One week.
It's been one week since my first real experience in a Sprint Cup machine. An experience that ended quite badly, as it were. My ribs are still sore, and I'm quite sure the Autobacs symbol on my TV panel has now become a bull's-eye for one Mr. Cale Gale.
But I can't worry about that right now.
Right now, I need to be focusing on the first of tonight's races, The Budweiser Select.
Since I'm with a new team, I'm not in the main event tonight. But if I can manage to finish as the top Dodge in this little "heat race", I'll be in the Shootout, with the superstars. I'll be starting 6th, so I won't have to worry about being caught in that wolf-pack in the back.
We've brought brand new cars here for both races, instead of the test cars from last weekend. The one I'm running tonight hadn't even touched the track until about an hour ago for inspections. Speaking of which…
"How'd it go?" I ask my personal evil genius.
"Everything cleared. You're ready to roll." Chris says as he briefly looks up from his clipboard. Something bugs me about his reply, though.
"You ok, Sporktacular One?" I ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah… Just… I'm a bit nervous." He starts. "I mean, the test session was fine because there really wasn't anything on the line. This is your first race, though… I don't wanna make a bad call and ruin it for ya."
"Dude. If I thought you were gonna make a bad call, I wouldn't have hired you." I say, causing him to grin a little. "Now buck up. We've got a show to steal."
There's still about fifteen minutes before said show begins, but honestly, my nerves can't take just standing around out here. I decide to go ahead and get in the car. I throw on my headphones, and slowly start strapping in, just trying to calm myself down.
"What's with you, ya hermit?"
I look over to see K-Dub and Jackie standing beside my car.
"Kev, you know the sun is trying to kill me. I have to avoid it at all costs." I reply with a chuckle. "So, how many times have you guys argued over the day?"
"There's no argument. He already knows I'll be the one in the show." Jack replies arrogantly, while elbowing Kevin in the ribs.
"Psh. Please. I'm gonna smoke you like the product on your car." Kevin fires back with a grin just as big as Jack's.
"And while you guys are having your little fight, I'll be taking the checkers."
Damn I'm good.
"Well, who are you goin' with if you have the chance?"
How did I not see that one coming?
"I'll go with the first one I see, of course." I reply after a minute, trying to be as impartial as possible. God knows I'd like to have either one of 'em in the main event with me if I get there. The more friends I have, the better. The three of us exchange a handshake, and they go back to their cars. Sporky then comes over to the window, to take my music player, give me my Vitaminwater, and hook my window net.
"Ready to do this?" He asks.
"As ready as I'll ever be." I reply while slipping my helmet on.
"Ok then. Stay safe, and kick some ass." He says before leaving to get on the pit box.
Not too long now… They're doing the National Anthem now… Pretty badly, to be honest, but I digress. The fly-over was pretty awesome, though, seeing it from the car instead of the stands. With that, only one thing remains…
"Gentlemen! Start! Your! Engines!!!"
Gah… Thought they'd never get around to it. I flip my switches, turn on the radio, and adjust my gloves. Sporky comes over the radio to test it out, and make sure I have it on.
"Alrighty. Keep an eye on your temps for me. Don't do anything too crazy now."
"Me? Crazy? Naaaaaaaaaaah." I reply jokingly.
We all finally start to roll off of pit row. It all begins now… My only real worry is starting on the outside lane. The car just wasn't responding very well up top in testing. That was a major factor in that accident I caused…
But this is a new day, a new car, and even a new time of day.
We're all out of turn four, heading into the tri-oval. The pace car is off… Ready… Steady…
GO!
The green flag drops, and my first race is underway. I'm forced to stay up top going into the backstretch, as I wait for an opening on the bottom line. As soon as my spotter tells me I'm clear, I slide down in front of the 33 car. In a fit of irony, I end up behind my "nemesis" from testing, Cale Gale. Time to make up for my bonehead move last week. I give him a slight push, and he slides into third as we cross the line.
Going into the backstretch, I get a huge push from the 33, moving me into second. I try to move past the 3 of Dillon for the lead, but no dice right now. I'm willing the ride around for a few laps, though. So long as I'm the top Dodge.
"How's it feeling?" Chris asks.
"Not bad." I reply. "A little loose, but not bad."
The more I follow the 3, the more I get the feeling I can win this thing. I try to dive to the inside for the lead a couple times, but I never had the momentum. That is, until lap eight. I get a great push from the 02, which enables me to lead my very first lap of Sprint Cup competition. The lead doesn't last too long, though, as Dillon flies back by me on the backstretch.
"Fun while it lasted, at least." I say over the radio to Chris.
"Don't worry. You're looking great out there. Just a matter of time before you get it back."
And he was right.
A couple laps later, I'm getting a monstrous push from the 33, it looks like, as me and Dillon duel down the backstretch. Going into turn three, my spotter tells me I'm clear, and I immediately slide up in front of the 3, to make sure he doesn't try to get me out of four. Bowyer gives me another push, though, and it seals this lap up in my favor.
