Dearest Shannon,

What a beautiful name. I went to high school with a fella named Shannon that had a permed mullet that flowed halfway down his back. He would smoke two Marlboro reds at the same time and kick your ass if you looked at him cross. Until I seen you on the television set, I always associate that name with bad things. Now I associate the name with bad things but theys bad in a different way.

Being a professional type lady like you are I reckon you prefer folks to focus on your work instead of your physical attributes. Allow me to do just that. You vocabulary is top notch. Half the words you choose are far beyond my comprehension (I got that one from the dictionary) but whenever you use big words I just seem to have this understanding. It’s almost like we have a connection that spans the differences in our levels of education. Unlike the others ladies that attend the race track this weekend, your conservative and professional choices of attire scream, I’m a reporter not some piece of eye candy for you ESPN viewing perverts. You ain’t out there wearing flashy or skimpy clothing trying to get noticed like some of them ladies that pour themselves into a four sizes too small tube top. I respect that. My ex old lady looked like a bag of leaves in a fire suit. You look like a crew member that snuck away from a team meeting just long enough to give us fans a little insider tidbit.

Another thing I fancy about you is that I can safely eat while watching your reports without losing my appetite. I remember several tailgates where I’ve almost lost my lunch after a herd of elephants in bikini tops and jean shorts moseys on by. I like that you wear you hair in a pony tail more times than not. Sure I dream of seeing you with your bangs all hairsprayed up in the air reaching for the sky but I appreciate the fact that you leave a little to the imagination. You bring a certain something that’s been missing from NASCAR reporting for oh so long. Nothing against Alan Beswick but he just don’t get my engine running if you catch my drift.

Now that I’ve primed you up like an engine that’s sat in the garage for the long winter, allow me to get to my point, Shannon Spake, I would like to ask you out on a date. I don’t know if you have a boyfriend but I’m putting myself out there for you. I ain’t some fancy lawyer or doctor that could easily gain the affections of a beauty such as yourself but I’m a hard working, red blooded American man that just wants a chance. Let me walk you through what you would have in store if you said yes.

First I would pick you up at whatever track we arrange.  I would kart you off to my tailgate site where I would wine and dine you with the finest grilled fare you could ever dream of. My cousin Stoney is quite the cook and has honed his skills at the Golden Corral outside of Richmond Virginia. His culinary skills are normally reserved for paying customers, but should he be presented with the opportunity, he would offer his services to make a date as special as possible. While we dine, we will be treated to the soothing sounds of Sirius Satellite Radio’s Hair Nation. That will set the mood for the evening where we will dance under the stars and if things go well, we can end the evening with a nightcap in my RV.

There it is Shannon. I’m putting myself out there for you.

Sincerely,

Remington Chassis