Rat Race

 
Labor Day weekend has come upon us, and for those of us who dwell in the Peach State, that means Race Weekend at Hamsterton, Georgia’s Ratlanta Motor Speedway. I decided it would be ratical to visit the fastest track on NASCAR’s circuit, so, after a quick trim of my lustrous black fur, I scrounged myself a ticket into the GreatClips 300 Nationwide race, held Saturday evening. (After all, NASCAR does stand for the New Atlanta Society for Cool, Adorable Rats, doesn’t it?)
 
Seeing the race track in person – or in rat, rather – was a red-rat-eye-opening experience. After grabbing myself a snack of nachos (with a double side order of cheese, of course) from the concessions, I scuttled myself down to the grandstand and secured a nestlet just to the right of the Start/Finish Line. The sound of the cars zooming around the track was no less than deafening to my sensitive rat ears: I had to plug them with my whiskers. The smell of burning rubber wafting up into the stands as the drivers peeled off Pit Road was also troubling … that is until I realized that the rubber was from tires, and not from others of my rubber rat brethren. Whew!
 
I was also taken aback at the number of fans who arrived to the race track already drunk. On any given Sunday, I imagine that if you asked them what they were doing, they’d tell you, “Watchin’ beer and drankin’ NASCAR!!!” Thankfully none of them were driving … on the track, anyway. This was evidenced by the lack of caution flags waved during the race: we saw the yellow banner appear only a handful of times, with just a single one constituting a one-car wreck by Peachtree City, Georgia homeboy Reed Sorenson. (Apparently he forgot to eat his Ruddy Red Rat Pellets, the breakfast of champions, that morning. Next time I’m sure he’ll chow down!)
 
The festivities of the event, from gathering free stuff from the vendors outside, to watching GreatClips-sponsored racer Kasey Kahne qualify as the pole-sitter, to squealing in delight as fan favorite Jamie McMurray zoomed past the universally hated Kyle Busch to squeak into Victory Lane, were rat-tastic. And although none of us set any land-speed records while exiting in that monstrous end-of-race traffic, it’s safe to say that here in the heart of the South, on that weekend in which all of us Americans take a rest from our labor, I and the other fans of NASCAR did indeed win the rat race. So until next time, keep your teeth to the cheese wheel (or is it "keep your nose to the grindstone"?), and you, too, will be a winner.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob