Was remembering an old poem I memorized as a kid, probably 50 years ago. When I tried to do a Google search, to confirm my memory, I couldn’t find it. But I did find an old thread on “Racing Poems”, started by 1951bomber in 2008. In that thread, chainsaw mentioned looking for the words to that poem. Sooo... to the best of my recollection, here goes. Garlits at the Strip (author unknown) The tires were not holding for the Lions crowd that night, They were struggling in the sevens, with no change of luck in sight. So, when McEwen came out smoking, and Prudhomme blew his mill, The crowd was not too happy, they hadn’t had their fill. The smaller rodders, cleaned of parts, were leaving from the strip. But faithful fans stayed on, and hoped ETs would dip. They cried, if only Garlits had a chance to run his rail, We would have a chance for sixes, which is now a hope so frail. Then suddenly the crowd cried out, the announcer lost his grip, For Garlits, mighty Garlits, was advancing to the strip. His crew was neatly dressed in white, his face was darkly tanned. His mill was brightly plated. It cost him half a grand. There was ease in Garlits’ manner, as he motioned to the crowd. His nerves were steady as a rock, a low ET he vowed. The push-car comes behind him, to bring his mill around, And with a mighty crashing roar, his tires break the ground. The mighty Hemi roars to life, the timing lights draw near. Garlits blips the throttle, and smoke blows from the rear. The lights move quickly down the tree, his engine cannot fail. And now the ground is shaking with the force of Garlits’ rail. Oh, somewhere in this happy land, low times are being made, Where tires are smoking, and previous records fade. And somewhere filers are running quick, and spinning tires tread, But there is no joy at Lions, mighty Garlits got a red.
I asked about that poem on hear years ago, no one remembered. Did searches also, couldnt find anything. Thanks for posting.
Glad I could bring it back around for you. It was your post, asking for it, that popped up on my search.
Definitely a Casey at the Bat story. Reminded me of a hilarious 'letter to a friend' joke that floated around grammar school in the 60s that I could never find again. I remember a few lines in the letter like, "I sat down pen in hand to type you a letter so please excuse the pencil . . .", "I am sending your coat in the mail. I cut off the buttons to save weight, I put them in the coat pocket . . .", and "Aunt Jennie is extremely ill, she is near death's door. Hopefully the doctors can pull her through . . " The letter went on like that for a couple pages.
The Jalopy Journal
