TCGOB: Invasion of The Grade School Race Analysts

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Invasion of the Grade School Race Analysts

By Steve Wingate

My kids don't normally sit down and watch the race with me on Sundays. They were there however for this Sunday's Brickyard 400 due to the intense heat outside. On any other race Sunday, my 10 year old daughter Virginia would be out running laps around the house for no apparent reason and Isaac, my seven year old, would be outside stepping on bugs or dropping largish rocks on various inanimate objects. But, as I mentioned before, it was just too darned hot.

Normally, if they are kept inside by the heat, there are various other electronic distractions for them inside while I watch my race. My son will sit for hours and hours in front of the Playstation, and my daughter has been known to get on the Internet and stare at the very same web site for upwards of three hours. On this Sunday however, Isaac was grounded from the Playstation for refusing to flush the toilet on several occasions, and Virgina was grounded from the computer for reasons which my wife and I have both forgotten, but we're sure she's learning a valuable lesson from it.

Never mind all that… I'm just trying to tell you why they were inside to begin with. Unfortunately, we didn't ground them from TV watching, so that's what they did, even though they had absolutely no interest in the on-track action. They used it instead to fire a volley of questions and comments at me while I tried to follow the race, hoping that I would get up and let them have the TV so they could watch the same episode of Rugrats for the 302nd time or some poorly-acted Zoog Disney movie. I must say that I held up rather well, and their efforts were in vain… even though I got pretty close at times. In fact, some of their comments got to be quite enlightening, especially what they said during the Busch-Spencer incident, and at the end of the race when they found out there wasn't going to be any victory burnouts for Bill Elliott.

Here's an actual transcript taken from various points during The Brickyard 400.

On the third lap:

Virgina: This is SO boring. Are they just gonna go round and round in circles the whole time? When does this go off? How come there's so many commercials? I think I like the commercials better than the race, don't you daddy? What's that big thing with all the numbers on it? Do you think that guy will ever race the truck? I'd like to see it if he does. That would be SO funny, wouldn't it, Daddy? Do you think they'd make him wear a helmet? Those guys who really drive the trucks don't wear helmets, they wear shorts and brown socks and they don't have doors on the trucks, either. How do they keep from falling out? (This really is how my daughter talks, only she doesn't pause for punctuation or to inhale.)

Me: Take a breath, Virginia. Let me watch my race. It'll be over in three hours, then you can watch all the SpongeBob Squarepants you want.

Virginia: I HATE SpongeBob Squarepants, it is SO lame. You know what I really hate about it? You know when… (Virginia stops in mid-sentence when she notices that I am giving her the "paternal death glare" that all fathers know how to do so well.)

During the Kurt Busch-Jimmy Spencer incident.

Isaac: Why is that guy squeezing his butt when the Target car goes by?

Me: Isaac, you shouldn't say that word.

Isaac: Oh. Why is that guy grabbing his butt when the Target car goes by?

Me: Probably because he wants to go the big red trailer.

Isaac: Is that like the big brown truck?

Me: No, it's kind of like going to the principal's office at school.

Isaac: Do you think he'll get a spanking there? Will they get out the big paddle with the holes in it?

Me: Only if his parents signed the permission slip.

Virginia: How old is he? That looks like something Isaac would do.

Isaac: Does not!

Virginia: Does too! (We all know how the "does not, does too" debates end, don't we? Usually in bloodshed around our house.)

At the end of the race:

Virginia: Who won?

Me: Bill Elliott… the guy in the red number 9.

Virginia: Aww! I didn't want him to win… his car is SO ugly.

Isaac: Hey! He didn't do a burnout! Or even a donut.

Me: They can't do burnouts anymore Isaac. NASCAR won't let them.

Isaac and Virginia: Why?

Me: Probably because the fans like it so much.

Virginia: (rolling her eyes) Daddy… what's the real reason?

Me: Well, some guy had blowout a couple of weeks ago while he was doing his burnout. Because his tire was flat, his car failed the post race inspection for being too low.

Virginia: That is SO stupid. Why didn't they just let him put another tire on? Who's the guy that had a blowout?

Me: Greg Biffle.

Isaac: (laughing) That's a funny name. Kinda like wiffle ball.

Virginia: Yeah… what did they do when he failed inspection, hit him with a biffle bat?!? (This, for some reason, throws them both into fits of giggles.) That is SO stupid-- just let him put another tire on, then let him get inspected.

