My mind is firmly planted on my friends from New Hampshire.  Bob, Michelle, and their children Davis, Sabra, and Siera.  The last two are twin girls.  Know, Siera, I only put you last because your name falls alphabetically after your sister.  That is what English teachers do.

My dear wife, Carrie, and I are very fond of this bunch.  Carrie and Michelle go way back.  They graduated from high school together.  They spent a great deal of time together growing up.  Each time I hear them telling a story about something that happened back in the day, they both have such a fascinating look on their faces.  They laugh and they recall and they are both so grateful they have each other to relive those wonderful times they shared growing up together.  Who wouldn’t?

There is another Michelle in this mix too.  Same age.  Same class in high school.  Get the three of them together…and you might as well step aside.  I wish the three of them could get together more often,  just so I could watch them laugh.

I told about Bob in one of the first posts I wrote here in July of last year.  Bob took me to Fenway Park in Boston.  I still don’t believe I was actually there.  I think I was.  It seemed like a dream.  Bob drove to the game that day.  If you knew how much I drive every day you would know how important that was.  Bob drove.  I got to look around.  It is a time I hope I never forget.

Before my dear Carrie and I got to New Hampshire last summer, we spent a week in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts.   While we were there, we took to the vehicle on a couple of occasions and made short trips to do some sight-seeing and vittle finding.  The Old Forge restaurant in Lanesborough, MA is firmly planted in our Top 5 eateries of all time.  I got a mushroom ravioli that was probably the best thing I ever tasted in a restaurant North of Interstate 20.  What can I say, I am a southern boy a heart.

One day we went up to Bennington, Vermont…just a drive of forty miles or so from where we were staying.  I fell in love with the place.  The people? Friendly.  Speaking of friendly…we discovered Friendly’s Ice Cream Restaurant in Bennington and I was taken aback.  In the Midwest we have Dairy Queen.  In the Northeast, they have Friendly’s.  I like Dairy Queen.  I really like Friendly’s.  Give me a big waffle cone full of chocolate-chip ice cream and you will find a happy man.  Mission accomplished at the Bennington, VT Friendly’s.

If you get a chance to go to Bennington, I encourage you.  As I said, the people are friendly.  The town is spotless.  It is not a fancy place.  It is a nice place.

While we were in the Bennington visitor’s center, we were asked if we were familiar with the work of Robert Frost.  Being an English teacher from way back, I know who Robert Frost was…and I am very familiar with his work.  After all, most of us have read the poem The Road Not Taken…you know, the one where he talks about two paths in the woods.  One was worn and one was not.  He chose the road less traveled by and said it made all the difference.  He took the path that was not worn.  What Frost did not know was that he would create a worn path all his own.

The lady in the Bennington visitor’s center told us Robert Frost was buried in a cemetery at a church no more than a few miles from where we were talking about it.  What she said, I still think about and laugh.

‘If you are in the cemetery, you can find the grave of Robert Frost very easily.  There is a worn and beaten path that leads to his marker.”

Frost may have chose the road less traveled by in life…but he created a road most traveled by in death.  That is a classic oxymoron.

Sadness.

It is hard to let someone go.  Friendships don’t always last like we think they will.  It is hard to let them go.  Love affairs don’t always end the way we hope they will.  It is hard to let them go.

Even when we know it is best that we let someone go, it doesn’t mean it will be an easy thing.  It is hard to let someone we love go.

Our friends from New Hampshire have been back in town since late last week.  Michelle got to the hospital where her Mom was admitted and she never left….until…this morning. Nine nights she spent at the hospital.

Michelle’s mother, Mary Beth, lost her battle with cancer this morning.

Carrie and I left the hospital last night after midnight.  We were hanging out with Sabra and Siera and we also saw Bob and Davis.  We didn’t see Michelle.  And that was okay.  She did not want to leave her mother’s bedside.  Her dad, Tommy, was there too.  Our thoughts and our prayers are with them at this most difficult time.

No matter what the situation is…when you lose someone you love, it is hard to let them go.

That last sentence speaks the rights.

Danny Johnson

This is not why I love baseball.  But, I suppose it doesn’t hurt my affection for the game.

What is pictured above is my 1979 Brownstown Little League Champs trophy.  While my “stuff” is getting less and less important to me with every passing year, I still smile when I look at this trophy.

I was eleven years old.  I know I mentioned some of the logistics of this baseball season in a previous post.  I was playing for the Royals.  While we were playing a little league season, I was in the midst of moving from Brownstown to Harrison County.  The last few games of the season, I actually traveled over 50 miles to get to the baseball diamond to help my team win it all.  Win it all is exactly what we did.  We did not lose a single game.  The 1979 Brownstown Little League Royals were the 1972 Miami Dolphins.  We did not lose a game.

