A NASCAR Christmas
Photo Credit: break.com
Reader M.H. sent me this email of an old Christmas poem for NASCAR lovers of all ages. I wasn't going to publish it because frankly, except for one person mentioned in the poem, I do not recognize a single name. Obviously I am not a NASCAR person. Truth be told, as I've gotten older I am no longer a baseball or football person either.
As many of my readers know, unless I can add something pithy of my own to make it more interesting, I don't republish emails [see my extensive collection of Internet Emails].
But here's the problem: out of the entire universe of things, NASCAR racing is perhaps the one subject about which I know almost nothing, so what can I possibly add to the discussion?
Then it occurred to me that NASCAR is not just racing cars, it's a symbol of American competitiveness in one of the world's most dangerous of sports. Throw in hot babes and beer and you have the quintessence of American pastimes.
It should be quite obvious to any reader that NASCAR will be one of the first things to disappear in a world dominated by Muslims. No hot babes, no beer, and camels instead of Camrys. What a sad, boring thing is Islam.
Now here's the poem:
A NASCAR Christmas
Twas the Race before Christmas
and all through the track
Each driver was ready to make his attack.
The tires had been stacked by the pit crew with care
With hopes none of them would run out of air.
The drivers were belted all snug in their seats
Where visions of checkered flags looked mighty sweet.
When out of the infield there rose such a clatter
The crowd sprang to their feet
to see what was the matter.
What sight met their wondering eyes as they rose
Twas Rusty Wallace punching somebody's nose.
With eyes like the eagles the spotters they came
And they turned on their headsets
and called them by name
"On Spencer! On Petty! On Rudd and Jarrett!
On Cope! On Speed! On Ward and Jeff Burton!
At the top of the curve ran 'em into the wall!
Now gentlemen, start your engines all!"
More rapid than lightning the Iceman they flew
With a sack full of cash and the Winston Cup too.
And then in a twinkling there came to the front
The bright rainbow colors of Gordon's DuPont.
Then Bobby Labonte flew by in a flash
While Martin had a breakdown and Spencer a crash.
Then all at once with a rush and a roar
There came a new car they had not seen before.
From bumper to bumper it was painted all red
North Pole Toy Co. was the sponsor they read.
With a little old driver so lively and quick
They all said at once, "Hey, this must be a trick!"
"A geezer like that shouldn't be driving here!"
"And why does his pit crew all have pointed ears?"
The next scheduled pit stop went kinda slow
For the old fellow stopped at each pit in the row.
He spent no time at all, but left gas and oil
A new set of tires, new tools for their toil.
He asked no endorsement, demanded no fee
And left only coal for the black #3.
Childress got on the com and said Hey Intimidator..
Want to chew him up now, or save him for later?"
Dale spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
He gave him a nudge, then broadsided the jerk.
But the old guy escaped with a zig and a zag
And crossed over the finish line, right at the flag.
The old man drove straight up to victory lane
Grabbed up the trophy and drank some champagne.
Thanked all his sponsors and took the cash too
Stole a kiss from Brooke Gordon, and then off he flew
As he sped out of sight, one last cry did they hear,
"Merry Christmas to all, better luck next year!"