I had never been to a NASCAR race. Never even considered it. To me, races were something my father threw on the kitchen TV while we were doing chores. It was background noise. Not important. I mean, this was New England after all. Home of the Celtics, the Bruins, the Red Sox, the Patriots. NASCAR was for southern folks. But then my friend got a haircut.

With that haircut came four free tickets to the local NASCAR race at the New Hampshire Motor Speedway. The Magic Mile. He showed up at our place with the kind of haircut that comes with free tickets. And we let him know it. But nothing was putting him down. He was fired up. The boys were going to the big race. The next move was obvious, based on everything we knew about NASCAR. 

Walmart trip.

We grabbed one tent big enough for two people. That’s all we needed because the man with the NASCAR ticket haircut said he had a tent so big that “he and his cousins used to run around inside it”. A true circus tent. We could all sleep in it if we wanted - comfortably. After grabbing the smaller tent and the minimal provisions required, we proceeded to the most important part of our Wally World journey. It was time to pick our race day attire.

The ticket holder had first choice and, naturally, he picked a colorful Jeff Gordon Dupont shirt. Classic. The next choice was quickly made - a blue Kasey Kahne #5. I had never heard of that person. My remaining buddy and I took a little more time, scouring the rack for the perfect fit. Have to look sharp for the big race. 

He narrowed his choices and finally settled on an outrageous gem with helicopters and explosions all over it, dedicated to Dale Earnhardt Jr. I’ll admit, it was rad. The T-shirt I selected was bright yellow and peppered with M&Ms. I mean PEPPERED. The driver’s name was Kyle Busch. 

Being avid fantasy sports fans, we obviously needed fantasy teams. So we drew names out of a hat. We didn’t know much about any of it, so we figured that was fair. But the one rule we made, for this draft and all future drafts, is that you get to keep your “shirt driver” as long as you want. So Kyle was mine.

A couple of hours later, we were at the campsite. It was time to set up shop. We formed two teams to construct the two tents - a monumental task for young morons like ourselves. I was on the engineering team building the two-man Walmart tent, which went up shockingly quickly. As we clicked in the last poles, we heard a quiet “oh no” from the other team. 

There, lying in this famously massive tent, was the ticket master, with his head at the far end of the tent and his legs fully hanging out the door. I swear this thing was maybe only four feet by four feet. I guess the “circus tent” is bigger when you and your cousins are three years old. Whatever - we had a fire and friends. One night outside is no problem. 

Then the rain started.

And this was not your typical rain. It was that Forest Gump rain. The kind that comes from every direction. Old Testament rain. We all piled into the two-man tent with the other child-sized tent on top as an extra rain cover. Even then, there were two inches of water in our sleeping bags when we “woke up”. I say that in quotes because most of the night was spent in delirious laughter. A hilarious nightmare. But the beauty of being a bunch of young dummies is that, once you roll out of a bad dream and that sun shines on your face, you forget about yesterday.  Ain’t no rest for the wicked. It was race day.

The day’s events went as you would expect for first-timers who cared more about picking shirts than buying paper plates. It was hot. Our tailgate was lame. We sat too close to the track. We didn’t wear enough sunscreen. We drank too much beer. We were hooked. We were NASCAR fans. The gospel must spread.

So here’s the fast forward. Fantasy NASCAR league. Races every year. Bigger crews. Real tents. RVs even. And we got better at it. Grills. Yard games. Fireworks (allegedly). I saw my shirt driver, Kyle Busch, win live in 2015 and 2017. I loved it. My friends pretended to hate it. But I knew, deep down, that they loved it too. The cocky “villain” is going to win sometimes. That makes it even better next time when the “hero” wins. But he was my hero. And he won a lot.

The truly special aspect of sports is how they keep us connected. Game today? Tournament this weekend? The big race next month? Get the circus tent ready. Sports are always checking in with you. And that gives us an opportunity to check in with each other. The racetracks, the courts, the rinks, the fields - these are sacred meeting grounds. A place to cherish your family, your friends, and even your respected rivals. 

The other guys’ shirt drivers retired years ago. It has been almost a decade since Jeff Gordon’s last race. My driver was still racing. But Kyle Busch died this week. I’m still processing the emotions that come with that. Yet I wanted to take a moment to share this story. And remind folks out there to get that haircut. Sleep outside. Go to the big race. Because, as Kyle Busch said after his final win, “You never know when the last one is”.