[racerfanx2]

I received this from a racing buddy out of California.....



Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the paddock,
Not a motor was stirring, not even an impact.
The stockings were hung by the pit fence with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.



The drivers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of championships danced in their heads.
And mamma in her checkered flag, and I in my Bell,
Had just settled down for a long winter's spell.



When out on the grid there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
To the back of the trailer I flew like a shift,
Unlocked the rampdoor, and let down the lift.



The moon on the crest of the new-paved front straight,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects so late,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a formula car, screaming by in top gear.



Such a noise caused the chief steward to immediately arise ,
And by the look on his face he had words for this guy,
He shouted aloud in his most gruff voice,
"It's quiet time now, GET OFF OF THE COURSE"!



Then sound control had been stirred from its slumber,
And yelled to the chief steward, "I've never seen such a DB number!"
The chief of tech said, upon seeing this fellow,
"I've never seen that car, and I know it has no annual".



The chief steward demanded to know this driver's intent,
To which registration replied, "Maybe he's a late registrant."
Suddenly timing and scoring appeared from yonder,
And chimed in "That car on course has no transponder."



Though I couldn't see the driver, he went by so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than Schuey his crew they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;



"Now, JACKMAN! now, TIRE CHANGER! now, CREWCHIEF and FUELMAN!
On, ENGINEER! on FA BRICATOR! on, MANAGER and TIREMAN!
Beyond the tech shed! to base of the pit wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"



As valves that before the busted cam fly,
When they meet with a piston, mount to the sky,
So to the base of the timing tower the crewman they flew,
With a hauler full of "go fast" bits, and St. Nicholas too.



And then, in a flash, I heard on the grid
The roaring and thunder that each piston did.
As I drew on my pitboard, and was turning about,
into Victory Lane , St. Nicholas had arrived, without doubt.



He was dressed all in Simpson, from his head to his boots,
And his suit was all tarnished with oil and soot;
A bundle of speed parts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a vendor just opening his pack.



His face shield -- how it twinkled! his helmet decals shone!
His patches were like a mural, his name scripted like a pro!
His neck re straint was the best design we'd seen yet,
And his gloves and his boots were a perfectly matched set;



His tools spoke volumes, he used all that they had,
A mouse, a keyboard, a computer, and CAD;
This just confirmed what we already knew,
More than a great driver, he is a great designer too.



The parcels for the stockings that he brought along,
Dripped of technology that helped engines make song;
A look at the sides of his car showed there had been no rubbing here,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to fear;



He spoke not a word, but went straight to pacing,
And filled all the stockings; with parts for racing,
Then flipping the master power switch, and laying his finger on the starter,
And into first gear, back down pit road, but no farther;



He sprang from his car, to his team gave a holler,
And immediately they loaded the car back in the hauler.
But I heard him excl aim, as they tore out from the line,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND SHIFT IN TURN 9!"

[illiNOISE]

I like this version from http://www.iowastockcars.com/IowaSto...aStockcars.htm WAY better.


T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the land
Not a race track was open, only snow filled the stands.
The pit shacks were shut down, front gates were secured
And over the PA systems, not one word was heard.

The flagstands were empty, there were no shouts or cheers
And no kids begged their parents for Lil Racer Car Club souvenirs
PRI had just ended, Chili Bowl was two weeks away
No races were scheduled to run Christmas Day.

RVs and campers were winterized and parked
Musco lighting was turned off, scoring towers were dark.
And everywhere race fans were snug in their beds
While visions of close finishes danced in their heads.

But somewhere in Iowa, way north of town
If you listened real close, you could just hear the sound
Of an engine, a flying fast Ford at that
Behind the wheel was a driver in a "RACIN" ball cap.

He was pushed by a truck, its driver in red
With a long white beard and furry cap on his head
They moved through the infield, past the empty food stand
Their only witness, a reindeer, with stopwatch at hand.

They rolled out of the pits and down the front straight
Then the engine, it caught, and the car pulled away
Past the bleachers it rumbled, the racecar so light
Broadsliding 'round turns on that cold winter night.

Just off the cushion, the driver he flew
Gaining speed as he rounded the corner in turn two.
He zipped down the backstretch, no fenders, no wings
Because this driver have no need for such things.

As he circled the track, he laughed in delight
Engine roaring as dirt clods flew into the night,
Many ciruits he made in the snow and the cold
The speed and the skill were a sight to behold.

All too soon, in the east, shown the first light of sun
And alas, it was time to end all the fun.
He was heard to exclaim as he climbed from the car...
*** "Merry Christmas all race fans, wherever you are " ***

[illiNOISE]

And here's yet another version.

http://www.stlracing.com/forums/show...hreadid=123321