by Shey Stahl
“Oh I plan to.” But she didn’t. She was far too engrossed in the pictures.
The one of me with the top button of my jeans undone with me grabbing my gear seemed to be her favorite. That was aside from the one with me, barefoot, in a tux with the tie loose, buttons undone and my head bent forward leaning against the car with my helmet in one hand and the other tucked in my pants pocket.
“Jesus, there’s nothing sexier than you wearing a tux barefoot.”
I gave her a funny look and she laughed. “It’s sexy, believe me.”
The only one I liked was the one with my fingers laced in a chain-link fence, my eyes focused on the camera, glaring. All that was truly in focus were my eyes and the green leaving the rest of the photograph in black and white with the smoke bellowing around me. Below the picture was a caption for the magazine that said:
Never underestimate Rowdy Riley.
Funny enough, that was the photograph where they doused me in oil.
“How the hell did they get oil on you?” Sway asked.
I gave her a glare. “It wasn’t planned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.”
Sway was too engrossed in the pictures again to notice my departure.
It’s not easy for a race car driver to dominate a race by himself. But a driver, any driver, had the potential to make a bad team win just as easy as he can lose a race for a good team. He can dominate a result, yes, but that is not the same thing. He can’t dominate a race, because, separate from logging laps and battling for the lead or a position, he is not quite part of the entire race.
In basketball, for example, one player can dominate a game for he has the ability to score points and control the ball. Even in baseball, or football, one player can score the most runs or a quarterback can control the game.
In racing, rarely can a driver dominate the entire race. A good driver, or a good team for that matter can find the right combination, the right moment and make a good pass, a quick pit stop, a gamble with fuel mileage, and gain the advantage needed, but the impact is rarely sustained without a complete effort. That’s no different than anything else in life. I’ve learned, through my own mistakes, you can’t do everything yourself and winning never happens just because of one person.
Ask any racer and he will tell you that if he wants to win. That’s why he races. To him, it matters if he wins or finishes second. For a racer, that’s all that matters.
Owners, drivers, crew chiefs all like to win. It’s the nature of the sport. They are used to winning too because how else did they get to be great competitors?
Money is a consideration for all sides but regardless we chase the victory wherever that may be.
Here’s the difference between an owner and a driver these days. An owner, well he can only win where’s he’s at. So if a driver isn’t winning with his team, he can leave if his contract allows and chase that victory with another team. It’s as simple as that.
So what happens to our sport when that happens?
Owners chase drivers, salaries skyrocket, fans pay in ticket prices and before you know it, you’re creating mythical creatures just based on money.
Maybe that’s why I stayed where I was all these years. We were winning and we had what we needed. Mostly I attribute this to the fact that I wasn’t in it for money, I was in it to win and be the best. I could do that with this team whether it be in the Cup series or the WoO.
I feel like I would never be able to justify the money I’ve made over the years. Sure the possessions were nice and I never had to worry about my bank account running dry but I can’t say that I could justify it. I can explain it, sure, the danger factor, but that’s not the same thing. It’s the nature of the entertainment business.
The fact of the matter was I was doing something I always did for nothing and would continue to do it before after the money. For nothing.
But what does happen when that money stops? Eventually it will stop and you have to prepare yourself for that. I like to think I had. I secured a sturdy financial position for myself. I invested in things that would return without investing money. I bought property, I bought homes, I ran a business, and I bought a few businesses. I invested in possessions that offered return because I knew eventually the money would stop. I wouldn’t race professionally forever. Yes I would always race but not for money.
The other factor is what does that money do to the driver? Do they race the way they do because they’re now being paid to? Do they change? Some do. I guarantee you that some change. I’ve seen it happen. No rookie would want to believe it, or fans, or most drivers but on the track, in a race, more money, less money, racing for a championship, an aggressive pass, a victory, a quick stop, they all come from instinct, reflexive, adrenaline fueled competition.
Money, like other motivations, comes from the mind and has nothing to do with it. Money can’t change it.
Over the years, I wasn’t surprised to find drivers just like I was. Rager Sweet, driver for my No. 99 Solar Seals sponsored sprint car, was one of them. Did I mention he was driving one of my sprint cars? Yeah, he was. He was gritty, hotheaded and downright arrogant at times. Just like I was at his age. Who am I kidding, I’m still that way. I like to think I have a little reserve though. Rager did not.
When he was suspended for the final two races for fighting once again, I had to sit him down. It was entertaining to me that I was talking about fighting when I myself, struggled with this one. It’d been years since I took a swing at another driver though.
So I started by saying what Tate told me one afternoon when I shoved him after the Bristol night race for a pass I didn’t feel needed to be as dirty as he made it.
“This sport doesn’t need you.” Harsh I know, but it’s the truth and back then, that was what I needed to hear.
He laughed as I thought he would but listened. That was the one thing I appreciated about Rager was that he did hear you out. Whether he followed the advice was yet to be seen.
“You need to realize that this sport doesn’t need you. You don’t make sprint car racing and I guarantee it will go on without you. That’s the harsh reality of it all.”
