Racing History Minute - July 6, 1991

Some have wondered.

Some have guessed.

I've shared with some.

Others couldn't give a rip.

But here goes.

On an occasion or two, I've mentioned here about one of my uncles introducing me to racing back in 1974. He took me to my first late model sportsman race and first Cup race - both at Nashville's fairgrounds track. He also took me to my first Daytona 500 in 1980. Other than those occasions, however, we didn't go to many races together.

Another uncle - the youngest of the 4 siblings - invited us to Daytona in 1991 for the annual Pepsi 400. Or as we still called it (and still do), the Firecracker 400. I had been the prior couple of years with a couple of different friends. But this was to be the first race to go with THREE of my uncles - and as an adult.

My oldest uncle rode with me, and Ronald - the one that intro'd me to racing - drove separately with my cousins in his Camaro. We stayed together pretty closely on the trip to Jacksonville from Tennessee on Friday afternoon. Not bad - 70-75 most of the way. Until.

We got to Lake City FL and knew the next milestone was the Duval County / Jacksonville city limits line. As we approached it, both of us amp'd the speed a bit more. As we got well into the county and close to Orange Park, we were both flying. (Not advised kids.) I was in front of him & blocking by switching lanes on I-295. But I deked when I should've juked, and he re-passed me as we hit the Buckman Bridge over the St. John's River. The bridge was a no-passing zone back then. But I swung around another car, passed Ronald, and moved back in front of him as we exited the interstate across the bridge. I held the lead until the house, and my oldest uncle and I declared ourselves the winners. My cousins immediately started howling in protest that I'd passed in a no-pass zone. Either way, we knew a great weekend was about to unfold.

We rolled out early Saturday and headed for Daytona for the 10AM green flag. So many today are clamoring for a return to that tradition. Those that do so either (1) have never experienced it or (2) have forgotten what it was like. It was HOT. Beyond hot. We may well have been halfway to Hades after having interstate-raced the night before.

But...we were there.

Anheuser-Busch beverages? MANY!

Sunscreen - little

Water - zero

I honestly remember little of the race except for the bad wreck between Joe Ruttman and Darrell Waltrip and Awful Bill from Dawsonville winning in his blue Melling Coors Light Ford. As you might rightfully guess, I wasn't a big fan of Elliott back in the day.

One of my uncle's friends and his young son WERE big Elliott fans, and they were elated. All of us made our way to the cars for the ride home to Jax. The kid was gloating as the rest of us continue consuming the remaining inventory of the coolers.

Once home, someone had the lame brained idea of playing a game of basketball in my uncle's concrete driveway. Periodic replenishment with Gatorade? Umm, not exactly unless Stokely Van Camp had a Bud flavored Gatorade.

My oldest uncle had a belly as big as west Texas and sported a shirt the size of Rhode Island. And he thought he was Lebron James or whoever is the Big Man of basketball these days. The rest of us just flopped around, missed shots, paused to take a swig, and fall down...a lot. Over the next few minutes, the game of hoops began to look more like a rough game of rugby.

I spent as much time lifting myself from the scorching concrete as I did trying to post up on an uncle or a cousin who by now were beginning to look a lot alike and were starting to replicate in numbers.

At some point, I collided with an uncle and went to the floor. As we sweated, laughed and burned, the 12 year-old Bill fan stood over me and declared with resignation:

"Mr. Chase, who know what your problem is? You're full of too much country."

I have no idea where he came up with that - and really wasn't sure at the time what he even meant. But I started laughing and then embraced it. I got up, tousled his hair, and replied "Ya know Scotty, you got that right. I AM full of too much country."

Over time, I've defined the label as I've seen fit. I've embraced it as as compliment and accept it as an insult. Most recently, I met Ol' DW in Charlotte in May coming down the Smith Tower elevator following Thursday night qualifying for the Coke 600.

I'd met him before but re-intro'd myself. I said "We've met before DW, but my name is Chase. You may have seen me on Twitter as toomuchcountry." He paused and tried to joke for the benefit of others on the elevator "Hmm, I didn't think there was such a thing as too much country." I held our shake, maintained eye contact and replied "Yes, there is...and No, there isn't."

25 years ago today. Wow. I've watched many races since and have learned a TON of additional racing history. I now use sunscreen, drink more water, and consume far fewer Schaefers. I also haven't raced to a race since July 1991. But now you know the origin of toomuchcountry or as I refer to myself here: TMC Chase.

And so it goes... the legend of Too Much Country was born! A Chase by any other name just wouldn't seem cocoseptic!

Some context Dave. The Schaefer tradition had not yet begun. It didn't begin until May 1992 - some 10 months later!

Each photo tells an interesting story. I love that tight, smothering defense you're playing in the top shot for example.

My uncle Luther is big enough on any given day. The LAST thing I wanted was a close encounter with his belly sweat.

Understood. Well played.