Well let me just quote the late-great Colonel Sanders, who said…”I’m too drunk to taste this chicken.”

Talladega Nights probably won’t go down in history as a cultural high-water mark, but it had its moments.  And though I grew up in the South, I have to admit to thinking NASCAR was peopled with arcadian underachievers when the truth was quite different.  I didn’t come to comprehend my own ignorance until fate offered me a chance to work on the periphery of some of the races, and I saw firsthand the level of technological sophistication, dedication, and desire that goes into the sport.  I later got to climb into one of those racecars and slide around the track at a fraction of the speed of the boys on raceday, whereupon my heart traveled north of its usual location and I gained a new appreciation for the nerves it must take to do that every week in heavy traffic when you and everyone else is operating at all times on the ragged edge of control.  In the photo below, my friend Jughead gets stuffed in for his date with destiny.  If you ain’t first, you’re last…indeed.  (13 April, 2007  Lebanon, Tennessee)

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