Functionally ReTodded

Teh internets is truly an amazing place.

I get a daily update from History.com telling me what happened on this date in history. I’ve learned about Genghis Kahn, Watergate, Henry Ford and Kingsford Charcoal, and all kinds of other stuff.

Anyway, this morning I opened the update and it said that in 1997, Princess Diana was killed, and in a snap, it seemed like yesterday.

In the summer of 1997, we decided to go to Boston for Labor Day weekend. I’ve loved Boston since I was in my teens and I figured any town that made that kind of impression on a 13 year old was worth visiting as an adult, and boy was I right.

At that time in our lives, we were young(er), childless, and were moderately adventerous. We would also vacation so it would coincide with that city’s baseball schedule so we could take in a game while out of town. I always enjoy visiting new major league parks and getting to see Fenway, even from the outside, was on my list of things to do before I died.

We were very excited to learn that Labor Day weekend was the innaugural weekend of Bud Selig’s inter-league play, and that our own Atlanta Braves would be visiting the hallowed ground at 4 Yawkey Way, between Van Ness and Lansdowne Streets. Man, were we psyched.

Using most of her then travel industry clout, the wife got us a deal on a corner room at the Marriott at Copley Place. Our room overlooked the Charles River and the Prudential center as well as all of the Back Bay area of Beantown. As I said, we were in our mid to late 20’s and looking for fun.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Boston has over 48 colleges in the city, and all of them started the week after Labor Day?

That meant that there were a bo-zillion kids with their parents parked everywhere unloading. It made a mess of traffic, but the socializing was great.

Anywho, we flew in, checked in and immediately hit the bar in the lobby of the Marriott. It had been a long day and we got in pretty late since we left after work on Thursday August 28th and were to return on Monday September 1st.

I did have a Peter Griffin moment after we went back to the room. The wife was getting ready for bed and when she came out, I was wrapped in the drapes with my ass pressed against the window and said “I’m mooning Baaaaaston, baby!!”

She was not impressed.

Over that weekend, we did everything you’re supposed to do in Boston, including the Duck Tour, visiting Harvard and U. Mass., eating at Legal Seafood and drinking in the Back Bay. We also spent an evening at Fanueil Hall drinking beer with some nice college kids who’d driven from Milwaukee to see the game and were staying in a campground about 40 miles outside of Boston propah.

We took the five dollah tooah of Fenway, which kicked total ass. You got a 45 minute tour that included visiting a luxury suite, roaming thru the press box, sitting in the visitor’s dugout and walking around on the dirt (not the grass) on the field. I’ve got pictures of me all around the field at Fenway and sitting in the dugout.

We also had arranged tickets thru a friend of my dad’s for a game or two. The first night, they didn’t work out and we were left at the will call box on a sold out Friday night, 15 minutes before the national anthem of the first interleague game. The lady in the box felt bad for us however, and moments before the anthem started, she said I could buy two grandstand tickets if I wanted them. I didn’t care how bad they were as long as we got into the game, so i said yes. I think they were either $16 or $20 a piece face value. We walked in, asked the usher where to go, and this was the view from our seats:

Yeah, that sucked plenty.

We then saw the Braves spend the weekend kicking the the bejesus out of the Sox. Fred McGriff was so good that on Sunday, after hitting two homers and driving in 6 or so runs, he was given a standing ovation by the Red Sox Nation. That was a classy moment.

We had just an amazing time. Beers were flowing, folks were laughing, we met nice people, ate amazing Italian sausages outside Fenway, drank my first ever 22 ounce Miller Lite in a plastic wide-mouthed bottle at the Cask and Flaggon, and had a blast.

Oh, I did forget to mention that at our Friday night visit to the Fens, we had many beers, and many afterwards. I’m sure that goes without saying, but I wanted the context to be right for the following story.

The next morning, I woke up around 9:30 or 10:00am, and decided I’d head down to the lobby for some sodas, a couple of bagels from the free continental breakfast, and possibly a paper. So I threw on some raggedy shorts, a t-shirt, no shoes or hat, and headed for the elevator with my key.

I hit down, the car stopped, I got in, and as I looked at my reflection in the doors, I realized that I was riding with John Smoltz, Mark Wohlers, and Jeff Blauser. I had not realized that the Braves were staying in our hotel.

