Saturday, December 24, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Kurt Busch finds a ride, but Silly Season still isn't settled
Kurt Busch will see what he can do in the second-rate #51 Phoenix Racing machine, and his move doesn't settle the offseason the way we thought it might have when he left Penske Racing. Click on the title for more from Monday Morning Crew Chief.
Twas the night before Christmas - car style
I found this here and figured I might as well put it up:
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the garage
Not a car was stirring, not even a Dodge
The tyres were hung by the rafters with care
In hopes that Ace Nicholas would fill them with air.
The Volkswagons were parked all snug in their stalls
With visions of winning Indy dreamed by them all.
And Opel in her mag wheels and I in my slicks
Had just zoomed in from a drag in the sticks.
When out on the track, there arose such a roar
I started my engine and yearned to learn more.
Over to the door I zoomed like a flash,
Narrowly missing a Mercedes and avoiding a crash.
The moon over the top of the newly built track
Seemed to be beckoning old race cars back.
When what to my wandering headlights appeared afar
But a souped-up midget and eight other race cars.
With a little old driver so shifty and quick
I knew in a moment it must be "Leadfoot Nick."
Faster than rockets toward us they roared
Recognising them, my timing just soared.
There was Nitro, and Speedy, and Smokey, and Slick
Even Reckless, and Loser, and Pokey, and Brick.
Down through the chute, narrowly missing the wall
Roar away, roar away, now roar away all.
So on through the straight over asphalt they flew
With a midget full of goodies, and Ace Nicholas too.
And then between pingings, I heard in the back
The throaty sound of the whole wild pack.
As I turned down my lights and squeeled around
In came Ace Nicholas wearing a frown.
His jumpsuit was silver with a permanent crease
But lo there were stains from oil and grease.
A string of parts was hung round his waist
The tools he carried showed he had taste.
His boots were black hightops, his gloves of red leather,
And lo and behold he stepped light as a feather.
His gaze was real straight, his arms quite hairy
A scar on his cheek shown red like a berry.
A big ole cigar was clamped tight in his jaw
He just didn't believe in the "No Smoking Law."
A stubble of growth quite covered his chin
But what a man and what a grin.
He was skinny and thin and really quite nice
Yet somehow I knew he could grip like a vice.
He bellowed and cussed but was quick to do work
He tuned all the cars including the "Merc."
Grabbing his creeper and stowing his tools
Boy Oh Boy! Did he look cool!
He honked to his buddies, to the engine gave gas
And away they all peeled each trying to pass.
And I heard him shout as he set the pace
Merry Christmas you all and have a good race!
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the garage
Not a car was stirring, not even a Dodge
The tyres were hung by the rafters with care
In hopes that Ace Nicholas would fill them with air.
The Volkswagons were parked all snug in their stalls
With visions of winning Indy dreamed by them all.
And Opel in her mag wheels and I in my slicks
Had just zoomed in from a drag in the sticks.
When out on the track, there arose such a roar
I started my engine and yearned to learn more.
Over to the door I zoomed like a flash,
Narrowly missing a Mercedes and avoiding a crash.
The moon over the top of the newly built track
Seemed to be beckoning old race cars back.
When what to my wandering headlights appeared afar
But a souped-up midget and eight other race cars.
With a little old driver so shifty and quick
I knew in a moment it must be "Leadfoot Nick."
Faster than rockets toward us they roared
Recognising them, my timing just soared.
There was Nitro, and Speedy, and Smokey, and Slick
Even Reckless, and Loser, and Pokey, and Brick.
Down through the chute, narrowly missing the wall
Roar away, roar away, now roar away all.
So on through the straight over asphalt they flew
With a midget full of goodies, and Ace Nicholas too.
And then between pingings, I heard in the back
The throaty sound of the whole wild pack.
As I turned down my lights and squeeled around
In came Ace Nicholas wearing a frown.
His jumpsuit was silver with a permanent crease
But lo there were stains from oil and grease.
A string of parts was hung round his waist
The tools he carried showed he had taste.
His boots were black hightops, his gloves of red leather,
And lo and behold he stepped light as a feather.
His gaze was real straight, his arms quite hairy
A scar on his cheek shown red like a berry.
A big ole cigar was clamped tight in his jaw
He just didn't believe in the "No Smoking Law."
A stubble of growth quite covered his chin
But what a man and what a grin.
He was skinny and thin and really quite nice
Yet somehow I knew he could grip like a vice.
He bellowed and cussed but was quick to do work
He tuned all the cars including the "Merc."
Grabbing his creeper and stowing his tools
Boy Oh Boy! Did he look cool!
He honked to his buddies, to the engine gave gas
And away they all peeled each trying to pass.
And I heard him shout as he set the pace
Merry Christmas you all and have a good race!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Allmendinger's move creates even more questions in wild NASCAR offseason
A.J. Allmendinger is the lucky driver to get the #22 ride, but that unexpected turn of events keeps the rest of the offseason as foggy as before. Click on the title for more from Monday Morning Crew Chief.
Monday, December 19, 2011
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