“I never said it needed me. But I do provide a certain...appeal.”
“Sure you do. But there’s a point when you become a liability to me.”
“Are you saying I’m fired?” Rager asked leaning against the wall in the shop, his hat pulled down so all I saw were the shadows of his eyes.
“No, I’m not saying that. But this...” I motioned to the paperwork in front of me from Solar Seals stating they had enough and would consider pulling out of the No. 99 sponsorship. “This stupidity is a liability to me and the team. You need to control your emotions.”
“Like you do?”
“This isn’t about me kid.”
Rager shook his head. “What is it then?”
“Let me ask you something...” I leaned back in my chair relaxing. “What kind of appeal do you think you provide to this team?”
“Winning,” he snorted. “I won more feature events then all your other drivers, including your prodigy son, last year combined.”
I laughed, I had to or I was about to give this kid a taste of my own gritty side. “You know, winning helps, and you’ve got that sure. But that’s not everything. Sponsors want consistency and how do you suppose that will happen when you can’t stay in a race?”
Rager didn’t say any more, just stared back at me. He knew if he didn’t win, he was in the wall or being towed back to the pits. And though having a driver that gave it everything was great, sponsors wanted a driver who was consistent.
“You have to look at what you want to do. You spend more time in the faces of the other driver than racing. Racing is what you’re paid to do. Me, your sponsors, we pay you to finish and unless you run up front, win, snag top five’s and be consistent, you’ll be looking for another job. That’s just the way it is in this sport.”
He nodded but said nothing more.
My final piece of advice was something my dad told me often in my rookie season.
“There’s a fine line, Rager.” My head tipped to one side. “A very fine line,”
When he left, I sat in my office enjoying the quiet. My thoughts went back to the gnawing feeling the offseason brought with it each year. I felt like I was always going somewhere but where? Pinched against the wall?
The off-season was always the same, only now I had more responsibility between the teams. I understood how my dad felt back in 2003 and trying to control me when I had to deal with Rager. I also understood how Simplex felt now seeing from the outside.
Simplex is a family owned business and had been from day one. They didn’t like any negative impact. If a driver representing them was suspended for a race, that didn’t look good.
All sponsors are image-conscious and want themselves represented in a certain way.
That never changes.
Rager Sweet was just a driver, a twenty year old kid really. He had no idea that if that car wasn’t on the track, Solar Seals and PowerPlus were not getting the publicity that they paid for. In turn, I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain. The guys back at the shop suffered because they spent hundreds of hours preparing the car only to have it destroyed by him. Come Monday or whenever it was they saw the car again, they repaired everything he broke only to have him destroy another one the next week.
That’s where the real eye-opener came for me when I was his age. You don’t realize how much of a team effort all this is until you walk through one of our shops during the week.
The eye-opener came for me when that race with Tate, the night race at Bristol. We had been battling hard all race and the car was pretty much destroyed when we left. There wasn’t a straight piece of metal on that car and the engine, I ran it hard. Brakes were destroyed and the gears were shot too.
Well when the car got back to Mooresville, I watched how it got pulled from the hauler, tore down, inspected, each part carefully checked for wear. New parts were put back on, mechanics put in a new engine and new suspension. A new body was put on, painted, polished and put back in the shop for our next trip to Bristol or Martinsville. What I never realized, until then, was how many guys touched that car afterward. When I destroyed a car, something like twelve different guys back at the shop spent Monday fixing it. When you think about it like that, everyone had a job to do, everyone was paid from that money that the sponsor provided, you understand what a team effort it was. You understood that your actions dictated others.
It was a full circle effort and when the driver didn’t hold up his end of the deal, that wasn’t good.
The sooner Rager realized that, the better. I knew enough about being an owner to this team that no two drivers were the same nor were your kids the same. There were lines that needed to be followed though when you’re dealing with multi-million dollar contracts.
When pinched against the wall, everyone reacted differently and responded as such. There’s times when you get sped up and take the position, stand up when people try to convince you to douse yourself in baby oil, or you can slow down, and let them take the position when you’re drivers need a reality check. Put the move in their pit and see how well they can race.
Once the racing season had ended, we made some time to get together as a family. We weren’t all together enough and my parents decided to host Thanksgiving dinner at their place.
Big mistake that was. It was also the first time in ten years that I had seen my cousin, Rex, my uncle Randy’s son. Randy Riley, my dad’s brother, was the vice president of Riley-Simplex Racing so I got to deal with him more than I cared. Though he was never approachable, I could tolerate him. Rex I could not.
“Don’t be surprised if I get arrested tonight.” I advised Sway as we got ready to go over to my parent’s house next door.
“Hmmm...” reaching for the door, helmet in hand, she smiled and looked contemplatively back at me. “It wouldn’t be the first time I bailed you out of jail.”
“True.”
Stumbling down the driver, she headed over to my Triumph Speed Triple I had purchased a few weeks back. “Throw me on the back of your bike and ride away in the sunset.” Sway said to me flipping her hair.
