Jump to content


Richard Pryor1548534703

Recommended Posts


or What CMC Racers do Duuring the Holidays


with apologies to Major Henry Livingston, Jr. (1748-1828)


'Twas the night before the big CMC Christmas race, when all through the shop

Not an engine was revvving, not even a Chevy mouse;

The nomex stockings were hung on the race van with care,

In hopes that the Starter soon would be there;

Tony's pit crew, Ryan and Nicolle, were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of checkered flags danced in ther dad's head;

And Dave in his welding hat and Pat in his Haulmark cap,

had just settle down to a long haul to the track.


When out on the track there arose such a clatter,

The CMC racers sprang from the pits to see what was the matter.

Away to the pregrid they flew like a flash,

Tore open their car doors and the throttles did mash.


The moon on the front straight of the new paved track

Gave the lustre of mid-day to the racers in the pregrid pack,

When what to their wondering eyes should appear,

But a gigantic transporter and eight CMC racers,


With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

Julie knew in a moment it must be Don Trask.

More rapid than Chevies his drivers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name;


Now, Brade! now, Jim!, now Mike and Fernancez and on Vixen!

On LaPlante! on Keith! on Greg and Brad Simpson!

To the front of the grid! For the start do not stall!

Now race away! race away! race away all!


A the dry sumped Chevies that before the wild Mustangs fly,

When they meet with a crash in Turn One, mount to the sky,

So around the race track, the drivers they flew,

with a tank full of fuel, and a little nitro, too.


And then, in a twinkling, JR Luster hear on the speaker

The revving and sliding of each CMC'er.

As I drew in the pit board, and was turning to see more,

Down the front straight came Tony Guaglione and his engines load roar.


He was dressed all in Nomex, from his head to his foot,

And his driving suit was all tarnished with engine grease and soot;

A bundle of spares (this is a Ford, after all) were flung on his back,

And he looked like a salvage yard guy just opening his pack.


Griffith's eyes, how they twinkled! Kincy's dimples how merry!

Cosmo's cheeks were like roses, Esse's nose like a cherry!

Chris's droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow (tie) (he's a Chevy guy)

And the beard of Richard's chin was as white as the snow;


The stump of a torque wrench he held tight in his teeth,

And the exhaust it encircled his head like a wreath

He had a broad face and a (no exercise program) round little belly

That shook when he raced down the corkscrew, like a bowlful of jelly.


He was chubby and plump (the cool suit, he swore) a right jolly old chap,

And Gary laughed when he saw him in spite of his pole setting lap.

A wink of his eye and a rap of the throttle

Soon gave me to know an engine teardown would find a nitrous bottle.


He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,

And pulled the engine; then turned with a jerk,

And said," Well a 350's just a dyslectic's 305"

And giving a shrug, out of the impound he drove.


He sprang to his transporter and to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all drove, like shot from a pistol.

But I heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,


Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

  • Create New...