Dale Jr.: You would have thought Dale Earnhardt Jr. had won the race Sunday at Talladega...and he kinda did. He and teammate Jimmie Johnson stayed paired up all day long, even leading for a time. By the end, everybody was looking at Jeff Gordon/Mark Martin, Clint Boyer/Kevin Harvick, and Edwards/Biffle for the win...then, on the inside, a bullet 48 car was being pushed like hell by another bullet, his teammate, Dale Jr. If it wasn't for some strong hands and good pushing, Jimmie probably wouldn't have won that race. It was a helluva finish.
After the race, Jimmie credited Dale for the win, even handing him the checkered flag. When he finished 2nd to Harvick at Martinsville, all of the talk was how Dale should've shoved Harvick out of the way for the win. Anyone who has followed this sport knows that Dale is not that kind of driver--he's a gentleman driver, much like Mark Martin. People love to point out his winless streak, intimating he should have been someone he isn't just to get that win. That's not him, and I hope it never will be. There are more important things.
Now, as far as this two-car tandem-style racing? Not really sold on it. Yes, it made for a fantastic finish, but it's just not the same as the old style. I dunno. Just my gut reaction.
Dale finished 4th and moved up to 3rd in Spring Cup Standings.
Dallas Mavericks: Gotta tell you, I, like many Mavericks' fans, am annoyed by players and even a coach (I'm looking at you Karl) dogging my Mavs! So, it was sweet satisfaction to see the Mavs win the first game against the Trail Blazers. I know we've got a long way to go--and I know it's been a tough go here for a while--but that first win was a step in the right direction...and a boot up the bums of the smack talkers. Game 2 is tonight.
Dad & Dumbledore: I loaned Dad my copy of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince the other day. He wanted to refresh his memory before watching Deathly Hallows, Part One.
Dad: "This one's about Dumbledork, right?"
You read right.
Me, eyebrows raised, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk: "Dumbledore, you mean?"
Dad, smirking: "Yeah, Dumbledork, that's what I said."
This is a time-honored tradition, or so it seems. When I was a toddler, it was Mickey Moose. I'd stomp my footy-pajama-foot like there was no tomorrow. My love of Scooby-Doo prompted him to turn Scrappy-Doo into Crappy-Doo, guaranteeing wild amounts of foot stomping.
This is my daddy. :) Characters run in the family.