My interest was piqued. What exactly was a "practice grudge match?" Did this mean something like, "I really don't have anything against you, Mr. Fancypants Drag Racer. I'm just preparing for an as-yet-to-be-determined point in the future when I most undoubtedly will have something against you and want to settle it on the track?" I really had never heard of practicing having a grudge, but the idea most certainly appeals to my sense of pragmatism. Practice your grudges now and then when you actually do have a grudge you'll be primed and ready to answer frostily, shoot daggers with your gaze and generally back-stab with a great deal of efficiency.

The solicitation pulled me in further. After a couple of practice rounds against the pros, we writing hacks would be "invited to compete against each other to determine the winner of a special NHRA POWERade Media Challenge trophy." (Crazy mix of caps and lower case theirs.)

With visions of trophies and kicking sedentary journalist butt on something resembling a track dancing in my head I made my way to the vast and uncharted San Gabriel Valley.

ADVERTISEMENT

So, into the room I stalked like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western, 3x5 cards with an acceptance speech on them for the trophy-bestowing ceremony in my holster. I eyed the competition carefully. Fat. Middle-aged. Men. Perfect! I was ready to tell them to send the trophy to the engravers now, because it was as good as mine.

I sat through the snooze-inducing list of sponsors, all the while replaying the practice tree in my head and the words and mannerisms that I would use to pretend to be a gracious winner when I got the hole-shot on them one after the other.

We went outside for the exciting (?) unveiling of the new/old Toliver car with the Schick Razor paint scheme.

OK, OK. Enough already! Hurry up with this nonsense. I'm readyto be a winner!

And then it started to sprinkle. As in rain.

"Sorry," they said, "We can't race today. But here's a credit for the video games! Enjoy yourself!"

Enjoy myself? ENJOY?! There would be no racing for me! No glory! No trophy! Nothing. And to make matters worse, their little weather-controlling scheme got me back writing and back into drag racing. Sneaky, conniving bastards!

So here I am. The Courtney Love of drag race writing off the wagon once again. But Betty Ford will just have to wait. After all, the day before the 2004 Finals is the perfect opportunity to schedule a rain date.