
Green-white checker lap: Dude pretty much nails it here. I think the O Sentinel hits on something here. NASCAR needs a good rivalry, but Shrub and Junior aren't it. Best case, Shrub wears the sport's black hat, sort of like Senior and mostly like Stewart. Nothing wrong with that.
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