The Legend (28 page)

“Take it
to the truck.” Kyle said. I could hear the disappointment in his voice even
through the radio.

“Sorry
guys,” I said.
“Great season.
Way to battle back and
pull off a good season.”

It turned
out later; we had a few rockers that weren’t torched back at the shop back
home. That bent the push rod, held open the valve and allowed the piston to hit
it. Everything came apart after that.

Disappointed
and frustrated, I took the car to the truck. Sway met me at the hauler and we
snuck over to Tate’s pit box to watch with his crew chief, Jeb.

On the way
there, she leaned into my shoulder. “Sorry.”

Leaning
into her side, I whispered into her ear pulling her into my side. “You can’t
win them all honey.”

She
giggled tucking nicely under my arm. “Where’s my husband?”

By now, we
were at Tate’s pit so I just laughed at her.

“What’s
the points look like?” I asked Jeb pulling Sway on my lap.

He smiled.
“He needs to get third or higher or you will win by one point.”

“Really?”
I
thought for sure that I was mathematically out of it now but I also scored five
points for leading a few laps so that apparently gave me a small advantage.

If anyone
was going to beat me for the championship, I wanted it to be Tate.

I thought
back to when Tyler won Turkey Night back in 98’ and I how I felt then. Like I
said then, you want to win so badly but then you think about the other guy who
wanted it just as badly. Over time, you gain an appreciation for every racer
out there knowing their drive and variation is just as strong as yours or else
they wouldn’t be here. It has to be because why else would they risk everything
to do this?

I’ll
admit, when he took over third with one lap to go, I was disappointed but it
was a bittersweet moment.

And when
he won, I was the first to congratulate him on pit road. I told him exactly
what he told me back when I won my fifth championship over him. “It feels just
as gratifying watching you win as it does winning.”

I wasn’t
lying either. I
was
proud of Tate. Over the years he had become more
than a mentor on the track, he was one of my best friends.

When
you’re constantly pulled in different directions it’s the relationships inside
of that tire variation you value the most. Over those years, I valued that the
most.

10.
          
Pinched – Jameson

Pinched –
When a race car on the inside squeezes an outside car by the outside wall. This
will cause the outside car to slow down and follow.

It seems my
schedule had become a revolving door. Home, away from home, the track, the
shop, home and away again, and eventually you’re never anywhere but on the way.
It seems you’re saying, “I’ll see you next week.” And then that turns into.
“See you next month.” It’s an argument with your wife. “We’ll talk about it
later.” But you never do. It’s a conversation with your kids and asking them to
take it easy on their mom but they never do. After a while you almost feel like
the “on the way” is never really an end. There’s no commitment to the life at
home, no responsibility but you’re letting your absence become the tie that
binds.

When
you’re present there are so many things that require your presence none of them
get the attention they deserve.

During the
offseason I thought I would get a break since I didn’t win the championship but
Alley had my schedule full. First was a photo shoot the week after the banquet.
I didn’t like doing these things for the simple fact that wasn’t me. I wasn’t
the image they were creating of me in the photograph. It seemed easy, do a
photo shoot and get paid right, have some fun. But there’s so much more to it
than that. I do this photo shoot. They put the pictures in an ad or a billboard
with a product and suddenly I’m standing behind that product. Well maybe I do
believe in that particular product or their business, but it doesn’t matter
anymore. It’s a game their playing and I didn’t want any part of it. I wanted
to race. I understood fans wanted an image to look up to but maybe I wasn’t
that image?

Again, we
are allowed one image, one angle.

People
think because I’m standing behind that particular product suddenly I’m
something to them, standing up for something they believe. Suddenly they
believe I’m more compassionate than what I am or friendlier, easy going,
capable of more things, but I’m not. Off the track I am the same as everyone
else. I struggle just as easily as they would. But the public, the child
looking up to me wanting to do what I’ve done doesn’t believe that. Hyped by distance
and imagination, we become more heroic when we’re not that at all. We’re simply
doing something we love.

Alley went
with me and I tried to get out of it numerous times. Her answer every time was,
“Suck it up asshole.”

“Why do
you always schedule this shit for me. I don’t like getting my picture taken.”

Alley
glared as we opened the door to the studio. “It’s part of the job. You should
know that by now.”

When they,
as in the flamboyant guy behind the lens and the Jersey snob beside him, told
me what I’d be doing, I said. “No. I’m not doing that.”

“You don’t
really have a choice, Jameson,” Alley said barely making eye contact with me. I
had a feeling she was holding back on what they
really
wanted to do.

“Oh yes I
do. I can leave.” She caught me by my hooded sweatshirt before I even made it
two feet.

“You will
get your ass back in there.” I couldn’t argue with that. These photo shoots
were what sponsors paid for. Like it or not this was part of the game.

I did not
enjoy that photo shoot at all. To me it was as invasive as that damn vasectomy.
To add fuel to that particular fire, they put oil on me.
Fucking
baby oil.
You can only imagine what that did to my mood after that.

I gathered
that this was why Alley avoided my eyes this entire time. She knew what they
had planned for me. It was a planned execution as Casten would say.

When Alley
finally looked at me, as they lathered me up again, I mouthed, “I hate you.”

She
fucking winked.

My wife’s
reaction to the photographs was good. I threw them on the coffee table and
flopped down next to her on the couch. “I hate doing these.”

