Are You Ready For Some...

NASCAR?! Y'all thought I was goin' to say football, huh? Nope. I think I've mentioned in previous posts I don't like football.

But I will admit, I'm a NASCAR fan. Yep, its true. I got hooked back in the 90's. I know what y'all are thinkin'... These are a bunch of yahoos drivin' around in a circle. Well that may be true but its more of a thrill for speed, control and precision drivin'. I will say the sport is much too commercialized now which doesn't it make it as enjoyable.

My favorite driver is Jeff Gordon #24.

I reckon some of ya are havin' chest pain right about now with that comment. Ya either love him or hate him. I've takin' a ribbin' from everyone I know, especially my sister. She still cannot believe I enjoy the sport and she takes advantage of any opportunity she can to let me know this. Hence the photo below:

As y'all can see, she made me a clothespin Jeff Gordon doll and put him in a dress! I did laugh my butt off when she gave him to me.

Hubs and I have only been to one race. Back in '97 we spent a small fortune for a NASCAR weekend in Pocono, PA. We had infield seats, pit passes, the works.

The only problem was a week before, I had minor throat surgery. Folks I was in such pain, I think the only food I got in me that whole week was a teaspoon of mashed taters.

It must have been a thousand degrees and as clear as a bell that summer day. I literally sat at the race, swiggin' liquid prescription pain killer right out of the bottle and prayin' for a big fluffy cloud to pass over my head. To top if off, not only did I not get his autograph, he didn't win the race.

So after bakin' our bodies in the direct sun for over 9 hours (with no sunscreen) we decided to try and find someone sellin' water. As we walked around the area lookin' for H2O, a golf cart whizzed by within feet of us. Hubs says to me, "Did you see who that was?" I said, "No, who?" "It was your sweetheart Jeff Gordon!" HUH?! Heck, if I wasn't so delirious from the narcotics and heatstroke; I would have jumped out and tackled him right off the dang thing.

The last straw was when we finally got back to our vehicle. A big pork rind of a feller drunker than a skunk, jumps up on the roof of his truck, drops his drawers and screams at the top of his lungs "I AM JIMMY SPENCER!" I looked at my hubs and said, "Well that did it for me. I would rather watch the race on T.V. from now on." He agreed.

I may not know Jimmy Spencer that "up close and personal"; but I'd be willin' to bet the farm he was not Jimmy Spencer.

Here's the real Jimmy Spencer...

Now that I think about it, he did look a lil' like him from the neck up.