4/8/04

Cue CBS-TV newsperson nonpareil Walter Cronkite or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

"What kind of a day was it? A day like all days, filled with adventures that alter and illuminate our times and 'You Are There.'"

No I wasn't ... gosh all hemlock. Not on March 20, 1992. Not in Gainesville, Florida.

Ah, the vicissitudes of changing fortune. Respected by a handful as knowledgeable about all things drag racing (at least historically), I rejected sound advice and missed (in person) the first 300-mph run in drag racing. I had an edge. I was in the training camp of the victors. I had just seen someone go 297-mph 12 days earlier. I knew or thought I knew that 300 was right around the corner. But no, I hedged my bets. I backed off when I should have forged ahead to the $99,000 answer.

Why, oh why didn't I listen to the experts?

March 20, 1992 at 11 a.m., I awoke from a martini/cocaine hangover to the lucid tones of pal Todd Veney on the phone.

"Hey, Martin, shoulda gone to Gainesville instead of Houston. Bernstein just went 301.70. You lose."

Remember how Jackie Gleason used to do that "Whaaaah" bass-toned bellow, just before he'd spin on his heel and hit the floor. That was me.

I am, as I've said to the point of terminal boredom, a numbers freak. Seventy-five percent of the reason I go to any drag race is to see a great number run.

I take the things seriously. It had been my good fortune as a Top Fuel fan to see the first 5-second run, the first 5.8-, 5.7-, 5.6-, 5.5-, 5.4-. 5.3, 5.2, 5.1, 5.0, Eddie Hill's first in the fours 4.99, and the first 4.8-second runs. I nearly had a string as impressive as that in speed, so the Gainesville thing was a big deal.

And as I said earlier, my pump was primed. At the end of the 1980s, I saw Gary Ormsby and Mike Brotherton run 294.11s and Ormsby crank a 296.05 at the Sept. 1990 Topeka race. Then at Houston on March 8, 1992, I watched Mike Dunn power baseballer Jack Clark's dragster to a 297.12, so no excuses; I knew something was in the wind.

To make matters worse after having watched Dunn run the 297, I went over to Kenny Bernstein's camp that afternoon and yakked with crew chief Dale Armstrong. The conversation went something like this (and I paraphrase):

Learned observer: Hey, just missed, eh? 297's better than I thought we'd see.