I played first base.  Blessed with a good glove, I could catch anything heading my direction. Throw it as hard as you want.  I could care less.  I could scoop it and dig it too…those pesky throws coming from deep in the infield that did not have enough steam on them were not a problem.

Foot speed?  There are sun dials that I could not keep up with.  Oh…I wasn’t woefully slow. I can tell you foot speed is the thing I had the least of…with the exception of courage when it was my time at bat.

I was a chicken at the plate.  Put a glove on me and I am Superman in the infield.  Take my cape…uh, my glove away, and I was a grade “A” weenie.  Put a stick of wood in my hands and I was doomed.  Oh, I got my share of hits.  I don’t think I did better than a double that year.  I just closed my eyes, tried to make contact, and ran at the first hint that contact had been made.  It wasn’t always like that.  If the pitcher was younger than I was and I thought I could stare at him and intimidate him a bit, I would stand there like I was Babe Ruth and dare him to put on over the plate.  The difference was Babe hit a great many home runs.  I hit singles and the occasion double.  I was a head case at bat.  I said it. I know it.  Heck, I knew it then.

That doesn’t change the fact that I was on a baseball team that didn’t lose a game in 1979.

This picture appeared in The Brownstown Banner.

I’m the one in the back row folding his arms with my peach basket of a glove under my right arm.  Most of us played in our jeans back then.  We had no official uniforms other than a T-shirt with a generic looking name on the front.  It was perfect.  That team was perfect.  One thing I have come to realize is not many folks can say they were on a team that did not lose a game.  I was there.  I was also there on some crappy teams too…don’t get me wrong.  I suppose that is why this old simple trophy means so much to me.  When I l look at the trophy we EARNED (this was before every kid got a trophy on the team just for showing up and for the hopes of raising some parent’s self-esteem), I hear a ball hitting my glove as Johnny Johnson throws a rope to me from third base.  We get the runner by two steps.  Johnny was a great baseball player.  I was not.

The Major League Baseball season is young in 2015.  I have watched the Cincinnati Reds play on television.  I have actually watched them more than I expected to.  I have yet to watch a full game.  I usually tune in about the fourth or fifth inning and keep watching if I like what I see.

Hopefully my dear wife, Carrie, and I will make it to a minor league park or two this season.  We enjoy watching the guys in the minors play their hearts out.  Our two favorite teams are in North Carolina.  The Asheville Tourists play in legendary McCormick Stadium.  There is no place I would rather watch a game.  We saw a no-hitter there.  We have also been fortunate enough to witness a few games at DBAP…Durham Bulls Athletic Park.

Speaking the balls and strikes rights.

Danny Johnson

So I have seen many music acts play live.  A few of them I could have done without.  I saw George Thorogood once.  Wow.  LOUD!  LOUD!! and LOUDER!  The room was small.  That did not help.  I was there at the behest of a buddy of mine I have not seen in nearly twenty years.  It has probably been near fourteen years since we have talked to each other on the phone.  Well…you can’t keep up with everybody, can you?  And don’t start in on that facebook phenomena with me.  Mullcat (that is what I called him) and I were quick on the phone.  Get the message…hang it up.  If we found a comfortable spot, however, we could sit and talk about the ills and the victories of life for hours.  That I miss.  Thorogood?  I only stuck around for six songs.  During those six songs I got kicked, pushed, beer spilled on me, and I think my left ear started to bleed.  I was out of there.

Phil Collins, as a solo performer or a member of Genesis, is one guy I never heard perform live.  His song “Against All Odds” was all over the radio the radio in the mid-80s.  In fact he had a slew of hit songs that, when folks stop and think about, are startling in number.

I had a Phil Collins 45 RPM record in 1985.  Singles is what we called them back then.  Singles is a silly name for the 45.  After all, there were two sides to it.  There were two songs.  Okay…I just looked it up.  The song “We Said Hello, Goodbye” was the B-side of the 45 I had.  The A-side…which means the most popular of the two… for those of you attending vinyl school here….was “Take Me Home”.

“We Said Hello, Goodbye” is a tune I fell for in a hurry when I was seventeen or eighteen years old.  There is an intro to the song that includes strings and piano and it is one of the most beautiful things I have heard to this day.  The song is an inspiration.  The song is a song of hope.  Though things don’t always work out the way we want them to, we can always set our sails for a new horizon.  We can and we will press onward.