"Woo! Feelin' good!" I yell over the radio. But the happiness has to disappear quickly. Both Bowyer and Dillon want the lead, and I have to start playing defense. Bowyer tries to make his move on the backstretch, but I'm ready for him, and I'm able to block him. This, however, leaves the top line open for Dillon to charge back. He's able to get to my door, but no further than that. I end up sliding up the track, though, and I feel a tap on my side. I'm able to counter it, and keep the lead, but now there's a caution. I make it back to the line, and line up behind the pace car as I wait for news on the caution…
"So, we've had a huge multi-car crash coming out of turn four. The parties involved were Austin Dillon, Brad Coleman, Regan Smith, Jimmy Spencer, Scott Riggs, Mark Martin, David Ragan, Juan Pablo Montoya, Max Papis, Aric Almirola, Mike Wallace, Mike Garvey, and Sam Hornish. Everybody appears to be ok, despite some hard hits."
"Tough break for Dillon and Coleman, though. They had a great race going."
"Most definitely, but that's just how it goes in this sport. They'll pack it up and try again next week, though, at the 51st Daytona 500."
"Gah. This is boring." I say to Sporky.
"Just relax. They're gonna restart in a lap or so."
"How are Jack and Kevin?"
"They're in eighth and ninth. Running pretty good."
"And where's the closest Dodge?"
"Nineteenth. Barring something catastrophic happening to ya, we're pretty much locked in."
"Awesome. Thanks bro."
"Not a prob. Go get 'em, Venger."
The pace car finally pulls off, and we're back to green. Somehow, I managed to relax too much, and I get a slow restart, The 33 tries to get around me, but I'm able to regain enough speed to hold him off. He tries it again coming out of turn four, but I'm more than capable of holding him off this time. Seven to go at the line.
As the laps wind down, the other drivers have become far more aggressive. I notice the 21 behind me. As much as I'd love to see the Wood Brothers make the show, I realize I can't do that to Kev or Jackie, so I shake him loose, and hang him out to dry. Sorry Bill.
But then again, that might not've been the best idea. I look in my mirror to see an all too familiar logo: Rheem. Looks like Cale has caught up with me. Now, doubt has infiltrated my psyche. Is he gonna race me clean? Or is he gonna pay me back? I'm sure as hell hoping for the former as we come to the white flag lap.
"Last lap! Let's win this thing!"
Oh, Sporky. You do wonders for my confidence. I try to get as much of a lead as I can, without getting too far away. The last thing I need is for these guys to gang up and freight train me down the backstretch. As of right now, though, nobody's stepping up to make a challenge to my knowledge. I speed into turn three, trying to hold the bottom line as best as I can. The car is jumping out a little bit, but not enough to really mess me up.
The flashbulbs are popping. The fans are cheering. The checkers are waving. Is this really happening…? Please tell me that it is!
"Yes! It is! You've got it!"
"Sporky. Next time, warn me when I'm thinking out loud."
But I can't celebrate just yet, because here comes the 37. If he's been saving his revenge for this moment, then he truly is a cruel, miserable bastard. He's trying to get me on the outside, but he has no help. It's finally happening…!
"And at the line, it's the 19 year old rookie from Sophia, West Virginia! Brett Hatfield wins The Budweiser Select! Cale Gale is second, Marcos Ambrose is third, Jack Stroski is fourth, and rounding out the top five is NASCAR's Iron Man, Ricky Rudd."
"Great racing here tonight, and we're just warming up."
"That's right, Larry Mac. Now we get to see our top four do battle with the sport's superstars in our main event, the Budweiser Shootout. Driver introductions are coming up in just a few minutes, but let's send it down to Steve Byrnes, who's with our Bud Select winner."
Stunned.
I just can't believe it happened so soon. Granted, it isn't a points race, but it's still a win. A win in my first time out. If I wasn't already the talk of the town after last week, I am now. I throw on my hat, and finally climb out of the car, being met with a shower of Vitaminwater here in the garage.
"Heh, calm down guys. We've still got a main event to run."
They look at me like I had just told them that their mothers had AIDS.
"Eh, screw it. VICTORY BABY! WOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I splash ''em with my own bottle. I dive into my team's arms, and almost punch Chris accidentally whilst pumping my fist in the air. He'd be glaring at me right now, I'd think, but he's just as stoked as I am. I then notice the reporter behind me, waiting on an interview.
"Brett, that was a masterful race you drove out there. What do you think changed in a week's time?"
"Just watched a lot of film, seeing where I made my mistakes last week. Talked to my peeps about what I needed to fix. Just a lot of studying."
"That said, what do you think about your chances in the Shootout later tonight?"
"I've got the best cars, the best crew, and the best team leader out here. There's no way I'm losing."