Me: Makes perfect sense to me. Why don't we call Mike Helton and tell him?

Virgina: (addressing me as though I were a simpleton) Daddy… you don't have his phone number. Who's Mike Helton, anyway?

Me: The head of NASCAR.

Isaac: You mean the BOOGERhead of NASCAR! (This of course slays them both.)

Me: Isaac! That was ugly! Mike Helton is very busy, important, and hard-working man.

Isaac: Well… he should still let there be burnouts, then.

Me: Isaac, why do you like the burnouts so much?

Isaac: I like to see those guys tear their race cars up. And the grass, too.

Ah… and therein lies the attraction of the victory burnout, I thought to myself. The fans love all the smoke and the noise, but what they really like is seeing somebody abuse a piece of equipment that costs more than what most normal people earn in three years. I thought briefly of telling them this, but then thought better of it… they always seem to stare at me as if I was the world's biggest goober when I get a little philosophical.

Virginia: (watching the victory lane interview) This is boring too. And that guy talks funny. I wanted that guy in the #32 to win. His car is WAY cuter than that one.

Isaac: Well, I wanted the 88 to win.

Virginia: Isaac… you have GOT to be kidding me. His car is SO ugly. Brown and white and yellow reminds me of toilet paper.

Me: Virginia, that's quite enough out of you.

Virginia: Can I change the channel now? There's this new movie on Zoog Disney called "I Was a Preteen Alien Skate Punk", and it is SO cool.

Me: Well, I don't know wh….

Virginia: Don't you have some grass to cut, Daddy?

Yes I did have some grass to cut, and I grudgingly thanked my daughter for reminding me. She had the remote in seconds, flipping channels with a lightning efficiency that any grown man would be proud of. I went out and began my weekly struggle with our lawn, and within minutes the drone of the lawn mower had lulled me into deep thought as it always does. A few minutes later, this article began to take shape, thus breaking a six week writing drought.

Thanks, kids.

2002 Car Guy of Benchfield

Home + TCGOB NASCAR! + Photo Garage + Links + Mad Mad Automotive World + Driving Songs + Humor Pages + Reader's Rides+ All About TCGOB + Contact Us