I recently found a copy of the album it was on.  The album was called “No Jacket Required”.  Yes, I still call them albums when I feel like it.

I had not heard the intro to that song in over twenty years.  I have no doubt it has been that long.  Did I still like it?  Would I be writing this if I was disappointed?  Man…it was good.  It was real good.  It was better than I remembered.  The intro was a few seconds longer than I remembered.  Then, with piano leading the way, Phil Collins and his distinct voice made some simple words turn into a message with the tone of his awkward voice alone.  That is a special talent.

Understand, when I was growing up we did not know what the folks we heard coming from radio speakers looked like.  I did not know what Phil Collins looked like when I first heard the song “Against All Odds”.  My mind’s eye had a burly guy with a Grizzly Adams-like beard throwing his head back when he came to the high crescendo.  When I saw Phil Collins on TV singing the song I was taken aback.  That little pipsqueak sings this song? No.  Can’t be.  He did.

Thanks to all that have asked about my Uncle Roger.  His surgery was a success. I am most thankful.

Our dear friends from New Hampshire, Bob and Michelle and their three youngsters,  are in town.  Michelle flew in on Thursday.  Bob and the kids came in on Friday.  Michelle’s mother is not doing too well.  Our prayers continue to go up with them in mind.  Seems we have reached the point in life where we see too much of each other during difficult times and don’t take the time to see each other before hard times catch up to us again.

We’re all so busy.  Isn’t that the standard excuse?

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

I took this photo a couple of weekends ago.  David Van Winkle and the other great Americans at the Van Winkle Service Center, you should go there, in Ramsey were tending to the oil changing my 1999 Dodge Stratus needed very badly.  The aforementioned establishment is a primary reason the car is still in as good of shape as it is.  When I came back around to pick it up, David Van Winkle made a comment that the car just keeps on going.   Yes, thanks to him.  The vehicle has 240,000-plus miles on it.  It still drives quite well.  The stereo is great and the gas mileage is acceptable.  Tunes and miles?  I drive alone in this car.  When I am not talking to God or my mother, I crank up The Moody Blues and the others on my iPod as I drive to and from work everyday.  That would be either 108 miles or 130 mile, depending on whether or not the East Fork of the White River is rolling over Highway 235.

When I took the picture above I was walking.  From the Van Winkle Service Center to the parking lot of North Harrison Elementary School (the Whiskey Run Road side), it is 1.25 miles if you take the gravel road on the South side of Hwy. 64 to the East entrance of the school system’s high school.  This is where I took the picture of the rail road tracks.  The direction the camera is looking is East.

If anyone else is scratching their head’s about the sensibility of a school being located on Whiskey Run Road, know you are not alone.

I walked 5 miles on this day.  I like to walk.  It is good exercise for the body and the mind.  Many of us have occupations that make us process information faster than we can comprehend as we are walking along a lonely gravel road with a cool Western breeze at our backs and, in my case, with ear buds snugly placed so that all the music stays between the ears.  I listen to slow songs and fast songs…rocking songs and sacred songs…country songs and mostly rock and roll songs.  I indicated what is on my iPod  many posts ago.

The Moody Blues claim the most songs on my iPod.  That is no shock to anyone who knows me.

Though I have yet to mention it yet, My dear wife, Carrie, and I  saw The Moody Blues sing last weekend.  I know. I know.  Some of you in the know just wondered aloud, “Again?”

Yes, again.  Another town and another venue.  This time at Merrillville, Indiana’s  Star Plaza Theatre.

The regular camera was not working.  I took this picture with my antiquated phone.  This phone does great when you have great light…the railroad tracks pic was taken by the same instrument, as have many other speaktherights.com pictures.

Maybe this was a good thing.  Maybe this is a good last shot, just in case this was the final Moody Blues concert we get to see.  I first saw them in 1986.  I was 18.  You do the math.

I do know the band has a few dates set for 2016.  You just never know.

Personally, I hope they hang in until 2017 and do a 50 year anniversary of Days of Future Passed at London’s Royal Albert Hall.  That would certainly be recorded.  Perhaps they could get the other two members from that day, Mike Pinder and Ray Thomas, back in the fray for a one-off performance.  I am probably dreaming here.  Pinder last played with the boys in 1974 at San Francisco’s “Cow Palace”.  Thomas retired from the group after 2002.

Know this…the concert we took in last weekend was one of the best Moodies performances I have ever seen.  Justin Hayward is still an impeccable guitar player and his voice is a marvel.  John Lodge still shows off as he is playing the bass and rocks with a purpose.  Graeme Edge, at 74, can still keep time with the sticks and incite a crowd with his antics.  I don’t think we could have asked for a better show.