She took
one glance at them and gasped. “Holy shit Jameson! Those are fucking hot!”

My mood
came around and I nodded with arrogance. “Naturally, now,” I pulled her onto my
lap. “…show me some love. It was a horrible experience.”

“Oh I plan
to.” But she didn’t. She was far too engrossed in the pictures.

The one of
me with the top button of my jeans undone with me grabbing my gear seemed to be
her favorite. That was aside from the one with me, barefoot, in a tux with the
tie loose, buttons undone and my head bent forward leaning against the car with
my helmet in one hand and the other tucked in my pants pocket.

“Jesus,
there’s nothing sexier than you wearing a tux barefoot.”

I gave her
a funny look and she laughed. “It’s sexy, believe me.”

The only
one I liked was the one with my fingers laced in a chain-link fence, my eyes
focused on the camera, glaring. All that was truly in focus were my eyes and
the green leaving the rest of the photograph in black and white with the smoke
bellowing around me. Below the picture was a caption for the magazine that
said:

Never underestimate Rowdy Riley.

Funny
enough, that was the photograph where they doused me in oil.

“How the hell
did they get oil on you?” Sway asked.

I gave her
a glare. “It wasn’t planned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.”

Sway was
too engrossed in the pictures again to notice my departure.

It’s not easy
for a race car driver to dominate a race by
himself
.
But a driver, any driver, had the potential to make a bad team win just as easy
as he can lose a race for a good team. He can dominate a result, yes, but that
is not the same thing. He can’t dominate a race, because, separate from logging
laps and battling for the lead or a position, he is not quite part of the
entire race.

In
basketball, for example, one player can dominate a game for he has the ability
to score points and control the ball. Even in baseball, or football, one player
can score the most runs or a quarterback can control the game.

In racing,
rarely can a driver dominate the entire race. A good driver, or a good team for
that matter can find the right combination, the right moment and make a good
pass, a quick pit stop, a gamble with fuel mileage, and gain the advantage
needed, but the impact is rarely sustained without a complete effort. That’s no
different than anything else in life. I’ve learned, through my own mistakes,
you can’t do everything yourself and winning never happens just because of one
person.

Ask any
racer and he will tell you that if he wants to win. That’s why he races. To
him, it matters if he wins or finishes second. For a racer, that’s all that
matters.

Owners,
drivers, crew chiefs all like to win. It’s the nature of the sport. They are
used to winning too because how else did they get to be great competitors?

Money is a
consideration for all sides but regardless we chase the victory wherever that
may be.

Here’s the
difference between an owner and a driver these days. An owner, well he can only
win where’s he’s at. So if a driver isn’t winning with his team, he can leave
if his contract allows and chase that victory with another team. It’s as simple
as that.

So what
happens to our sport when that happens?

Owners
chase drivers, salaries skyrocket, fans pay in ticket prices and before you
know it, you’re creating mythical creatures just based on money.

Maybe
that’s why I stayed where I was all these years. We were winning and we had
what we needed. Mostly I attribute this to the fact that I wasn’t in it for
money, I was in it to win and be the best. I could do that with this team
whether it
be
in the Cup series or the
WoO
.

I feel
like I would never be able to justify the money I’ve made over the years. Sure
the possessions were nice and I never had to worry about my bank account
running dry but I can’t say that I could justify it. I can explain it, sure,
the danger factor, but that’s not the same thing. It’s the nature of the
entertainment business.

The fact
of the matter was I was doing something I always did for nothing and would
continue to do it before after the money.
For nothing.

But what
does happen when that money stops? Eventually it will stop and you have to
prepare yourself for that. I like to think I had. I secured a sturdy financial
position for myself. I invested in things that would return without investing
money. I bought property, I bought homes, I ran a business, and I bought a few
businesses. I invested in possessions that offered return because I knew
eventually the money would stop. I wouldn’t race professionally forever. Yes I
would always race but not for money.

The other
factor is what does that money
do
to the driver? Do
they race the way they do because they’re now being paid to? Do they change?
Some do. I guarantee you that some change. I’ve seen it happen. No rookie would
want to believe it, or fans, or most drivers but on the track, in a race, more
money, less money, racing for a championship, an aggressive pass, a victory, a
quick stop, they all come from instinct, reflexive, adrenaline fueled
competition.

Money,
like other motivations, comes from the mind and has nothing to do with it.
Money can’t change it.

Over the
years, I wasn’t surprised to find drivers just like I was. Rager Sweet, driver
for my No. 99 Solar Seals sponsored sprint car, was one of them. Did I mention
he was driving one of my sprint cars? Yeah, he was. He was gritty, hotheaded
and downright arrogant at times.
Just like I was at his age.
Who am I kidding, I’m still that way. I like to think I have a little reserve
though. Rager did not.

When he
was suspended for the final two races for fighting once again, I had to sit him
down. It was entertaining to me that I was talking about fighting when I
myself, struggled with this one. It’d been years since I took a swing at
another driver though.

So I
started by saying what Tate told me one afternoon when I shoved him after the
Bristol night race for a pass I didn’t feel needed to be as dirty as he made
it.

“This
sport doesn’t need you.” Harsh I know, but it’s the truth and back then, that
was what I needed to hear.

He laughed
as I thought he would but listened. That was the one thing I appreciated about
Rager was that he did hear you out. Whether he followed the advice was yet to
be seen.