OUT OF HIS LEAGUE: BURTON, A BUST or A BUCK?

by Tello Real, mraspatello@rivalfish.com

"Each Monday, Rivalfish's Rival Room awards two athletes from the previous week that have performed 'out of their league,' for better or worse. As the Jersey Chasers of the land open their mouths and aim for the midsections of anyone wearing a jersey, we at Rivalfish help them navigate the VIP room waters with precision and class" - Rival Room Editor

jer·sey cha·ser, n, A person who only pursues, or is receptive to, the advances of athletes. Most commonly women and most commonly found on or around college campuses or professional sporting contests.

I feel like ending my article on a positive note today, so I'm going to start with the bad news. At some point in his life, Jeffrey Brian Burton of South Boston, VA made a decision. He was going to try to win the unwinnable game. He was going to try to become a successful racecar driver, the only sport you can be the best at in the entire world, and still be completely irrelevant to and unrecognized by half the popular majority of the country, and pretty much all of the world.

I know a billion people watch NASCAR and it's gaining rapid popularity and acceptance amongst people in every nook of this country, but it has by no means permeated society in the way any of the thee other major American sports have to date (hockey is no longer included in that equation). I edit a sports magazine in the third largest market in the country, and neither I nor anyone I know can name any of the last five , uh "Champions," as I'm not sure exactly what those Crazy 'Ole Boys call it. Nor can I tell you what people's sponsors are, or what kind of car they drive, or pick them out of a lineup with three contractors, an eye doctor, and your driver's ed teacher. So in my world, being the best race car drive in the entire world will do nothing more than make a girl ask three of her friends if they watch NASCAR and if "the guy with the embroidered t-shirt tucked into his tapered Levi 501s is fucking with her" at the bar. So in my world, being a NASCAR star is like being the best player on the JV team of life, and exists to myself and people living in the same world much in the same way attractive minority woman do. I know these women exist in a plentitude, as I've seen tons of rap videos and bangbus clips and films with Bill Bellamy in a nightclub. But walking around in my everyday life, I never see any, and I'm left squinting enough to make my girlfriend look Puerto Rican when we're cuddling.

Just like with black chicks, my consciousness of NASCAR exists only on the silver screen and in 90 second highlight clips, in which the commentators are usually speaking in an ironically condescending tone. The celluloid representation of NASCAR, which to some degree is surely a channeling of popular society's perception of the NASCAR nation, is currently Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Rickey Bobby. Dear six-pound, eight-ounce Baby Jesus, that was a f*cking hysterical movie. But if you think about it, the NASCAR drivers were given the intelligence and social behavior of the Baby from that old Jim Henson show on ABC, Dinosaurs. We haven't even made gays, women, and the mentally-disabled look that ridiculous in cinema and TV since the early '90s, when Rosanne made out with Mariel Hemingway on Rosanne and I was left lying to girls for the rest of my life about which "cool" drug had left me with ED for that particular evening.

So Jeff Burton chose to try his fate and legacy in that world, where millions try, thousands die in the process, and about five get famous enough so that if their dad dies in a horrific accident at the finish line of the biggest race, they can immediately spring to nationwide recognition. And believe it or not, he's done a really really good job. I don't know what the exact odds are for a career this good, but he started with Rookie of the Year Honors back in the '94, and is currently leading The Chase For The NEXTEL WINTSON CUP. In between he's won 18 races, held six poles (just like my little Phi Delt brother), and has won over 30 million frog pelts throughout his career. Yet he'll never not be a NASCAR driver. Even when he retires, and tries to be a realtor, people will think it's f*cking hysterical, because he was a NASCAR driver. Yet Elgin Baylor is a respected businessman somewhere right now.

But as I said, until Sunday, he was about to fully resurrect and bookend his career with a sweet championship that would make him at least famous enough for a Menards commercial. Then, after some early contact in the Martinsville Subway 500, the hood pins snapped on his Chevy Monte Carlo, and the subsequent attempts to fix his cake car led to an engine overheating that knocked him out of the race and out of the lead. Well, first of all, anyone alive for the last thirty years can tell you he's now in fifth place because he's a driving a Chevy Monte Carlo. He had something to protect in that car: a Championship. And if you are looking to protect something in your car you drive a Volvo. If you're looking to dunk a basketball, do you throw on some Airwalks? No, you lace up your f*cking Air Zoom Lebron IIIs and pray someone in your family tree actually had wanged a Brother. So, for any idiot move like that, I have to say it: DO NOT LAY JEFF BURTON!

But I don’t really feel that way. I'm just trying to seem like a badass. No one wants to listen to the guy that comes to the roast and tells a happy story about the guy, full of compliments and kudos for all his pimp HS hookups and Rec League Hat Tricks. So I had to posture and talk a little shit. But I feel bad for the guy. And you girls, if you have even one sentimental bone in your body (and that does not include the penis of a seemingly sentimental man who may be having sex with you while you read this), you'll feel sorry for Jeff too. Because if you think about it, it's pretty commendable that he was able to push on through his successful NASCAR career knowing that no matter what, he'd still never get to go to the Playboy Mansion, or be Punk'd or git'atta little girl from Laguna Beach. Maybe this whole time he was waiting for someone with a heart (in this case me) to notice him. I'm sure as hell none of you women have. Heck, his wife even fantasizes about being with a celebrity for once, seduced with chocolates and documentaries in George Clooney's suite at The Palms. So to any of you Chasers that want to make a difference and do something valiant for once, give a tickle to Mr. Burton, as he is Rivalfish's Jersey Chaser Target of the Week.