Jimmie, and Kevin, and Dale, oh my. Jimmie, and Kevin, and Dale, oh my. Last Saturday night was a good one if you happened to be a fan of one of the above-mentioned drivers. Johnson was the class of the field, leading 128 laps, including the final one.
A week of rest, a week of contemplation, a week for those of faith. I so desperately pray that miracles do happen. Pit reporter Steve Byrnes is back in the hospital in his fight against neck and head cancer. He is in the ICU with pneumonia and a blood clot in his lung.
Harvick finished eighth at Martinsville, ending his streak of eight consecutive results of second or better. He remains atop the Sprint Cup points standings, 24 ahead of Joey Logano.
It is common for this writer to say I love Martinsville Speedway. Some say it’s because my home is only 150 (give or take) miles from the speedway. Some try to get into my mind and say it’s because it was the first speedway I ever visited, but the truth of the matter is that little paper clip-shaped track is exactly how the whole phenomenon we now call NASCAR started.
Kevin Harvick was going to win at Martinsville, or so I thought. Having led 154 laps, it was a logical expectation, but he wound up eighth. Jeff Gordon was going to win, then a late caution and a speeding penalty in the pits ended those dreams and left him ninth.
From the first short track of the season with the grandfather clock as the trophy, here is what was surprising and not surprising from Martinsville Speedway’s STP 500.
It will be the 133rd time the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series visits the .526 mile paper clip in southern Virginia, and the winner of the STP 500 will go home with one of the most unique and coveted pieces of hardware in the sport - a grandfather clock from the Ridgeway Clock Company.
With bad boy Kurt Busch apparently heading to victory, how fortuitous that a caution was called to open up an opportunity to alter the outcome of the race at Fontana. That should be easily enough addressed, one would think. Show us the debris, and it better be something more substantial than a hot dog wrapper.
Imagine watching the final confrontation of Lord of the Rings. We have Sam somewhere out on the mountain, as Frodo and Smeagol battle for the ring on the edge of the volcano. Then, out of nowhere, Barliman Butterbur, the owner of the Prancing Pony bar, jumps in to steal the ring from them both, leaps onto the back of Bill the horse, and disappears into the sunset. You are left wondering just what in hell just happened. Fontana was just like that.
