"Gordon hurts back in big crash," read the headline, causing me a moment of acute hyperventilation. I hadn't checked the Internet since I followed The Jays' racecast (which definitely helps the Mondays), so I thought this was breaking news. But just as I was steadying myself for a NASCAR without my driver, the article popped up and told me what I already knew: Gordon hasn't been hit that hard since Brooke Sealy took him for half.
Gordon wins the most obvious answer award for this remark, "It's not what I needed." Really? You mean you didn't need to get absolutely slammed by Hornish, then t-bone a steel rail guard? How ‘bout a 37th place finish? You didn't need that as you headed into the Chase? Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. But hey, as your fan, it's not what I needed either. Have you thought about that? (Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that one.)
I didn't care for that qualifying effort very much, especially at a track where passing is fictional. I didn't need your first DNF for the season just as you should be rounding into championship form. And I certainly didn't need to try to follow your race from the back of the pack via a live blog. It's been hard enough watching the edge of the TV screen to see if your distinctive flames are coming into view, but a scrolling racecast makes it next to impossible to determine if you were coming or going (going, as it turns out). The only time you garnered mention was when you bounced off something, which was too often.
Look, I was trying to work, on a Monday no less, and you were just making my day worse. I'm already bummed over your Chase prospects. Third never looked so distant to me before. You see, I'm not sure you have it in you anymore.
Oh, you've been running alright recently. Your team has mounted some respectable saves, and you've improved on the mile-and-half tracks (ie, Chicago). But look, I could use a couple more victories. Some defining wheel work wouldn't hurt either. A dominating performance would actually suit me just fine. But really, something, anything to prove that you still have the Golden Boy touch. (Other than marrying Ingrid, that is. But that was a nice move, I'll hand it to you.)
Your interviews aren't even all that convincing. You said that "you take three or four steps forward to this point," presumably in reference to your back, "and then you take a hit like that," definitely in reference to the wreck, and you take a "couple" of steps back. I'm no Will Hunting, but I'm pretty sure that still puts you one to two steps ahead. Sooo, that would be good, right?
But that wreck didn't look so good to me. It looked like a career ender. Not in an end-of-days, tragic death type of way (not these days anyway; here's to the CoT), but in "ahh, I've got millions, a smokeshow wife, an adorable daughter, and my own wine label, I shall now retire to a life of croquet" sort of way.
Come clean, bro. What is it? What's eating away at you? Please put the speculation to rest. Is it Ingrid? I'd be worried about leaving her at home alone, too. Letarte? Yeah, he's a big boy. He looks like Andre the Giant up next to you. But that shouldn't affect your driving. Rick? Arguably, he's never seen a meal he hasn't just destroyed. That boy has some pot titties, for crying out loud. Yikes.
But again, that's neither here nor there. My point being, solid home life, check, great crew chief, check, best owner in the business, check.
So, toiling in the back at a road course race? Where have you gone Jeff Gordon?
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