people.”
“Y’all have to write whatever you have to write. Your opinions are yours, and you write them down on a piece of paper and share it with thousands of people. I’ve been criticized enough where y’all can’t hurt me. You can’t write anything that’s going to make my day any worse. And you can’t, all of a sudden, tell me I’m smart and great and make me feel any better. I didn’t believe you when you said I sucked, and I’m not going to believe you when you say I’m great! I’m just going to keep on being me.”
—MICHAEL WALTRIP
addressing the media after a second-place finish at Phoenix in April 2005
“Sometimes, when Bruton opens his mouth, it sounds like he’s constipated.”
—WILLIAM C. FRANCE
NASCAR tycoon, on rival tycoon O. Bruton Smith
“I definitely think me and Michael [Waltrip] could whip their guys in a tag-team match.”
—DALE EARNHARDT JR.
in reference to rival team Richard Childress Racing, at Daytona in 2003
“If Congress didn’t pass a vote I wanted passed, I’d end up saying the first thing that came to my mind, and you can’t do that. When Saddam challenged Bush to a public debate a few weeks ago, Bush didn’t even acknowledge the challenge, because it wouldn’t accomplish anything. It was petty. It was absolutely the right thing to do by not accepting Saddam’s challenge. And that’s why I couldn’t be president, because not only would I have accepted it, I would’ve given him my calling-card number.”
—JIMMY SPENCER
surprising no one by announcing he would not be a candidate for president in 2004
“If we’re going to keep fuel-mileage racing, we might as well build solar cars and let the sun decide who wins.”
—TONY STEWART
“I’m glad I don’t have to face a Randy Johnson fastball or a Warren Sapp hit when I’m releasing a pass, but I bet Tim Duncan is glad he’s not running two hundred miles per hour with forty-two other cars around him, too.”
—KYLE PETTY
“Wonder if they have boiled peanuts in California?”
—KEN SCHRADER
responding to California Speedway getting the Labor Day weekend date once reserved for Darlington
O n a sunny afternoon in the garage area of Las Vegas Motor Speedway, ex-champions David Pearson and Tony Stewart got to know each other.
At the time, Pearson was seventy years old, Stewart thirty-three. Pearson’s last championship occurred in 1969, when what is now Nextel Cup was referred to as Grand National and there were no races in Las Vegas.
Perhaps more than any of his contemporaries, though, Stewart is a throwback to the days when dinosaurs named Pearson, Richard Petty, Cale Yarborough, and Bobby Allison ruled the earth. Earth, at the time, mainly consisted of the South.
Pearson, who won 105 races, was leisurely strolling around with another notable resident of Spartanburg, South Carolina, former car owner and ace mechanic Walter “Bud” Moore. As luck would have it, they happened to be in front of the stall where Stewart’s number 20 Chevrolet rested, shortly after the end of a practice session and as Stewart was climbing out of his orange car.
“Do you know Tony Stewart?” I asked Pearson.
“I’ve met him,” he said. “I don’t know him. I know he can sure enough drive a race car.”
“I think you’d like him,” I said. “Hang on a minute.”
I then walked over in front of the car, where Stewart was discussing various matters of technical significance with his crew chief, Greg Zipadelli.
“David Pearson’s out there,” I said to Stewart. “Want to say hello?”
“Give me a minute,” said Stewart.
I walked back out and started talking with Moore, about whose teams I used to write, and Pearson, the hero of my youth. The topic was familiar: how much times have changed, how not all the changes have been for the best, how much all the cars are just alike, etc. It was the kind of conversation old-timers have regardless of whether they’re athletes or shoe
“Y’all have to write whatever you have to write. Your opinions are yours, and you write them down on a piece of paper and share it with thousands of people. I’ve been criticized enough where y’all can’t hurt me. You can’t write anything that’s going to make my day any worse. And you can’t, all of a sudden, tell me I’m smart and great and make me feel any better. I didn’t believe you when you said I sucked, and I’m not going to believe you when you say I’m great! I’m just going to keep on being me.”
—MICHAEL WALTRIP
addressing the media after a second-place finish at Phoenix in April 2005
“Sometimes, when Bruton opens his mouth, it sounds like he’s constipated.”
—WILLIAM C. FRANCE
NASCAR tycoon, on rival tycoon O. Bruton Smith
“I definitely think me and Michael [Waltrip] could whip their guys in a tag-team match.”
—DALE EARNHARDT JR.
in reference to rival team Richard Childress Racing, at Daytona in 2003
“If Congress didn’t pass a vote I wanted passed, I’d end up saying the first thing that came to my mind, and you can’t do that. When Saddam challenged Bush to a public debate a few weeks ago, Bush didn’t even acknowledge the challenge, because it wouldn’t accomplish anything. It was petty. It was absolutely the right thing to do by not accepting Saddam’s challenge. And that’s why I couldn’t be president, because not only would I have accepted it, I would’ve given him my calling-card number.”
—JIMMY SPENCER
surprising no one by announcing he would not be a candidate for president in 2004
“If we’re going to keep fuel-mileage racing, we might as well build solar cars and let the sun decide who wins.”
—TONY STEWART
“I’m glad I don’t have to face a Randy Johnson fastball or a Warren Sapp hit when I’m releasing a pass, but I bet Tim Duncan is glad he’s not running two hundred miles per hour with forty-two other cars around him, too.”
—KYLE PETTY
“Wonder if they have boiled peanuts in California?”
—KEN SCHRADER
responding to California Speedway getting the Labor Day weekend date once reserved for Darlington
O n a sunny afternoon in the garage area of Las Vegas Motor Speedway, ex-champions David Pearson and Tony Stewart got to know each other.
At the time, Pearson was seventy years old, Stewart thirty-three. Pearson’s last championship occurred in 1969, when what is now Nextel Cup was referred to as Grand National and there were no races in Las Vegas.
Perhaps more than any of his contemporaries, though, Stewart is a throwback to the days when dinosaurs named Pearson, Richard Petty, Cale Yarborough, and Bobby Allison ruled the earth. Earth, at the time, mainly consisted of the South.
Pearson, who won 105 races, was leisurely strolling around with another notable resident of Spartanburg, South Carolina, former car owner and ace mechanic Walter “Bud” Moore. As luck would have it, they happened to be in front of the stall where Stewart’s number 20 Chevrolet rested, shortly after the end of a practice session and as Stewart was climbing out of his orange car.
“Do you know Tony Stewart?” I asked Pearson.
“I’ve met him,” he said. “I don’t know him. I know he can sure enough drive a race car.”
“I think you’d like him,” I said. “Hang on a minute.”
I then walked over in front of the car, where Stewart was discussing various matters of technical significance with his crew chief, Greg Zipadelli.
“David Pearson’s out there,” I said to Stewart. “Want to say hello?”
“Give me a minute,” said Stewart.
I walked back out and started talking with Moore, about whose teams I used to write, and Pearson, the hero of my youth. The topic was familiar: how much times have changed, how not all the changes have been for the best, how much all the cars are just alike, etc. It was the kind of conversation old-timers have regardless of whether they’re athletes or shoe
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