"Bold words from the young rookie. Back to you, fellas."
I take another swig of my Vitaminwater, and then go over to the pit box to look at some race tape with Sporky. We've got about 30 minutes before the race, and 20 before driver introductions. Some folks from Budweiser came over to give me the winner's hat, but due to my beliefs, I'm not wearing it. Just gonna keep it as a collector's item. They also ask me to choose my theme song for the intros. Too cool. I relay ''em my choice, and go back to looking over the video.
"Gah, looks like Jack and Kevin just barely made it through that wreck." I say to Sporky, who's showing me the big crash from lap 11. Apparently that little tap Dillon gave me propelled him into the wall and caused a huge mess. Overall, I still looked a little fidgety out there, but I guess that was to be expected. It looks like Jack made it into the Shootout too, which is good for me. I've got some help out there. Kinda sucks for K-Dub, though, as it looked like his car was just as good. Oh well.
Just a few minutes now before I get to do this all over again. Time to make sure they don't forget my name.
"And now introducing, the final entrant into the Bud Shootout, the winner of the Budweiser Select!"
The guitar chord hits…
"I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD! THEY COUNCIL ME, THEY UNDERSTAND, THEY TALK TO ME!"
"From Sophia, West Virginia! He is the driver of the #89 Super Autobacs Dodge Charger! Brett Hatfield!"
As I walk out onto the stage, my crew is waiting for me. I exchange handshakes with 'em all, then, I just stand in the middle of the stage and soak it all in. This is just way too cool. They even have the stagelights synced to the song. I hold up my Select trophy, and flames shoot out of the stage. WOW. This is better than what I dreamed it would be.
After my intro, and a few group pictures, it doesn't take the stagehands long to dismantle the stage, so we can go racing. It appears I'll be lining up 8th for the main event, with Jack lining up directly behind me in 10th. Awesome.
"Got my back out there?"
Speak of the devil.
"You know it, guy." I reply to Jack as I start to climb in my car. I'd say more to him, but I'm not in the mood for talking. I'm ready to race again.
"Let's show 'em what a couple of rookies with a dream can do."
We go through the opening ceremonies once again, and not long after that, the green is dropped. Right off the bat, though, I notice something is slightly… Off, I guess you could say. The car starts to squirm going into turn one, making me scrape the wall.
"Chris, we may have a problem." I say into my radio.
"We haven't even touched the car since the first race. Keep me posted, though. I'll figure out a fix before the pitstop."
I'm able to fall back in line at about 10th, and I start making my way back through the field. By lap three, I've moved into second place behind my hero, Kevin Harvick. The car is still kinda wonky, though. I can't quite put my finger on what's going on, but I know I don't like it.
But I can't think about that right now, as I'm getting a monster push from the 47. Into the lead I go again! And this time, it's past my hero. Way too cool. The car seems to feel a little better in the clean air, but still very wobbly.
"Any better?"
"Not much." I respond. I should be put more at ease by leading, but I'm not. The feeling gets worse as the laps go on.
"I'm losing it, Sporky."
"Just hang in there. We'll fix it on the pitstop."
Maybe that's slightly reassuring, but right now, I'm fearing I won't even make it to said pitstop. It gets to a point where I just can't hold the bottom anymore, and the 88 and 98 pass me for the lead. I fall back to fifth, and somehow, that's a lot better than I thought it'd be. I'm able to fight back for the lead with Jack and the 14, but I lose the car a bit, and scrape the turn one wall once again.
Not good.
Now the car is in worse shape than before. Not even a full lap later, I lose control and hit the 88 accidentally. He's able to recover, but I'm not. The 44 gets into me, and around we go.
"Oh shit. Not this again!" I yell as I try to brace for impact.
The initial impact wasn't so bad, and I was able to get the car refired at least. I figured I could limp it back around on the track apron, but as I turn the car down to hit the apron, the 90 of Menard smashes my entire front, which probably does the same to my insides as well.
"Brett. Say something."
"………..Something."
"Well, you're still sarcastic at least." Sporky says with a slight hint of relief in his voice.
The tow truck comes around to pick me up, and I go on that oh-so-lovely ambulance ride. They decide to keep me longer than I thought they would, thanks to my pre-existing rib injury from last week, meaning I couldn't see the end of the race. Apparently Logano won. Lucky bastard. Jack was fifth, which is good for him. Wish I coulda helped him out, though.
Sporky is looking over the shattered remains of my car, trying to see what went wrong. He's hypothesizing that it was a change in weather conditions, though, since none of the crew touched the car during the intermission.
They have me laid out here in the care center for further evaluation. Apparently they believe I might have a concussion, even though I don't remember blacking out. I still can't believe how this day ended up after starting so well with that win. I hope to god this isn't going to be a recurring theme.
But at least this race had no bearing on the points. That's next week.
And that's where I make myself into a legend.
The Daytona 500…