Maybe I am the one who should walk away.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

Uncle Roger and me at the 2013 Hines Family Reunion

Somewhere in Georgia tonight my Uncle Roger is looking at the time of night and perhaps reading something.  Maybe he picked something up and put it down earlier than he planned.  For all I know he sat down today and read an entire novella in one setting.  The truth is, and I know many would attest to this, I just don’t know.  I have not talked to Uncle Roger in some time.  We have exchanged emails in the last month which means we put a few lines to each other’s way to acknowledge our existence with a few kind words thrown in for good measure and earnest faith.

I emailed him because I had stumbled across, thankfully, a piece of writing he penned that is over twenty years old.  I told him it is one of my favorite pieces of writing.  As I read it this many years on, I can still hear his kind, distinctly southern, life-giving voice.

A short time after I sent Uncle Roger an email,  I discovered he was going to have heart surgery.  I have heard the term “routine” thrown around when this procedure is mentioned.  Routine…until it needs to be done on you, I say.

Don’t get me wrong.  I have complete faith that Uncle Roger will come through his “procedure” just fine and he will press onward.  Whatever a mitral valve prolapse is,  I am confident that with the help of a skilled surgeon, Uncle Roger will kick its butt.

I’m sorry you won’t get to hear about Uncle Roger in the context he deserves.  If you have driven on Interstate 20 east of Jackson, Mississippi, you have driven a road he helped to plot.

Working ahead of a his time in 1960-something…I am bound to get the year wrong…he volunteered to teach at an all black high school in Meridian, Mississippi.  I have seen the photo of the faculty from that school year.  My uncle is the only white teacher and none of them could have been prouder to be there.  Isn’t it a shame that Hollywood won’t make a movie about Uncle Roger and his heart and desire to help students…black students…in that day and time in Mississippi.  He didn’t cause enough trouble for Hollywood.

I referenced the first paragraph of this post as a mirror to what I might be doing if I faced what my Uncle Roger is facing on April 16th this week.  I know he is also staying close to his wife Nancy and I know they are praying together.  If two kids were ever meant for each other, Roger and Nancy would be those two kids.

Roger and Nancy have four children.  I know they are faithful to our God and still anxious as they think about their beloved earthly father as he goes through the stress and anxiety of what April 16th will bring.  These are my cousins.  I love them and my heart is with them.

My Uncle Roger is an English teacher.  He always will be.  Did I take up a career in education because of him?  No… I did not.  Still it has been great to discuss and chew on with him the things that make students better students and better people.  The catalog of students’ lives he has touched is immeasurable.  Move over Mr. Holland.

Uncle Roger was a State Representative in Georgia for a number of years.  He even ran for Congress.  Had the dollar signs gone his way, and enough people had good sense, he would be taking a respite from Washington to have this procedure.  Or would he?  With his strong sense of service, I am delighted he is not in Washington.  I am glad he is outside of Atlanta trying to take care of himself.

The best thing I have left to say is that I am looking forward to visiting him again…perhaps this summer.  My dear wife, Carrie, and I spent a couple nights with Uncle Roger and Aunt Nancy a few years ago.  To hear those stories about his sixteen brothers and sisters, my mother being one of them, was pure joy and discovery.  We sat and talked into the night until the clock told us the next day had crept up on us at about story number forty-seven.  Good times.  Good times indeed.

Our hearts and prayers are with you, Uncle Roger…and Aunt Nancy….and cousins Christy, Wendy, Jeff, and Reagan…and their families. I look forward to the day we look at each other and talk about how it all went.  Uncle Roger will surely lead the discussion, as he should.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

A couple folks, sports minded gents, have asked why I have not been posting comments about the NCAA basketball tourney.  I told them I did mention it some time back.  That is about all you are going to get out of me during basketball season.  It is not that I don’t like it…I just don’t take the time to look at it until this grandiose tournament goes on that..by the way…has paid an immeasurable amount of STUPID TAX given the semi-finals were on CABLE TV and not on over the air television like I think the Good Lord intended.  I know..I know…the College Bowls were just as bad.  In fact…worse.

I have been watching this tourney closely.  I am shocked that Kentucky got put out by Wisconsin.

The McDonald’s All-Americans got knocked off by the Culver’s All-Americans.  Four of the starters for Swissconsin are natives of the Cheesehead State.

