Driver #8: Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

(Page 3: Daytona Rookie)

At Daytona, being a rookie dictates many things, including your location in the garage. Teams are placed according to their position in the point standings in last year's Winston Cup, and since we ran only five races in 1999, we didn't accumulate many points. The top ten point-earners get the biggest garage stalls as well as other perks. Each team uses stacks and stacks of Goodyear Eagle racing slicks, and it takes a lot of time and effort to mount all of those tires for each of the teams. They are mounted for the successful and winning teams first, so we have to wait patiently for them to stack our tires.

My team is parked way down in one of the last garage stalls—all dusty and cramped. Right next to us is Matt Kenseth, who is driving a Ford for team owner Jack Roush. Matt and I became buddies off the track during the last two years, when we were both running the Busch Series and competing hard for the championship. He was always my toughest competition and for some reason I think it made us closer. Matt is a good guy and a great driver, and the media who cover NASCAR are saying that the two of us are natural rivals for the Rookie of the Year award. As much as I like Matt and enjoy hanging with him, I really want to beat him. I know he's also gunning for me, since I won the last two Busch titles. NASCAR rivalries and friendships are like that. When you are out on the track, it doesn't matter who is in the other car— you want to beat him. I feel that way when the guy driving the other car is my friend, like Matt, or when the other car is a black No. 3 and the driver is my dad. I want to beat him and I know he wants to beat me. Badly.

Having Matt so close in the garage is cool because it gives me someone to talk to and relax with. Because we are both new and have similar backgrounds, we learn a lot from each other. I'll talk with Matt about a lot more things than I will with my father. Dad is one of those guys who doesn't give detailed lessons or tips. But Matt and I can ask, "Is your car doing this?" or "What did you do here in Turn 3?" We even discuss off-track pressures and expectations. Our motor coaches (our homes-away-from-home) are parked side by side in the drivers' lot, so we hope to talk at night.

I don't want to make it sound like my dad doesn't offer any advice, but he always wants me to learn things for myself. When I was getting started in racing, he'd tell me things like "Be smooth" or "Be careful," but he really didn't give me a lot of specific racing hints. The one I remember most, though, is when I was just getting started in late-model stock cars at a small local track in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. For three Saturday nights in a row, the same guy had spun me out. Each week, I'd try to pass him on the inside and he would cut across the track and spin my inexperienced ass around. I told Dad that the same damn guy had wrecked me three times and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever pass anyone ever again. Dad asked for more specifics about each incident. He thought for a second, and then he turned and said, "Here's what you do. The next time you come up to pass him, you know he's going to do that to you. And he will keep doing it as long as you let him do it. So you come up on the inside like before, but when he starts to cut across, you put on the brakes and keep your steering wheel straight. That should do it."

I was pumped up and ready the next week. A little unsure of the move, but I was ready. In the feature race, I was zooming along and there he was—right in front of me. I got a good run down the inside, and just as he was ready to cut me off, I put on the brakes and kept the wheel straight. When I opened my eyes, sure enough, he spun up into the wall and I cruised along just fine. Thanks, Dad.

But, of course, that move won't work here at Daytona, and I still have to make it into the race, and that's no sure thing regardless of how much advice Dad gives me. Actually, I worry a helluva lot more about making the starting field than how I'll do once we're in the race. There is a lot riding on just being in the race. No one wants to have to load up the entire team and go home three days before the race. No one wants to face several hundred VIP guests on race morning to tell them why they won't be seeing their car take the green flag.

Not making the race would be agonizing. Agonizing because all of the preparation and hard work and practice would be wasted. Agonizing because I'd feel like I let down my crew, my sponsors, my dad, and my fans. After all of the preseason hype, magazine covers, and sponsor dollars . . . it's almost too much to imagine. The worst is wondering if I'm really ready for this, if I really belong in Winston Cup.

I believe I do belong. But I still have to go out and prove it to myself—and to everyone else, especially the veteran drivers. They don't give a damn that I won two Busch titles. That would be like Michael Jordan worrying about a rookie who won an NCAA title or two. I have to make the right decisions and earn respect every lap of every race.

Copyright © 2002 by Dale Earnhardt, Jr. All rights reserved. Posted with permission of http://www.twbookmark.com. Click here for ordering information for "Dale Earnhardt, Jr.: Driver #8" at Amazon.com.