“Are you drunk already?” I asked with a laugh and set her on the back of the bike.
She giggled. “I may have had a drink...or two...but don’t judge me. It’s a holiday and we drink on the holidays, remember?”
“Oh I remember.” I put the helmet on her and kissed the visor. “I’m just jealous you didn’t share.”
Sway reached inside her bra and pulled out a flask. “Have at it.”
“I just fell so much more in love with you that you brought a flask, and that you carry it in your fucking bra.”
She winked.
When we got to my parent’s house, all hell was breaking loose. Casten and Arie were already over there. Lily and Axel were making out in the corner.
“Jeez, they act like newlyweds.” I groaned looking away from my son.
Sway pushed a drink at me. “We need this.”
“How did you get a drink that fast?” Looking around I understood. Lexi was making her bartending skills, no doubt a product of Spencer and his ability to have his children make him drinks, carrying a tray of what looked to be eggnog and whiskey. “I’ll take that.” I said reaching for my own and peered back at my wife. “Remember those photo’s?”
She nodded, her lips wrapped around her straw. I glared.
“Well, what’d you say you show me how much you enjoyed them tonight and give me some love?”
“Pft,” she flipped her hand at me as she reached into her shit, pulled out her flask and added more alcohol to her eggnog. “Like I’ve said, I’m a sure thing. Think of me as a guaranteed sponsor.”
I gave her a nod and a wink of my own. “We could skip dinner and get straight to the race.”
“You’re here!” My mom squealed and I knew my attempts of getting away were over. Although she did shove food my way and it was all I needed to get distracted. Spencer was there too, eating of course, so I rolled my sleeves up and sat next to him for a little while. We talked about the last race in Homestead and parts breaking.
That’s about the time I ran into Rex, my cousin I didn’t care for. “Hey Jay,” he said.
I didn’t like being called Jay. My name was Jameson and I didn’t appreciate people shortening it just because it was easier for them. Jay wasn’t my name. My wife didn’t even call me that. The only person who ever got away with it was my grandpa Casten and Lane when he was little because he couldn’t say Jameson. Everyone else I was quick to correct.
“It’s Jameson.” I replied. My eyes met his. “I’m sure you remember.”
“I do. I just don’t care,” was his reply.
Without another word, I looked at my feet and walked away. If he wasn’t going to treat me with respect, I wasn’t going to talk to him. Simple as that.
Arie found me next and for once she was smiling. “Why are you smiling?”
“Well,” Arie sat down next to me at the table beside my dad who was drinking right along with Sway and my uncle Randy. “I was wondering if I could go to Chili Bowl Nationals with Axel and the boys this year.”
“Why would you want to go with them? You hate that race.”
“I never said I hated it.” Aries’ eyes darted around the room as if she was avoiding what she wanted to tell me. “I just think he needs my help. The whole team needs my help.”
“Fine, okay.”
Arie followed Lexi who walked past and I caught the last portion of their conversation and knew I had been worked over. “...so he agreed to it?”
Aries’ eyes widened when she saw me watching them.
I didn’t feel like knowing what they didn’t want me to. Arie was seventeen and was doing good these days. She wasn’t getting into trouble anymore and for the most part she was making smart decision.
“Hey, Uncle Ja
meson?” Cole called out from the family room holding a DVD in his hand with excited blue eyes. “I finished the video.”
Sway and I moved to the family room to watch the newest video he had created. Cole was into photography and making movies. Throughout the season Cole had been capturing video and photographs in an attempt to create a video for JAR Racing. When he told me he what he was doing I figured it would be something like a slide show. I had no idea Cole had the talent that he did.
The screen was black first with just our JAR Racing logo splashed across the screen before you heard thunder cracking and the sounds of a rain storm. After a few seconds, cheering moved the video along followed by the beat of a heavy metal song. The screen flashed between black images and action shots of in-car footage of me, Axel, Justin and all the other boys manhandling sprint cars at Knoxville, Eldora, Williams Grove and Lernerville. There were clips of the boys working on the cars, shots of us at the shop, video of wins for Justin, Rager and Tyler. Images of Axel’s win at Knoxville Nationals. Cody sweeping Four Crown Nationals and numerous other shots all detailing the season. It ended with a video of Axel and my dad walking back to the hauler after the World Finals.
“Wow!” was what most of us said to him. I knew Cole had talent of some sort, but most of the time I often wondered if his talent was causing trouble. Now at least he had a future in making videos.
“At least he made a decent video this time.” Lane said sitting next to my dad. “The one from the party was—”
Casten pummeled Lane.
“Jameson,” Sway captured my attention before I could question my youngest and the video. “I don’t like the fact my son is getting married. Go pull them apart.”
Glancing over my shoulder, Axel was still glued to his bride to be. “No. I’m not going over there.”
“You’re a horr—” she began but stopped.
Shit move or not, I kicked my wife.
“Asshole.” She mouthed.
I winked.
Soon dinner was served, more alcohol was consumed, my dad was shit faced, and my mom couldn’t be happier that we were all together.
