From the Couch: Almost there after a 28-year Martinizing

What was it Mark Martin said about Jimmie Johnson, "I'm pretty sure that dude is Superman?"

Mark, you've gone first-second in the first two races of the Chase. You sit first in points. And Cup or not, you are AARP's leading (okay, only) counterargument for geriatric license restrictions.

But before we go there, Superman? Of all the superheroes, you go with Superman? If that were true, hypothetically speaking of course, why would he drive a car to beat you? Superman once flew into the sun, so a stock car seems a little superfluous.

Super strength? He couldn't even hold onto a golf cart, for crying out loud. X-ray, infra-red, laser-secreting vision? Highly doubtful. Just mention "2005 Talladega " to Dale Jr. A red Speedo banana hammock as outerwear? God I hope not.

No, JJ is not Superman. He is not even superhuman. He is just flat out bad ass at driving a car. Plus, everyone knows that Shaq is Superman.

(But Chad Knaus as Lois Lane ? Hhhmmn.)

It's no secret that I've long been on Mark's other side. I think I've made that clear. He is just so vanilla, in style, conversation and even complexion (musical tastes, maybe not). For what seems like my entire life I've been a critic of his mild-mannered driving style and his subsequent catatonic interviews (Clark Kent?). Yet, the guy has been wheeling a car in NASCAR's premier series since 1981, and despite all efforts, I've finally been reduced to mocking his analogies.

I can't believe I'm writing this, but Mark Martin is starting to win me over.

The year Mark Martin first raced a Winston Cup event, Buick was the car to beat, Neil Bonnet turned a wheel, and they still raced at the Texas World Speedway (where a 400-mile Cup race was conducted without a single yellow. That's right, no phantom debris cautions. Now that is history). In 1981, Jay Hart was eight. In 1981, Jay loved Pacman and thought The Cannonball Run was a cinematic masterpiece. In 1981, MTV was launched (with videos!), Ronald Regan was shot (as POTUS, and not an actor), and the Oakland Raiders - the current poster child for sports futility - were a winning football team. If that sounds like a long time ago, that's because it was.

Let's put it this way, Mark Martin has raced at an elite level for a decade longer than Joe Logano (the Y has officially gotten knocked out of him) has been alive. And arguably, at least I'm arguing it, this is his finest year. Yes, he has Super JJ to worry about, but he has never been in better equipment and has never been ranked so high so late in the game. Simply, Mark is taking advantage of his swan song. He came back to win, and he's doing it.

I suppose that alone should endear me to him. I do admire his persistence, endurance and obvious love for the sport. But golly gee, I'm not quite there yet. When he finally puts the chrome horn to JPM, when he finally drops a casual f-bomb in conversation, or when he finally admits that he's atop the points and the man to beat, I may just ante up for a fan club membership.