Hey, Drag Racers! It’s Graduation Day!

6/7/04

Jeff Burk Photo

ou know, at this time of year I see all the kids getting ready to leave school and I think back to my years at St. Monica High School. The pimples, the unrequited crushes, the homework, the broken hearts, the detention. Yep, I see those kids in their caps and gowns and it makes me say a prayer of thanks to the educational gods that I finally was able to graduate and never, never, never have to go back there again.

And then I remember. I’m involved in drag racing. Step into the world of drag racing and you’ve stepped into a wonderland that makes the institutional green walls of high school look like a Hawaiian sunset. Drag racing is high school but with nastier kids. I don’t know what it is about the odor of nitromethane, but apparently it has the power to transform grown men into a gaggle of Mean Girls and that‘s just the beginning.

Gimme a D! Gimme an R! Gimme an A! Gimme a G! What’s that spell? A bunch of guys who redefine a word that begins with a “B” and rhymes with “itch.” I’m beginning to think that PMS stands for "Participating in Motor Sports." Take a look around. I defy you to find a group of blonde cheerleaders who can out-backbite a drag race team. In my own experience, I’ve had racers tell me “If you bring so-and-so into my pit, I will never speak to you again!” I’ve seen team members throw temper tantrums (and car parts) over missing lucky charms. I’ve seen race teams pass other race teams in the pits and collectively snub them by turning their backs and not speaking to them. I’ve even seen all-boy catfights over stolen sponsors. The pep squad could definitely take some serious lessons.

And then there’s the snobbery. Don’t get me started on the “Well, we run fuel”, “We will only run heads-up,” “I could never drive a car that ran slower than 6’s.” You want to know where you can hear things like this said in the same tone? Hang out with the popular girls and substitute the word “shop” for “run” and the phrase “at Nordstrom” for whatever cool class you think you’re running.

It’s not only the attitude that racers have got nailed down, it’s the rampant gadgetry lust. In high school you see one of the popular kids come in with some designer label clothing or high tech device and then three weeks later everyone who’s trying to be in with the in-crowd has the same thing. Someone on a drag team gets set-back blowers, suddenly everyone has set-back blowers. Are the cars running that much better with them? No. But Mom, you don’t understand … they look so cool!

Let’s not forget the whirlwind of teenage dating translated into drag racing terms. Owners, drivers and crew chiefs trade partners more than couples in a game of Spin the Bottle. Gossip runs rampant about who’s going with whom and who’s leaving which team and who’s telling what team the other team’s secret setup. But not everyone wins in this frenetic game of exchanging friendship piston-rings and promises of undying devotion (until the better driver/crew chief/ride frees up). There are always the ones that get left out. The only thing sadder than seeing the class wallflower get stood up at the school dance is seeing last year’s wunderkind driver without a team this year. They wander the pits looking that poignant combination of hopeful and discouraged that’s like a big neon sign flashing an arrow down with the letters L-O-S-E-R blinking in succession.

There are also the popularity contests. Instead of “most likely to succeed,” we get “Rookie of the Year.” Like “most likely,” the “rookie” award is bestowed not because this person actually was deserving of merit, but because they had the daddy who donated the most to the high school gym fundraiser. A scientific study has been done (or, if it hasn’t been done, it should be) showing a direct correlation between being chosen “most likely/rookie” and soon after squandering the family fortune, getting expelled from college and/or totaling your father’s car.

Then there’s the prom, or as we know it, the awards ceremony. You have to either a. buy a spangly, sequin-covered, god-awful ugly dress that, despite the fact that you tell yourself that you can justify the expense by wearing it at some future soiree, you will never wear again or b. rent an overpriced waiter’s uniform that you thank the fashion gods you never will have to wear again. Like the prom, it’s boring, the music is bad, and you know what? You’re not going to be chosen as the prom king or queen. The question then is: why do we go in the first place? Because we don’t want to miss something. Is there anything to miss? No. But, if we don’t go, that will be the year that something happens, so we have to go just to make sure that nothing happens and it’s tortuously boring for everyone else too.

So, while June rolls around and kids everywhere are getting out of school, we are in the midst of a drag racing season that doesn‘t end for another six months. Wait a minute, did I say drag racing was like high school? People in high school actually graduate from high school, get summer jobs and grow up. Let me start this story over again …

Drag racing is reform school but with nastier kids. And you’re flunking. .