Hoooo-eeee, I’ll tell you what.
The best thing about living this close to Daytona Beach is that I get to be right close to the Birthplace of Speed and the home of the Daytona 500.
There ain’t nothing on God’s green earth that’s better than sitting with a group of my people, the cream of the crop, real Americans, watching real men driving bad-ass cars around in circles for hours on end.
This ain’t no sissified sport, like tennis or soccer. NASCAR is where red-blooded Americans thrive, no matter if they’re in peak physical condition. Isn’t this the real American dream? One where any man, even if he’s out of shape and reliving his glory days from high school, can drive around in circles until he gets sponsorships by Budweiser and Doritos?
And if you’re lucky? If you happen to be at that once in a lifetime race, and you happen to be paying strict attention to the cars as they drive their 400th lap, you may just see the best, most glorious part of stock-car racing. If you’re lucky, there may be a horrible accident, with tires flying and smoke and fire and maybe, somebody will even die.
What could be better? Yeehaw!