Reading through the USA Today and in flight mags over the last week, I drew this conclusion.  Plenty of NASCAR drivers, and some are friends of the Freaks, are just flat-out on herbal derivatives undetected by the USONC (United States Olympic NASCAR Committee).

Damn it. When I hear another driver say we had a top ten car this week, I hope his or her owner takes the nearest flyswatter and slaps’em like a righteous mom did to her flappin’-mouth-kids in the 60’s.

I’m stepping out on a lazy limb on this one but I don’t think Athens’ Olympic marathoner and bronze medalist Deena Kastor entered her two and a half hour, ninety-five degree battle hoping she had a top ten finish in her.

Hell no Marlin, Martin, Mayfield and McMurray.

When this extraordinary woman trained and ran upwards of 141 miles a week, wearing a long-sleeve shirt, tights and a hat, in preparation for her run Pheidippides took in 490 B.C. (Before Cup), the last thing on her no-fat mind was just to finish the race.  It was to win the MF'er.

You’re thinking just like I am here.  Comparing Olympic athletes to NASCAR drivers is, now say it in your best Queer Eye lisp, just so silly sassy boy Sargent.

Agreed.  Some drivers can’t count the laps of a 100-lap shoot out.

DRIVER: Hmmm, now you move the six over the 9, cross out the 4 to the lowest common denominator divided by 8.4…shiii, momma go make me some eggs.

You think Crash is happy if Lugg goes into a national SpeedFreaks radio and television show hoping for a top ten effort on the evening?  I know, Lugg is just happy to have a job.  You think Statt is looking for a top ten effort each and every Sunday night?

The Freaks don’t wait on the finish line to come after two hours.  We’re eating the bastard from start to finish, dropping in a bitch and Ronnie on occasion, all the while looking down at number two through ten every Sunday night.

I could see it now.  Danny down at the local Dairy Queen telling his boss Leroy, “hey boss, I just lined up a top-ten M&M Blizzard for one of our customers.”

Even when you go to the growler to drop off some packages, you don’t leave that stall hoping for a top-ten wipe.  Now do you?

So, NASCAR drivers, spare the fans and your fifteen-million dollar sponsors one of your numerously concocted pat answers (see week-in week-out) and just tell us the car sucked ass or you just couldn’t hack it during the race.  Or, from here on in, each time we hear you drop one of those top-ten car bullsh** comments, remember, we might just come to the conclusion you don’t have the cleanest backside in the pits.

Ya dig?  Pun firmly intended.