Michael Waltrip

The story of my obsession with NASCAR, and with Michael Waltrip in particular, is a bit of a sad one.  I didn't become a fan of racing until 2001.  Many might call me a bandwagon fan.  I don't mind.  I had recently moved to Tuscaloosa, and my roommate's family were big NASCAR fans.  They happened to be watching the race one Sunday, and I started rooting for the "Budweiser" car.  I didn't know or care at first who drove it; I just happened to love Budweiser at the time.  I really enjoyed the race, and, true to form, I began watching the 2001 races from the beginning.  From Daytona. 

The tragedy of Dale Earnhardt's death during the 2001 Daytona 500 was lost on me on that President's Day weekend in February.  At the time, I didn't even know who he was.  I was at the beach.  When my more NASCAR-knowledgeable friends told me "he's the one in the commercials," I pictured Jeff Gordon and thought he had died (I didn't know who Jeff Gordon was either, but he was the only racer I could remember seeing on TV).  Later, when I watched the race with a little bit of background, I was devestated.  Not so much because of Dale Earnhardt's death (it wasn't so much of a shock six months after the fact), but because of Mikey's heartbreaking win.  Even thinking about it now takes me to a really sad place.

I stayed a Dale Jr. fan throughout the 2001 season (like I said, I liked Budweiser).  I'd always rooted for Micheal too, but Jr. was "my" driver for that first year and is really responsible for getting me interested in NASCAR.  Not surprisingly, it wasn't long before his attitude and racing style rubbed (technical racing term*) me the wrong way.  I happen to have handy my super-dorky diary entry from the day Mikey became my new driver:

"Thursday, March 21st, 2002 - I am becoming more and more of a huge Michael Waltrip fan.  He is so great.  Inside Winston Cup is like the funniest show ever.  Mikey is hilarious.  Plus:  His wife's name is Buffy - how much cooler can you get!  He just seems like a really nice guy.  Plus he drives his Aaron's Chevy in the Busch series.  That gives me someone to cheer for both days!"

[Reading through my thoughts on all of the races is too funny.  I may have to do a "2002 season recap through the eyes of a nerdy agoraphobic coed" post sometime soon.]

From that point on, I was a Michael Waltrip fan all the way.  I put a big white "15" sticker in the middle of my rear window and small round "15" sticker on the windshield.  I didn't like the saying on the Alabama license plates ("Stars Fell on Alabama" - long story), so my dad covered it up with a piece of tape reading "GO MIKEY #15".  This was probably some kind of motor vehicle violation, but I didn't care.  I loved Mikey so much I was willing to risk jail!  Now that's dedication.  My mom got me an (almost) lifesize cardboard standup of Michael.  [It currently lives under my old bed in Selma.]  I watched all of his TV shows, all of the Busch and Winston cup races, constantly checked for updates online, and traveled to North Carolina to visit his race shop.  Like I said, obsessed. 

I won't bore you with his entire life story, and I won't get into the personal side of things here, but I do think some background on my guy is necessary...

Michael began his Cup career in 1985 and made it through the next 15 years with only an All-Star Race Cup win (which isn't part of the regular season and doesn't count towards a driver's points).  He got his big break in 2000, when friend Earnhardt started his own team and chose Mikey to drive for him in the 2001 season.  It had always been said that if only Micheal could get on a good team, he'd win.  This proved immediately true.  But what should have been one of the happiest days of his life turned into the worst.  I still have a hard time seeing that image of Kenny Schrader telling Michael that his friend is gone.  I can't imagine how he handled it as well as he did.  He was so strong for the entire NASCAR community.

Mikey won me over throughout the 2001 and 2002 seasons with his goofy personality, his driving style, his support of his friends, and his competitive spirit.  Even though he wasn't always leading the pack, I would watch every race just to see his name scroll across the top (whether in 1st place or 35th place).  The next few seasons, I was still a fan, but I didn't follow each race like it was the most important event in the world.  Why? Maybe because in August of 2003 I was somehow coerced into making friends, going out to parties, and becoming involved in the world around me.  I don't know, but I was less the rabid fan and more the casual observer.  Over the next few years, I would catch the ocassional race and still cheer for Mikey, but it wasn't the same.  The sport wasn't the same, either.

Dale Earnhardt's death changed the sport in many, many positive ways.  I also believe it brought in new viewers intrigued by the tragedy and danger.  NASCAR began changing dramatically.  More fans, more money, more commercials.  More rules.  For whatever reason, things became strained at DEI.  Michael was let go.  Kurt Busch started winning way too much.  [You know that question: "Who would you want to be sitting next to on a plane you knew was about to crash?"  If I limit myself to NASCAR racers, Kurt Busch would be the answer.  If I'm going, I'm taking him with me.  Wow.  That is so mean, even for me.  I at least want to punch him in the face.]  I just lost interest in my fantasy world.

Now that Michael is talking retirement from racing and has taken on the role of team owner with renewed vigor, I'm starting to watch again.  NASCAR's new tagline "Lettin' them race!" might be a bit of a gimmick, but I like it.  Some of my old favorites are still racing, and some are actually doing well.  I don't think I can ever go back to my full-time obsession with NASCAR and Michael Waltrip, but I'm ready to become a loyal and regular fan again.  This time around, I may even be able to attend a race...



* Let Harry educate you...

Harry Hogge: Cole, you're wandering all over the track!
Cole Trickle: Yeah, well this son of a bitch just slammed into me.
Harry Hogge: No, no, he didn't slam you, he didn't bump you, he didn't nudge you... he rubbed you. And rubbin, son, is racin'.