‘Twas the race before Christmas, and all through the stands
Not a person was leaving, they were Hardcore Race Fans;
The race flags were flying so high in the sky,
As the excited fans watched the raucous fly-by,

The words of the National Anthem were sung,
And the famous command lept off the Grand Marshall’s tongue
I had my headset settled on top of my pit cap;
With the scanner on “Autoscan” until the first lap.

The engines lit up with such a great clatter,
I clamped my hands to my ears to hear the team chatter.
Around the track the cars flew like a flash,
Tore through the air and hoped not to crash.

The mix of colors delighted the eyes,
Of the fans in the stands watching intently nearby.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear?
The famed black #3 hitting a car in the rear.

The other driver was good and recovered quite quick,
But Earnhardt was faster, always so slick.
As he rounded turn four in the lead as they came,
The announcer he shouted and called them by name.

Now Petty! Now Bonnett! Now Allison! Now Orr!
On Kulwicki! On Richmond! On Roberts and more!
Three and now four wide, so close to the wall,
Now Boogity, Boogity, Boogity ya’ll!

Faster and faster the cars seemed to fly,
The fans cheered loudly as they went roaring by.
On and on around the huge racetrack they flew,
With hopes of checkers and the championship too.

And then, in an instant, a car on its roof,
Rubbin’ is racing, and this was the proof.
I gasped as I saw the car spinning around,
And cringed at the unique and horrible sound,

Of metal on asphalt and the smell of burnt tire,
The result of a driver overwhelmed by desire.
When the green flag flies, every driver wants the win,
And sometimes that need gets the better of him.

The very close racing and stiff competition,
Can change a driver’s typically mild disposition.
One slight nudge at such high speeds,
Can send a car spinning if he doesn’t concede.

In this case, the wrecked car was driven by Evans,
Just one of the legends in this race in the heavens.
He exited the car with a smile on his face,
Knowing that this would not be his last race.

He even managed a good natured wave,
To the man who ended his race early that day.
A man named Weatherly dressed in a Peter Pan suit,
Who grinned back as proof of an end to the dispute.

At the finish it was young Alexander who won,
He did a smoky burnout then into the infield he spun,
Doing donuts much to the delight of the fans,
Who were regular visitors to those heavenly stands.

It was a great race, certainly one for the books,
As I gathered my things and took one last look,
At the winner’s celebration and the now silent track,
And I said to myself ‘I can’t wait to come back.’

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