Adventure Time! (make sure to enjoy the links)

It has been entirely too long since I posted anything so here it goes. I am a football coach which means that you would assume that football is my favorite sport as a fan. This would be a fallacy. Most coaches love the game but due to time restraints, can’t follow the game the way a fan would. For this reason, and the general feeling by coaches that fans are fairly moronic, means that football is relegated to the middle of my favorite sports. My favorite sport to be a fan of is not what you might think. I love NASCAR. It has all of the appeal that I require. It has fast speeds, teamwork, rivalry, strategy and even an occasional fistfight.

I was talking with my mother not too long ago when she not only suggested that I go to the race in Richmond, Virginia. In fact, she demanded it. I think it was a little bit of living vicariously through her son, as she is more of a fan than I am, and also her desire to know I have some semblance of a life away from work. Richmond is only about an hour away from Murfreesboro so the travel expenses were extremely minimal and tickets were only $45 so I really had no excuse whatsoever.

The mission was on to find someone, anyone who wanted to attend it with me. Don’t get me wrong, I am a loner by nature (only child syndrome) but a race is something to share and experience with others because it truly is a spectacle. After canvassing the campus, with lots of prodding and bribery, I finally convinced a coworker to attend the race with me. She had never been to a race despite growing up in NASCAR heaven her entire life. I saw this as a great opportunity to potentially expand the sports fan base even if it was just by a little bit.

The race was on Saturday night so we hitched up the wagons and headed out at noon on Saturday. If you are wondering why we left so early, you have never been to a race. We arrived and found parking behind a liquor store about a mile from the track and took in all the festivities. NASCAR races are like traveling carnivals. Tons of activities, booths, shops, shirtless fat men drinking beer and equally fat women also drinking beer. I threatened to take off my shirt but at the insistence of my guest, I refrained. I did however take in a few beers as we wandered around. After a couple of marines who clearly had nothing better to do than skip out of their volunteer trash duty and hit on my friend, we found our way to our seats (long story). I soon realized why our seats were priced lower than most. They were amazing and you could see the entire track but it was a smoking section. I am not bothered by a little cigarette smoke considering that I have lived around it since my earliest memories but our section was one big cloud of tobacco haze. I felt like I was at a damn Dave Matthews concert but the Sweet smell was replaced by ash.

The pre race festivities went on with everything that is standard. Driver introductions, invocation, national anthem, fly over, the greatest four words in motorsports “Gentlemen Start Your Engines!”. Like I said, NASCAR is an event.

The race was probably boring to the viewers at home but in person, there was always something to keep you enthralled. My guest cheered for Jeff Gordon, for no other reason than the number 24 was her old number for the Tar Heels (or as I like to call it, “The Other UNC”). I of course was decked out in black to show that I was a follower of my man “Rocketman” Ryan Newman. Gordon lead about 100 laps and Newman struggled through most of the race but finished with a top 10. Kyle Busch emerged with the victory which left everyone who follows NASCAR pissed. Kyle Busch is the ultimate villain. If you watched wrestling and cheered for the Undertaker instead of Hulk, or cheered for Miami instead of Notre Dame, Kyle Busch is your man. For that reason, people were pretty angry.

We ventured back to the car and said that the first place we find still serving food, we would stop. It turns out that due to traffic, we wouldn’t see anywhere to eat until around 1 am. Low and behold, Waffle House beckoned us. It was the perfect place to eat after a NASCAR event. No two institutions hold as much southern nostalgia as NASCAR and WoHo. After gorging ourselves a little too much, we found our way back to “the Boro” and I slept for the next day and a half. All in all, I am glad my mother demanded I go.