By Jody Weisel
I was sitting on the tailgate of Jimmy Mac’s truck talking to him when a kid walked up. I’d seen him at the track many times. He raced the 125 Novice class. “Can I have your autograph,” said the kid.
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“What do you want my autograph for?” I asked. “You see me every weekend.”
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I didn’t know you were anybody before,” he said, ”but I read on the internet that you’re a trouble maker, anti-establishment rebel and bad for the sport.”
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“And that made you decide to get my autograph. Why?” I asked.
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“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” he said.
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“Did they tell you on the internet that I’m also anti-drinking, anti-swearing, anti-dope smoking, anti-pit riding, anti-Ramstein listening, anti-crooked stickers, anti-dogs in the pits, anti-boom box and anti-having your own name tattooed on your back?” I ask.
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“Nobody’s perfect?” said the kid while thrusting the piece of paper in my face.
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“Who on the internet told you I was bad for the sport?” I asked out of curiosity.
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“Some guy on a chat room who uses the name JM10Y?”
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“Who’s he?” I asked.
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“I don’t know. but he’s in the chat room every night. He knows lots of inside stuff. He smokes anybody who tries to argue with him. He doesn’t like you very much. JM10Y said that you are anti-AMA.”
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“And he isn’t?” I asked.
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“Yeah, that bothered me too,” said the kid. “Do you ever go on the internet?”
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“No,” I said. “If I want to hearabout my faults all I have to do is go home to Lovely Louella.”
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“JM10Y said that you criticize the riders too much when they are slow,” said the kid.
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“He’s right,” I said. “No one should criticize sports figures. After all, they earn half a million dollars a year for doing what the rest of us pay to do. We don’t understand the hardships of juggling trips to Hawaii, buying new cars every week, partying hearty and trying to squeeze in a top ten every once in a while. They should all be glad they aren’t goalies on a losing Brazilian World Cup team. What else did he say?”
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“That you are anti-Honda, anti-promoter, anti-Husqvarna, anti-enduro, anti Husaberg, anti-vintage, anti-Suzuki, anti-mini, anti-Yamaha, anti-baggy pants, anti-KTM and anti-French,” said the kid.
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“Did he say I was also anti-greed, anti-ineptness, anti-shortsightedness, anti-stupidity, anti-bureaucracy, anti-avarice or anti-self serving rule making? Did he say I was pro anything?” I asked.
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“You must be pro education,” said the kid, “because he made a big deal out of you suggesting that some guy quit racing and go to college.”
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“So, do you ever reply to JM10Y’s posts?” I asked while giving my new goggle lens one final squeeze.
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“No,” said the kid. “He’s an idiot. He is obviously jealous and is just trying to build himself up by tearing you down.”
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I laughed so hard that I dropped my goggles off the tailgate of the Mac’s truck. And, as I reached down to pick them up, I could see Jimmy Mac’s personal license plate. It read JM10Y.
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