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Reposted from http://forums.delphiforums.com/2020racing/start

As I see it from turn one; and its dusty in turn one

Wisconsin – April 11, 2015, it would be impossible to decide when the love for sport was instilled into my life in quiet West Central Wisconsin. I grew up with a radio in the background chattering away with the Milwaukee Brewers or Minnesota Twins at play. On Saturdays in the fall, the station merely moved to the Wisconsin Badgers football game. And Sundays belonged to the Green Bay Packers as events, travels, and meals were decided around the kickoff time and our family was sure to be found huddled around the television at the start.

I however, am the only lover of racing in my immediate family, and unlike the other passions, I know exactly where it all started. At 12 years of age, I was busy at a neighbor’s home in rural Dunn County as we were playing in the snow. At supper time, it was time for me to go home. Now mind you, a neighbor in the middle of nowhere was a pretty long walk in the dark of winter and there was a gentleman there who offered me a ride home on his snowmobile.

This guy had a racing snowmobile! I don’t think I had ever gone as fast as I did on that ride home, and I certainly had never been that fast on a sled. As I was getting off in the driveway of our home, I took off his helmet with the big bubble shaped shield and handed it back to him with a large grin. As I thanked him, and he was putting it on his previously bare head, my dad came out and they chatted. I listened to every word intently as he told my father they were starting to work on that season’s racecar that very day! This guy raced cars too! As he rode away, I asked my father if he knew him. “He was a student of mine in school” he responded. “That’s Benny… Ben Mizer.”

I found ways from that day forward; short cuts though my chores or homework just to get to Tom and Carol Nelson’s house and watch as they pieced together the orange 04. Although he could never remember my name and called “Mr. Erickson’s boy” I loved to hear him talk about the wins. It would be impossible for me to ever forget the rumble that motor made too.

I cried on the bus as we travelled to 4-H camp on that memorable morning. We just learned of his death the night before at the Red Cedar Speedway in Menomonie. A man I truly never really knew well had somehow affected my life. It still saddens me as I write this article today. I for one, find it a horrible shame the Benny Mizer Memorial no longer exists. I was happy for his Hall of Fame induction, and by the crowd’s response when his name was called off, many of us haven’t forgotten him.

A few years after his passing, a family friend, John Anderson returned to racing after a several year break. I found a new place to hang out, and soon my Friday and Saturday nights were consumed by loud cars on the track and dust in the air. Although it was painfully obvious I knew nothing about mechanics and about all I was good for was reporting to them what I saw from the bleachers, I was part of the group. I was part of something which was not a winning tradition nor a household name, but it was something positive and good.

John hung it up in 1991, and there was this miserable break until 2000, when his boys pulled an at least 13 year old Schreiner mod out of the weeds and tried racing themselves. I never stopped going to the races during that dry spell, but I never had a close relationship with a race team either. Soon the Anderson boys would find out just how much I can talk as I entertained with stories and mostly got in the way. They however accepted me as one of their own, and I finally had some passion back in my heart for the races. Don’t get me wrong, I never stopped loving the races, but having someone to cheer for fanatically, brings back the true fan.

The last 15 years brought about many changes and different directions. But one of the brothers still races his Midwest Modified, always nearer to the front, and to a handful of feature wins each year. The other is now a cagy veteran in the Modifieds, a perineal in the top ten in National Points, a multi time track champion, and a threat to win wherever he goes. Oh yeah, they have come a long, long way from that ol’ Green Monster.

I realized along the way the racer is a special breed, so to speak. Most are pretty sure of themselves and they are willing to spend every last cent they have on the thrill of the race. In my experience, I learned they don’t race for the show. It isn’t like an actor who is there to entertain. The crowd's enjoyment is nowhere on any checklist. Sure, they love to see large crowds, but they would race in front of completely empty seats if they still got paid.

Nope, they aren’t doing it for the money either. But it takes money to make their wheels go around. They are racing for the thrill. The adrenaline rush of too much horsepower, on too little tire, on too little grip. They literally live by an old saying, “Drive ‘er in, until you can see your god, then turn left.” Although the casual fan goes home with the name of the driver who won… Yep, another win for the same guy. It is the truly invested who watched their favorite make the show and start eleventh. They raced well and if they had another lap, would have got forth because, “They were coming.”

The real fan realizes it’s all those other driver’s out there who actually do more than fill the field and, “never win” who make this sports what it truly is. Without them, the hot shots would have no one to beat. Stop knocking these guys’ casual fans. Because that person in front of you in the food stand line is here to watch them. It’s his brother, dad, coworker, pastor, teacher, whoever…

It’s the racer who bolts on the slightly bent parts the perennial winner takes off their own car because it isn’t good enough, who made this sport. It’s the driver who works all week, still trying to get his first, or perhaps just another one, whose family helps to fills the grandstand. So throw away the term field filler, but add the term seat filler, and your vocabulary at the tack just became more accurate.

Winning at racing takes a lot of things to go right each night. There is talent, equipment, luck, set ups, elements, etc. Racing, unlike any other sport, is truly not fair. The best driver on the track may have just finished third in a tenth place car. A mediocre driver may have just won a feature in outstanding piece of equipment. It’s the intangibles such as pit guys who can set it up correctly for each individual night as dirt is a forever changing thing. It the luck of a tire not going flat when they hit debris on the track, or the combination of luck and skill as they missed the wreck coming off turn four.

In an odd way, with my favorite driver, I kind of miss the days of waiting and hoping for that first win. I miss the excitement of chasing the next win too. There is added pressures when winning become more normal occurrence, and it’s sad where a third place, once a finish to be celebrated, has now become a moment of disappointment because you expect more.

Interestingly, maybe my favorite moment as a racing fan came when I was broke and couldn’t make the races. My favorite driver was going to be racing in Menomonie twice that week due to a special event. He was going to be in his employer's Super Stock at the special and in his own Modified on Friday night. I could only afford to go to one of the events that week, so I chose the regular show as I am truly a fan of the Modifieds! While lying in bed, the phone rang shortly after 10:00PM. In my world employed as a Probation and Parole Agent, the phone ringing later at night isn’t a good thing. It was either not good news, or worse yet, horrible news about the health of a loved one.

I answered the phone and heard shouting. Perhaps it was excitement! Someone was yelling, “Push the button! Push the #### button so he can hear us!” The phone went dead. My spouse at the time asked me in a puzzled way, “What was that?” “Mike just won the Super Stock Nationals!” I responded. I was all grins as the phone rang again. Yes sir, indeed he had. I missed it all with a thin wallet that week, but I will carry the excitement in that phone call in my memory forever.

Fast guys have cut down tires and lesser guys have taken advantage. Less than elite have driven over their heads and their mistakes have cost not only themselves but cost others, whom may have had a better opportunity, as their night come to an end abruptly.

Yes, this is an exciting sport! There are too many variables to count. Next time at the track, ask yourself who you are rooting for that night. If it’s not a race with a favorite driver, look at how white the logo is on the tires and that will help you realize who put on new tires and who could only afford what they had on the trailer. And when the dude who has old tires, mismatched shocks, and was showing a little smoke wins the heat, a B-Feature, or steals third on the last lap of the feature with a good move, give them a shout too. They are the ones who make this sport truly what it is.

Oh yeah! See you at the track! www.facebook.com/bradatthetrack and bradatthetrack@gmail.com.