I did something last weekend that I swore I would never do in my whole life. I’m not quite sure what came over me or what possessed me to do it, but I couldn’t help myself, the attraction was too strong. Dare I admit, I watched an entire NASCAR race?

Honestly, it wasn’t as dreadful as I thought it would be (please tell me you know that I’m being sarcastic). I actually found myself glued to the television. As I’m sure many of you know, I normally care as much about NASCAR as Britney does about car seats. I still can’t pinpoint what drew me into even watching the Daytona 500 in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong, anyone who can plop down for a few hours and watch constant left turns is quite simply a better person than me, yet I can’t get the word “idiotic” out of my mind. So I did the idiotic, but the Daytona 500 is a different monster than some random race in some podunk town in the middle of Virginia (I’m really just talking about Richmond). No my friend, the Daytona 500 is the Super Bowl of NASCAR, the top dog, the one everyone wants to win, the only race that matters.

Folks, they don’t call it “The Great American Race” for nothing. So why in the name of Cale Yarborough is it the first race of the season? That doesn’t even make sense for the “idiotic” folk, does it? 

So anyway, I watched this thing and was blown away by one thing, and it was orange with a Home Depot sign on the hood. The inside of the car was manned by Tony Stewart, a madman on the track. Honest engine, if he didn’t do the things he did during the Daytona 500, I would’ve flipped to the Winter Olympics and watched curling (or ice marbles) until my eyes began to bleed. But earlier in the week, Stewart looked so worried that someone would soon be killed if drivers continued to “bump draft” at 190 mph. He’s probably right, so why in the name of A.J. Foyt would he instigate nearly every incident on the track? Because he’s cool.

Have I lost you yet? Are you tracking what I’m saying here? Don’t get discouraged if you feel flustered right now, that’s how I was throughout much of the race. Most of the time, I wasn’t sure what I was watching and now my neck has a permanent tilt to the left which is only slightly annoying. 

And did you know there are teams in NASCAR? Teams? I thought it was a race. It’s kind of like if my brother and I were in a race against 41 other guys and he won, I should take it as a moral victory because in this case he’d be my “teammate” and I could share in his win.

What in the name of Ernie Irvan are we talking about? I’m sorry, I thought it was a freaking race. “You play to win the game,” right? If I don’t win, I lose. Forget teammates, unless they’re riding along with me in my car.

Man, they even have spotters with headsets on telling the driver who’s behind them and to the left and right. By the time these guys had driven 200 miles, I was like Susan Powter. “Stop the insanity,” the voices in my head were screaming. Watching the entire Daytona 500 was self inflicted torture that I will never do again.

After I cleared my head, I actually had enough time to come up with a Fab Five for the week. How in the name of Bobby Allison was I able to do that?

5) Lindsay Jacobellis. Look, she only got the silver in her crazy snowboarding event for showboating a bit, but you would’ve done the same thing with a lead that big.

4) Nate Robinson. Watching him jump over Spud Webb in the dunk contest was like watching an Oompah Loompah jump over Mini Me.

3) Jimmie Johnson. He actually won the Daytona 500. I should know because I watched the whole freaking thing!

2) Ricky Williams. Another failed drug test. Way to stick it to the man, Ricky.

1) Me. I watched 200 laps of left turns. What’d you do last Sunday?

What I failed to tell you about my NASCAR experience is that they got $30 out of me. You see, after the race, for a moment, I actually wanted more. So I drove to Best Buy and bought a NASCAR game for my PlayStation 2. Please, keep the finger pointing and name calling to a minimum. My right thumb is killing me from pressing the accelerator of my fake car in a video game. I am loser, this I know. Respect!