Bristol is not Las Vegas, Phoenix, Fort Worth or Charlotte. There are reasons to go to the Virginia-Tennessee border. The country is beautiful. On Sunday, it appears a lot of people were taking in the scenery. They sure in hell were not at the race track.
Talladega was a ratings bust. Talladega. For fans who follow the sport, those four Stewart-Haas cars up front, doing what they had to do all day long, was something to behold. For those who simply tune in to watch incredible action, they had to wait for the final 20 laps for the payoff. However, they had to have tuned in to witness either. They did not even bother. That is troublesome.
Yet, the big story was the start of the race. When would that be? The wet cold rainy weather punted both practice and qualifying, thus nobody would have any laps in their car when the green waved. None. Zip.
Watching Loudon on Sunday was a whole lot like watching Shawshank Redemption. I have seen bits and pieces of that movie, maybe, a couple of dozen times or more. The first half of the New Hampshire race had me watching nothing but our favorites of this year over and over and over.
I was wrong. That is something you do not hear me say very often. How about this, then? The broadcast from Chicago was the best I have seen in years. That is something I do not ever remember saying, writing, or thinking. I did not think Chicago would be much worth watching. Boy, was I wrong.
NASCAR can really tick me off, and the use of “tick” was not my first choice. Yet, every year I seem to get that itch, one that I had already scratched raw the year before, and every year I return. Why? Well, there seems to be a few things about NASCAR that I really, really like as well.
Frodo and Sam live. Shane kills the bad men. Cinderella gets the slipper and the fella. Tony Stewart wins at Sonoma. It was a fairytale end to the action, but on that last lap it looked like Cujo was going to win the day and break our hearts.