It’s funny how excellence can change a person. Jimmie Johnson grew up in San Diego rooting for the underdog, for a Padres team wearing those brown-and-gold uniforms and a Chargers squad that endured several forgettable seasons following an NFL merger with the AFL.
She could have marketed it beyond belief, promoting her brand on the whole skimpy bikini and leaning over the race car thing. She could have followed that television reality show with her family by launching a campaign of skin and dragsters to no end.
This is what Tom Busch sees weekly that NASCAR fans don’t: one of the best Sprint Cup drivers in the world spending his day off under the hood of a car for six hours with a young driver eager for guidance.
So now we know. Mark Martin lives in Daytona Beach, Fla., an hour’s drive up Interstate 95 to reach the coastal town of St. Augustine, where about 12,000 people reside and you can find more than 20 species of crocodile at the local zoo.
Brian France has been hanging around the garage too long because the fumes seem to be messing with his senses.
This is the kind of car Kyle Busch drove Sunday in the NASCAR Shelby 427 at Las Vegas Motor Speedway: One that was loose all afternoon, needed major adjustments, wasn’t the fastest, started from the back and was average enough for Busch’s crew chief to say the team needed to scratch and claw and kick and spit and fight just to have an opportunity at winning.
To know Brendan Gaughan, you have to know about those six guys who were out of work in 2007. Some with wives and children and mortgages.
Predicting what each month in 2009 will bring our local sports scene:
