Page 148 of Black Flag

“You know whatassholes? Can you just laugh at me after we clean this off?”

Van tried to nod,laughed and then reached for a hose.

A little shit head of akid walked past, staring at me in horror as he took in my appearance. “What areyou looking at?” I blurted out.

He gave me a look thatwas somewhere between scared shitless and horrified by what I had on me.

The assholes finallystopped laughing and assisted me in cleaning up the mess but Emma being Emmawasn’t watching where she was throwing the used paper towels after we cleanedoff my cast. I was tempted to cut the cast off because it smelled that bad.

Anyhow, Emma wasthrowing them over her shoulder.

They were not goinginto the trash.

Instead, they went intothe back seat of this old Plymouth parked beside us with an elderly womansitting in the front seat. When her elderly husband got inside, he wrinkled hisnose and gave his wife, I assumed, a look of complete disgust.

“Irma, did you shityourself again?” he asked his wife.

Emma, Van, and I alllooked at each other at the same time. We had no choice but to laughuncontrollably at what just happened until I actuallypeedmy pants.

18.Spoiler– Jameson

Spoiler – A metal bladeattached to the rear deck lid of the car. It helps restrict airflow over therear of the car, providing down force and traction.

I believe our bodiesare like the engines we run. We are pressurized systems, except we have bloodinstead of oil pumping through our veins. Just like an engine, there has to bea safe way for us to relieve the pressure built up before it finds its own wayout. This is essential, because when an engine explodes, usually the connectingrod goes through the engine block, producing a lot of smoke and steam, and theresults are catastrophic not to mention expensive.

Throughout my racingcareer, pressure was continually building until I eventually reached mybreaking point. What I needed was a way to relieve this pressure before Iexploded and released my own smoke and steam, like I did the time I was racingUSAC and Sway left for college.

While sitting inside mymotor coach alone, I took a look at the NASCAR website, even when I knew Ishouldn’t. Lately all the articles focused on how out of control I was. Theyweren’t altogether wrong, but some upset me more than others because of the waythey were written—portraying me like I was a childish rookie who let his violettemper tantrumscontrolhim.

The headlines would allread the same.

The Rise andFallof Greatness

A storm brewing inBlack and Red

Where’s Torres? AskRowdy Riley

Reading through thelies and miscommunication between me and the media, I couldn’t help but smiledespite my rage. When I came across the one that read:

Quell on edge ofDesperation

I tossed my laptopacross my motor coach. It didn’t make me feel any better. It just meant Ineeded to buy another, my third this month alone. I just couldn’t believe thelies written and the believing ears waiting to read it.

I made my point knowntoo. Every report out there wanted to question me on Darrin and where he was.Guess what, I ignored them. That’s when the lies appeared. But the thing was,NASCAR made it that way. I couldn’t speak my mind for the simple fact that theywould fine me.

It was no secret thatNASCAR controlled our interactions with the media. When we were at the track,it was their stomping grounds. We needed to behave in a manner they feltappropriate. If they deemed your language during an interview as inappropriate,theyfinedyou. Let’s just say I had a lot deeminggoing on these days. It turn, I declined interviews with just about everyone.By doing that, I had my sponsors deeming me too.

They would say thingslike, “Jameson, we respect your aggression you show out there and the way youcan make the car come to you. Even though you’re not on the track, you’re stillrepresenting us. Your fans, your sponsors, your team, all depend on you. If youcan’t represent us in the manner we wish, we have a problem.”

It was suddenly like noone understood me anymore or why I felt this way. More importantly, it feltlike no one knew me.

Evenmy family who supposedly knew me better than everyone.

“Jameson you needto snap out of this shit!” Alley screamed in my face before the Dover race, hercalico hair falling into her eyes as she brushed it back behind her ear, herface flushed with anger. “If I have to make another public statement as to whyyou accosted another NASCAR official, I’m going to accost you!”

I knew the strain myrecent polemic with NASCAR was putting on my team but I snapped once again. Islammed my fist down on the table inside the hauler, the water bottle that wasbalancing precariously on the edge fell to the floor.

“What the fuck do youwant me to do?” I growled back pulling at my hair, my head rested against thetable.

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