	The Car Guy of Benchfield Home + TCGOB NASCAR! + Photo Garage + Links + Mad Mad Automotive World + Driving Songs + Humor Pages + Reader's Rides+ All About TCGOB + Contact Us Invasion of the Grade School Race Analysts By Steve Wingate My kids don't normally sit down and watch the race with me on Sundays. They were there however for this Sunday's Brickyard 400 due to the intense heat outside. On any other race Sunday, my 10 year old daughter Virginia would be out running laps around the house for no apparent reason and Isaac, my seven year old, would be outside stepping on bugs or dropping largish rocks on various inanimate objects. But, as I mentioned before, it was just too darned hot. Normally, if they are kept inside by the heat, there are various other electronic distractions for them inside while I watch my race. My son will sit for hours and hours in front of the Playstation, and my daughter has been known to get on the Internet and stare at the very same web site for upwards of three hours. On this Sunday however, Isaac was grounded from the Playstation for refusing to flush the toilet on several occasions, and Virgina was grounded from the computer for reasons which my wife and I have both forgotten, but we're sure she's learning a valuable lesson from it. Never mind all that… I'm just trying to tell you why they were inside to begin with. Unfortunately, we didn't ground them from TV watching, so that's what they did, even though they had absolutely no interest in the on-track action. They used it instead to fire a volley of questions and comments at me while I tried to follow the race, hoping that I would get up and let them have the TV so they could watch the same episode of Rugrats for the 302nd time or some poorly-acted Zoog Disney movie. I must say that I held up rather well, and their efforts were in vain… even though I got pretty close at times. In fact, some of their comments got to be quite enlightening, especially what they said during the Busch-Spencer incident, and at the end of the race when they found out there wasn't going to be any victory burnouts for Bill Elliott. Here's an actual transcript taken from various points during The Brickyard 400. On the third lap: Virgina: This is SO boring. Are they just gonna go round and round in circles the whole time? When does this go off? How come there's so many commercials? I think I like the commercials better than the race, don't you daddy? What's that big thing with all the numbers on it? Do you think that guy will ever race the truck? I'd like to see it if he does. That would be SO funny, wouldn't it, Daddy? Do you think they'd make him wear a helmet? Those guys who really drive the trucks don't wear helmets, they wear shorts and brown socks and they don't have doors on the trucks, either. How do they keep from falling out? (This really is how my daughter talks, only she doesn't pause for punctuation or to inhale.) Me: Take a breath, Virginia. Let me watch my race. It'll be over in three hours, then you can watch all the SpongeBob Squarepants you want. Virginia: I HATE SpongeBob Squarepants, it is SO lame. You know what I really hate about it? You know when… (Virginia stops in mid-sentence when she notices that I am giving her the "paternal death glare" that all fathers know how to do so well.) During the Kurt Busch-Jimmy Spencer incident. Isaac: Why is that guy squeezing his butt when the Target car goes by? Me: Isaac, you shouldn't say that word. Isaac: Oh. Why is that guy grabbing his butt when the Target car goes by? Me: Probably because he wants to go the big red trailer. Isaac: Is that like the big brown truck? Me: No, it's kind of like going to the principal's office at school. Isaac: Do you think he'll get a spanking there? Will they get out the big paddle with the holes in it? Me: Only if his parents signed the permission slip. Virginia: How old is he? That looks like something Isaac would do. Isaac: Does not! Virginia: Does too! (We all know how the "does not, does too" debates end, don't we? Usually in bloodshed around our house.) At the end of the race: Virginia: Who won? Me: Bill Elliott… the guy in the red number 9. Virginia: Aww! I didn't want him to win… his car is SO ugly. Isaac: Hey! He didn't do a burnout! Or even a donut. Me: They can't do burnouts anymore Isaac. NASCAR won't let them. Isaac and Virginia: Why? Me: Probably because the fans like it so much. Virginia: (rolling her eyes) Daddy… what's the real reason? Me: Well, some guy had blowout a couple of weeks ago while he was doing his burnout. Because his tire was flat, his car failed the post race inspection for being too low. Virginia: That is SO stupid. Why didn't they just let him put another tire on? Who's the guy that had a blowout? Me: Greg Biffle. Isaac: (laughing) That's a funny name. Kinda like wiffle ball. Virginia: Yeah… what did they do when he failed inspection, hit him with a biffle bat?!? (This, for some reason, throws them both into fits of giggles.) That is SO stupid-- just let him put another tire on, then let him get inspected. Me: Makes perfect sense to me. Why don't we call Mike Helton and tell him? Virgina: (addressing me as though I were a simpleton) Daddy… you don't have his phone number. Who's Mike Helton, anyway? Me: The head of NASCAR. Isaac: You mean the BOOGERhead of NASCAR! (This of course slays them both.) Me: Isaac! That was ugly! Mike Helton is very busy, important, and hard-working man. Isaac: Well… he should still let there be burnouts, then. Me: Isaac, why do you like the burnouts so much? Isaac: I like to see those guys tear their race cars up. And the grass, too. Ah… and therein lies the attraction of the victory burnout, I thought to myself. The fans love all the smoke and the noise, but what they really like is seeing somebody abuse a piece of equipment that costs more than what most normal people earn in three years. I thought briefly of telling them this, but then thought better of it… they always seem to stare at me as if I was the world's biggest goober when I get a little philosophical. Virginia: (watching the victory lane interview) This is boring too. And that guy talks funny. I wanted that guy in the #32 to win. His car is WAY cuter than that one. Isaac: Well, I wanted the 88 to win. Virginia: Isaac… you have GOT to be kidding me. His car is SO ugly. Brown and white and yellow reminds me of toilet paper. Me: Virginia, that's quite enough out of you. Virginia: Can I change the channel now? There's this new movie on Zoog Disney called "I Was a Preteen Alien Skate Punk", and it is SO cool. Me: Well, I don't know wh…. Virginia: Don't you have some grass to cut, Daddy? Yes I did have some grass to cut, and I grudgingly thanked my daughter for reminding me. She had the remote in seconds, flipping channels with a lightning efficiency that any grown man would be proud of. I went out and began my weekly struggle with our lawn, and within minutes the drone of the lawn mower had lulled me into deep thought as it always does. A few minutes later, this article began to take shape, thus breaking a six week writing drought. Thanks, kids. 2002 Car Guy of Benchfield Home + TCGOB NASCAR! + Photo Garage + Links + Mad Mad Automotive World + Driving Songs + Humor Pages + Reader's Rides+ All About TCGOB + Contact Us