(Here's the latest in the always eagerly anticipated weekly columns by
Dorothy Nobis. Enjoy...-K-)


Taking Vegas by the handcuff-y thing-y
By Dorothy Nobis
03/08/2008 Farmington Daily Times
Address:http://www.daily-times.com/ci_8498668?source=most_emailed
~~~~~
He stood there, talking to his crew chief, close enough that I could
have reached out and touched him, if they'd only have let me.

A pane of glass was all that separated me from the man of my NASCAR
dreams; the window and possibly the three-deep crowd that surrounded me.
He turned, though, and I'm sure our eyes met. His, soft and brown, mine
a tad blood-shot and blue (the wind made 'em blood shot, just to
clarify). I really think Elliott Sadler was ready to know me and to love
me if I hadn't screamed in excitement and clawed the three women who
were in front of me while I tried to break the glass.

It was sad, really. Elliott took one look at me, my face scrunched up
against the window and my nose bloodied from the wrath of the women I
flung to the ground, and called security. It was not what I had
envisioned for my first meeting with Elliott Sadler. I had planned
something more like champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries; not the
plastic handcuff-y things and the stale beer they dumped on me to
"control" me.

Whatever.

What happens in Vegas is s'posed to stay in Vegas, but I have a feeling
those charges are gonna follow me to every race I attend.

Despite the fact that after my little "incident" in the Neon Garage with
Elliott, who will someday know and love me, and NASCAR naming my friend
Charlene as my designated handler, the Vegas race was just way too fun.

I did try to find a sponsor for Ward Burton, just so's y'all know. In
fact, I met a volunteer firefighter (Steve, and he was cute, I have to
say) and he said his real job is with Best Western. Despite Charlene
poking me in the side on accounta she was embarrassed, I asked the very
nice and very cute Steve if Best Western would sponsor Ward Burton. He
said he would most definitely take it to the "top" of the motel chain,
and he thought he could get it done.

Then we saw Richard Childress, who was waiting for Bobby Labonte to
qualify for the Busch race. When I saw Richard (who was wearing starched
Wrangler jeans and an equally starched white shirt, but didn't seem very
starched himself), I was going to leap over the barrier and ask him when
Best Western sponsors Ward, if he'd make room for Ward on his team.

Charlene stopped me, though, and reminded me I couldn't talk to anyone
"official" looking from NASCAR on accounta the plastic handcuff-y thingy
and the restraining order. I'm not sure those Vegas people really know
how to have fun.

Oh, and I so have to tell you: We were standing by the place where the
cars drive back to the garage area during a practice session and Tony
Stewart; the for reals Tony Stewart; walked by. He is way cuter than he
appears on TV, and in spite of the handcuff-y thing-y, he winked at me
and said "meet me later at my motor home." Or at least, that's what I
thought he said, but Charlene had a different story. I like mine better.

The really, really neat thing about the whole race experience was being
stuffed into the grandstands with 160,000 fans who totally went wild
when Dale Earnhardt Jr. came on to the track. And when he took the lead
in Sunday's Sprint Cup race, well, I'm tellin' ya', the fans went
absolutely crazy. The last couple laps, when Carl Edwards was in front
and Jeff Gordon and Matt Kenseth were chasing "e" for second place, the
roar of the crowd had to have been heard 'round the world. And I so
would not ever want to be the driver who accidentally or "accidentally
on purpose" takes out "e" during the final laps. Talk about your stock
tanking; it would.

Carl Edwards won, but when NASCAR officials found out he didn't have the
cover on his oil tank and slammed him Wednesday with a major penalty, I
wasn't happy. I'm not sayin' he cheated, but someone did somethin'
wrong. That, my friends, cost Junior a win. Oh, and a side note to Carl
(who I hear is a religious reader of this column), the fans weren't
cheering for you when you came to the checkered flag, bubba. It was the
driver of that AMP/National Guard car; the world's most popular driver;
who had fans on their feet. Just needed to clear that up so's I can
sleep nights.

Speaking of not being a happy camper, neither was Kyle Busch when he
wrecked right in front of us in Turn 4 during the Nationwide race. I
yelled and hollered and carried on until the guy behind me asked me not
very politely to cease and desist. I'm thinking he was a relative of
Kyle's on accounta he was sorta whiney. That, maybe, and the fact he was
decked out in Kyle Busch outerwear. I didn't ask about his underwear.
Some things inquiring minds don't want to know.

Reed Sorenson signed autographs and he's very young, very shy and would
make his mother proud. Jeff Burton and his lovely wife, Kim, walked by
us, but he pretty much ignored me when I asked where Ward was. I'm
thinking it was those darned handcuff-y thing-ies. Charlene said it was
orders from the Big Hauler (where all major decisions are made, I guess)
that noone NASCAR could talk to me. All 'cuz I want Elliott Sadler to
know me and to love me. Whatever.

The nice man who sat with us at lunch one day while claiming to be a
Waste Management top dog said NASCAR's going to take a race away from
one of those Eastern states and give it to Vegas. I'm very excited about
that. It won't be for another year, which means the restraining order
should be lifted by then.

Oh, and I did ask if Waste Management would sponsor Ward Burton. All of
a sudden the "top dog" became a regular employee and wouldn't commit.
I'm tryin', little Ward, I'm tryin'.

Whatever it takes......