When I got to the lobby, there were velvet ropes and security everywhere to keep the autograph hounds and lobby whores away from the players, and me in my glorified pj’s, barefooted, and having not brushed my teeth.

We all rode the escalator together, then went our seperate ways as they got on the team charter and I got some bagels.

Nice.

So, that Saturday evening, after some cocktails with those very funny college kids from Wisconsin, we were riding back from Faneuil Hall to our hotel in a cab at about 3am. The cabbie had the radio on and we were talking with him, and he said “by the way, did you hear that Princess Diana was killed?”

No. we had not heard that.

Apparently, at around 7:30pm EDT, she had been killed in a car crash in France.

We went back to our room and stayed up watching CNN until 9am or so on Sunday, not believing what we were seeing.

I don’t know why I was so mesmerized by the story. I didn’t know her. She was royalty and famous for nothing initially but marrying a title carried by a cheating dolt.

But she had done so many good things for the less fortunate, and her efforts to rid the world of landmines had always impressed me. You didn’t see princesses out wearing bomb jackets and helmets. You also didn’t see anyone spending so much time with AIDS victims in Africa, not afraid of a disease that was still mysterious to many.

She was a great woman, flawed like everyone else, but in the end, she had made a difference.

I was sad that day. More than I thought I could be for someone I didn’t know. I hope her life motivated folks to better themselves by doing nice things for others.

I also hope it made people think just a little about the cost of hero worship, celebrity, and the paparazzi that stalk them.

then you’re just plain missing out. Jade co-authored books with Darrell Waltrip and Dale Earnhardt Jr. and is currently heavily involved / in charge of the PR Machine that IS Dale Earnhardt Jr.

Anyway, I read his blog almost every day here. However, today’s entry is particularly entertaining, especially since it speaks volumes about Pat Robertson and that smarmy-assed 700 club he runs.

And don’t be afraid to read Mike Davis’ blog. He is also part of the PR posse. Beyond that, the site is chock full of info-tainment from friends of theirs and even a celebrity blogger or two.

Enjoy.

My Richard Petty Driving Experience at Atlanta Motor Speedway

I have been very fortunate in my life when it comes to sports and seeing and doing some pretty great things, many of which would not have been possible or as enjoyable without my wife.

While attending Braves playoff games throughout the 1990’s, I was lucky enough to meet countless celebrities including Franco Harris, Dan Patrick, Mike Mills of R.E.M., Peter Gammons, Dave Campbell, Ernie Johnson and Pete Van Wieren, Darius Rucker of Hootie and the Blowfish, Lou Pinella, Tony LaRussa, Whitey Ford, Reggie Jackson, Dave Parker, Willie Stargell, especially Mickey Mantle, and many others that I have forgotten because I was too awestruck to remember them all the next day.

I was at Game 7 against the Pirates in 1992 (with my wife), and almost caught Francisco Cabrerra’s foul ball right before he got the game-winning hit.

I was at Game 6 against the Indians in 1995 (again with my wife) watching Tom Glavine one-hit the tribe while David Justice put his money where his mouth was and hit the deciding home run in a 1-0 Braves win to clinch Atlanta’s first and to this date only World Championship.

I went to Auburn University in the late 1980’s (with my now wife), which as many of you may remember was a great time in the SEC in general and at Auburn specifically. The Tigers beat Bama all four years that I was there, won a couple of SEC titles, and got the opportunity to play in the Sugar Bowl twice.

I have been to Augusta National (with my wife) and walked the course following Tiger, Jack and Arnie in 1996, then watched the Wednesday par three tournament from right at the ropes, and saw a hole in one to boot.

I have been to opening day at Wrigley Field (with my wife). I have stood in center field at Fenway Park (with my wife) and sat in the visitor’s dugout there as well.

You get the idea. My wife will pretty much let me do anything related to sports. So in 2002, for our 10th anniversary, my wife presented me with one of the best gifts that I have ever gotten: A gift certificate for the Richard Petty Driving Experience Ride-Along program.

I had always talked about wanting to drive a racecar, but ever the wise woman, my wife thought that I should find out if I was chicken from the passenger seat first, rather than from the driver’s seat. At least from the passenger seat, you can’t embarrass yourself by going the speed limit of your local four-lane road if you get a case of the chickens.

