If you’re like me (and isn’t pretty much everyone?) then your elbows are getting sore from poking all those heirs and heiresses out of your way at church.  As the Dow goes down, my place of worship fills up.  And boy are those pews full.  Now I know why they called ‘em pews to begin with.

Shoot — I get more RPMs doing burnouts in my Impala on Hickory Street than the Big Board gets points on Wall Street.  I understand why the ranks of the religious are being infiltrated by those among us looking for a little holy handout.

You have to wedge yourself in there just to put in a weekly good word for Dale Jr. these days, and now your prayers have got to compete with all those teary-eyed pleas for Sirius stock to go back up or for your AIG bonus to come through untaxed by Congress.

There are a few alternatives to get yourself a little religious recourse.  First, you can go to church on tv.  I tried it, and let me caution you off.  It’s not easy shushing your little kids on Sunday morning while you kneel on your living room carpet segments trying to explain to the Lord Jesus why he should keep His rain off the track at Martinsville today or make your peckerwood just an inch or two longer.  I’ve asked a million times, but I can’t get God to put Dale Earnhardt on the line with me, neither.  I’ll keep calling.

Then another alternative to your traditional preacherman/teacherman churchgoing is to start your very own religion.  I myself am a Juniorian.  We have services from February to November, then we take a few months off to adjust to new rules and work on our equipment.  But I run a tight ship at pre-race services.  Then it’s time for the whole family to hush up and watch our savior make laps.  Last week’s sermon was Junior 15.09 — it’s always revealed to me in his lowest lap time of the day.  Plus, I have been promised I am on the list of ministers waiting to give the invocation at Daytona. 

The tenets of Juniorism are pretty simple — you got the Father (whom you never see up above but have to have faith in), the Son (you see that cat all the time if you get TV), and the Holy Race Team (they’re in everything around you: lugnuts, tires, steering columns — and they make yellow flags drop during commercial breaks on Fox).  That’s why the number 3 is so darned important in Juniorism.

But at the end of the day I just can’t argue with the inborn urge to have a personal relationship with Jesus and to put that feller first.  So back to church I go.

Jesus would have made a pretty good driver on today’s circuit, I like to think.  The give-and-take of Mark Martin.  The humility of Jeff Burton.  The pit crew of Matt Kenseth.  The ability of Jimmy Johnson to deal with the fact that one member of your team is a backstabbing Judas sonuvabitch.

And if you’re a Jeff Gordon fan — I have nothing against you.  We’re brothers in Christ.  But when you’re done drawing pentagrams on the floor of your basement, please clean up the goat blood.  That shit has parasites.  Anyone else ever wonder why there aren’t any races scheduled during the equinoxes?  Huh — wonder no more.

So get out there and do your best to work religion into your racing life!  That’s how a Dirtburger does race weekend.  And as always, you’re welcome.