Praise The Lord and Pass The Gatorade

Okay, I’ve got to know. When did race car drivers become so damned
boring?

Sorry, I didn’t mean to start out on a profane rant like that. It’s
just that lately, week after week at tracks around the country, the
American race-going public is forced to sit through an endless stream of
bland, inane, corporately correct, cookie-cutter commentary from one race
car driver or another.

You know the drill: Driver Eddie Walslap climbs from his steaming car
in the garage area, smiles for the assembled collection of cameras, and
announces he was "just riding along in 34th place, saving the car and
getting ready to make our move, when something went wrong in the engine. I
hate it for the crew," he adds, "because the Old Bladderbuster
Beer/ Wally’s Weiner Wagon Chevrolet was definitely a top-five car today.
Oh well, we’ll just have to get ’em next week at Daytona."

Never mind that Eddie hasn’t had a top-10 finish since the Hoover
Administration, and that he retired on lap seven, already two laps down.

And another thing, when did answers stop having anything to do with the
question?

"I just want to thank all the guys back at the shop for giving me
a great race car this weekend, Crunchy Cheez Gobs for being the best
sponsor in racing, and a special hello to my crew chief’s daughter Lavonda,
who is celebrating her 11th birthday today," is a lousy answer under
any circumstances. It’s especially bad when the question was
"Why did you put that guy in the wall?"

It’s getting to the point where drivers spend more time memorizing
their laundry list of sponsor mentions than they do pondering chassis
set-ups. And that’s not a good thing for any of us.

Who’s to blame for this horrible phenomenon? In my opinion, it’s
Geoffrey Bodine.

In the mid-1980s – back when he ran up front, had hair, and was known
as simply "Geoff" – Bodine began the trend of mentioning every
sponsor in every sentence. He was the first to begin referring to himself
in the third person ("Geoff Bodine had a pretty good day
today"), and the first to use national television as a means for
delivering personal messages to his family and friends ("Honey, I
miss you, and I’ll be home soon.")

Apparently, someone in the NASCAR garage thought that sounded pretty
keen, and within a week, every driver, crew chief and car owner was
speaking fluent ‘Bodese.’

Now, watching a televised interview is about as exciting as pulling
weeds. It’s enough to make you wish Stroker Ace was real. Even worse, when
someone like Tony Stewart slips up and inadvertently says something
interesting, people react like he just firebombed an orphanage.

"He’s a loose cannon," they cry. "Doesn’t he understand
you can’t call someone a hemorrhoid on national television??!? And he only
mentioned Home Depot three times!!"

Within a hour, a chagrined Stewart emerges from the NASCAR trailer –
"Tony Stewart, come to the house…" – and issues a public
apology for committing the most egregious of all sins; telling the truth
in public.

If you ask me, we need more Tony Stewarts and fewer Geoffrey Bodines.
But don’t hold your breath.

And since I’m on a roll here, one final thought. Since when did God
become a race fan?

Every weekend now, drivers crawl from their cars in Victory Lane, grab
a handful of microphone, and proceed to thank God for their latest
victory.

"I just want to thank the Lord for giving me the opportunity to
race for Buddy Bigwallet Racing and giving us the success we’ve had this
season," he says.

Apparently, they think God has nothing better to do these days than
watch a few thousand ASA, ARCA and short track races, figure out which
drivers are talented enough to make it in the big leagues, then create
deep-pocketed car owners to snatch them from the jaws of obscurity. From
there, it’s just a short hop to fame, fortune, and a 22-room house on the
shores of Lake Norman.

Sorry folks, famine, poverty, war and injustice will just have to wait.
God’s busy watching ESPN2 right now, checking out some 16-year old kid
wheeling midgets at the Chili Bowl. After that, he’s got to cause a
malfunction in Bobby Labonte’s airgun so Jeff Gordon can get his lap back.

Gimme a break.

Sadly, this phenomenon is not restricted to auto racing. Football
players who haven’t been to church in 15 years routinely thump their
chests and point to the sky after making a four-yard catch on
third-and-11, while their baseball brethren can’t step into the batter’s
box anymore without mouthing a novena and two Hail Marys.

And should they happen to knock one out of the park, it takes 12-15
minutes for them to round the bases, lighting a candle at each corner.

At this rate, it’s only a matter or time before Sammy Sosa takes
communion in the on-deck circle.