So on September 7th, 2002, the wife and I packed the daughter off to Grandpa and Grandma’s house, and we headed for Atlanta Motor Speedway, and the day was perfect.

I invited a friend and her husband (both non-fanatics) to join us, and we met at the infield of AMS, right next to the media center. And as soon as we got out of the car, I knew it was going to be great. They had a couple of cars right by the media center, and an instructor was explaining to other students in other courses how to get into the car smoothly without getting stuck or hurt. I made a mental note of this procedure for later.

After buying our ticket, we got in line behind about 20 people and began watching. The line forms right behind pit wall at the start finish line. There are about a dozen cars on pit road that the students drive in various courses, and there are two cars dedicated solely to the ride-along program: the number 27 Edelbrock Chevy and a number 8 Budweiser Chevy, and the way it was to work is this: You put on a helmet and driver’s suit when they tell you to, get in the car when they tell you to, hold on for three laps, then get out when they tell you to and go away.

I couldn’t wait. My friend kept looking at me asking if I was excited or nervous. Hell yes, I was excited and VERY nervous. But why shouldn’t I be? Professional driver or not, going 170 mph in the passenger seat is a scary thought, dontcha think?

So we put on our driver suits and helmets, and immediately began sweating. Sure, the suits are hot and the helmets are hot, but at that point, the adrenaline is going like you wouldn’t believe.

I then got the go-ahead to cross in front of the wall and get in the car from the passenger side. I made this maneuver like a seasoned vet. Left leg in the window, left butt cheek on the window ledge, right leg in the window, drop your ass down while leaning back, and your in there. Then a guy hooks up your five point racing harness, pulls it tight, you and the driver give a thumbs up to a camera guy outside your window, and then you sit.

The driver introduced himself, asked my name, and asked if I had done this before, to which I replied “um…no,” then he said, “what are you looking for out of this?”

I replied, “I want you to scare the piss out of me.”

He smiled, said “okay,” and hit the starter.

Let me say this about the inside of a stock car. There is a reason that all but a few of the drivers are 5′ 6″ and 130 pounds. It’s damned small in there. I could only see the inside of the car with the top third of my line-of-site. The seats are metal, with only a thin Nomex (fireproof) pad on them, and there is no legroom at all. I am 6′3″, and it was all I could do to get somewhat comfortable.

So, after Anthony (my driver) started the car, I think I began grinning. The power and noise are absolutely unreal. Cup cars have between 750 and 850 horsepower, and these things are supposed to have over 600hp. They are throaty and ridiculously loud. Anthony stepped on the gas, and before I knew it, we were hurtling toward the end of pit road where we would need to enter the banking and turn left QUICKLY and head immediately in the other direction.

This was the only time I was truly scared. It makes no sense that a guy can take a car going 120mph plus and sling it up on the banking and just mat the throttle with no problem, but apparently you can. Before I knew it, we were through turns three and four and hurtling toward the green flag. I decided at that point that I should let go of the bar by my left leg so I could say that I hadn’t held on the entire time.

The next 90 seconds went by in a flash, but I will never forget the thrill of coming out of turn 2 right next to the backstretch wall, feeling the heat from the exhaust and the dust come back in the window. Also, looking out the driver’s window at the people waiting in line as we went under the flag stand and took the checkers was great. It was also a rush when the car stepped out going into turn 1, and Anthony immediately throttled down and pulled down to the apron and basically coasted the car back to the pits.

We came down pit road, but we stopped well short of where everyone else had been getting out of his or her cars. That was when I realized that something had gone wrong with the right rear (either a spring or shock they told me). That scared me a little. But I got over that when I tried to apply in reverse what I had learned about getting in the car to get out of the car. About halfway thru, I was stuck, so I gave up, fell back in the car, and asked the attendee guy how I was supposed to get out. I would tell you, but I am saving that little morsel for next time, so I look as cool getting out as I do getting in.

I will go back. I will ride again. And I will sign up for one of the 8 lap deals where you drive the car. I want to do it. I need to do it. I’ve got it bad.

If you’re interested in going, let me know and I will go with you. They have cool used race tires that you can buy as souvenirs, and their only five bucks. My wife wouldn’t let me have one when she was there, but I’m sure that you will…