The 2012 NASCAR season is officially under way with the running of the Bud Shootout earlier this month and the Gatorade Duels on Thursday night, which set the field for the 54th running of the Daytona 500, an event considered to be the most prestigious race on the NASCAR Cup circuit. Two drivers looking to take checkered flags this year are brothers from Las Vegas. Kurt and Kyle Busch are two of the most talented drivers — with two of the worst attitudes. These are guys who separately made their way into the prestigious Cup series only to piss off every single person in the series.
I feel it's appropriate to talk about fantasy football during the time of year, when so many of us were raised to believe that on Dec. 24, a fat guy in a red suit would break into our homes at night, eat our food, drink our milk and then leave presents under a tree. I'm not saying the idea of Christmas isn't amazing. When I was a kid, I could hardly sleep on Christmas Eve. My sister and I would wake our mom and dad up at ridiculous hours so we could begin tearing into presents (that my parents bought and wrapped).
There is a God-awful part of the already ridiculous film Jerry Maguire when Tom Cruise's character and Cuba Gooding Jr.'s character tearfully hug after Cuba's character gets hurt making a touchdown catch, comes to, and then dances in the end zone.
This part is particularly obnoxious for many reasons. Cuba's character is an egomaniac who is making millions, yet wants more. Following his end zone celebration, his character is offered a multi-million dollar contract. WHAT. THE. HELL? I'm going to refrain from going off on the rest of that lame-ass movie, but I have made my feelings clear. Acting like a jackass after successfully doing your job, then being rewarded for your stupidity is unreal. The worst part is, the players who seek attention from us always end up getting it. Dancing with cheerleaders, pulling cell phones out, signing the football ... the list goes on.
One of the sickest qualities human beings possess is the twisted love we have for gossip. We go about our days like normal people, then as soon as we hear about some juicy scandal on TV or internet we turn into our mothers at the check-out line in the grocery store relishing in the latest ridiculous town scandal. I hate that I'm guilty of doing this. I hate how I want to know who screwed whom. I hate that I care who is closeted or who tucks their penis and balls between their legs and only answers to the name 'Lady Giraffe Pussy' between the hours of 8:00pm-9:45pm (okay, I've never heard of anyone doing the last one, but oh how I wish it were true of someone).
How are you? Me? I'm good. Dealing with a sinus infection, but I'll be fine.
Here's the deal. I like you. Not in a romantic way, but I'm a fan of car racing. Always have been. Huge fan, actually. I go to two NASCAR races a year and have followed auto racing all my life (I'm 33). I'm writing to let you know I'm not happy with a few choices you have made.