I have been to Wisconsin.  I could care less if I ever return.  Much like many folks talk about Indiana.  Or as one North Carolina newspaper columnist referred to Indianapolis as Indian-no-place.  I drive through Raleigh the day that column ran.  What has this guy been smokin’?  That is what I wondered.  While I love the Tar Heel Sate…probably more than my native soil because I can…I have been to both State Capitols.  I have spent time in both Capitol cities.  They are both better places to be than Wisconsin, in my puny opinion.

The Final Four.  I hope I don’t get sued for using that term more than once in a speaktherights.com post.

I remember 1978 when Goose GIvens scored 41 points to lead UK over Duke in the final.

I remember the 1979 classic of Bird v. Magic.  Indiana State vs. Michigan State.  The Sycamores were undefeated going in to that game.  How great would have that been if they would have won.  Perhaps the term “mid-major” would have never seen the light of day had ISU beat MSU that day.

The next year Louisville, led by Darrell Griffith,  won it all in Indian-no-place against…wasn’t it UCLA?

The next year Indiana won it…1981.  The game was played in the Philadelphia Spectrum.  Their opponent?  I have no clue.  I just know they won.

Those four years I was 10, 11, 12, and 13.  I never enjoyed basketball more.

I think my affinity for basketball waned after I procured the ability to watch more TV channels.  Cable and satellite came along.  I was no longer relegated to three solid channels and an independent cheesy one.  During the antiquated TV era, I watched more basketball.

My Dad and I even watched the NBA on Sunday afternoons when I was a kid.  I caught the tale end of Celtic dominance with John Havlicek and Dave Cowens and Sidney Wicks and Jo Jo White.  Good teams with Bird and those boys followed.  I enjoyed the guys from the 1970s much more.

Of course my favorite team was the 76ers and my favorite player was Dr. J.  He wore number 6.  He was Walter Payton on the hardwood for me.

My Bracket for this year’s NCAA Tourney?  For a guy that did not watch a game from tip to final horn until the tourney started, I did pretty good.  I had 6 of the 8 in the Elite 8.  Shame on you Iowa State and another I can’t remember.  I had three teams in the final four.  Two of those will be playing for the championship tonight.  The other two I picked to be playing in the championship.  I picked Kentucky to beat Louisville.  Why?  I suppose I wanted to see a game like that being played out.  Tonight’s game will do.

Go Duke!  After all they are from my adopted North Carolina and Millard Dunn went to school there.

Say no more…just…

Speak the rights.

Danny Johnson

I can’t let go of it.

I am listening to an old cassette tape I made years ago.  It is a compilation of many favourite songs ( I like to spell favourite like the Brits do).

This cassette tape is going on twenty years old at least.  It is full of songs whose original recordings I lost track of many years ago.   The last time I saw my tape of “When in Rome” was 19-something.  Their song “The Promise” is on this tape.

Long before I ever recorded a song or picked up a guitar, this tape was playing in my car and in my home stereo just like it is in 2015.  It was a heavy duty magnetic sort of cassette…quite expensive at the time.  Heck…I doubt if these things are still made.

This one is special to me.  It has songs I never want to forget or lose touch with.  Now and again I just need to hear Billy Joel sing “And So it Goes”.

I hope and pray all of you had a blessed Easter Day.  Ours was fantastic.  My dear wife, Carrie, and I went to a Sunrise service at the church we were married in.  Later in the day we hosted Easter vittles for our families.  We had a  house full and it was a great time.

We ate.  We laughed.  We remembered those we have lost and are still getting used to being without.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

I have been fortunate enough to be able to say I have been in a few places that just feel very significant.  You know, you get that shiver up the spine, or that hushed feeling of reverence, or just sometimes you just darn well know.

Every time I walk into the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville I feel this way.  My dear wife, Carrie, and I have seen The Moody Blues play there twice and we have attended a few Grand Ole Opry shows there.  The history in the place is palpable.

When I took my Dad to see Notre Dame play at Notre Dame Stadium I knew I was in a special place.  I have never been an Irish football fan.  I am, however, in tune with the history of college football.  When I walked to our seats I couldn’t keep my eyes off the field and the places etched in my memory where heroes made contributions to the game of college football that should never be forgotten.

The Art Institute in Chicago.  How can so many people be that quiet in that small of a space in a VERY LOUD city?  Centuries of great art…that is the answer.  I love the place.

When I visited the Ebeneezer Baptist Church in Atlanta a few years ago I knew I was somewhere special.  Though Carrie and I were among the very few white folks I saw there that day, it was a day of discovery.  Not all we discovered was to  be proud of.  We learned none the less.

This catalog could go on…as I said, I am a fortunate man.

Yesterday I was in one of those great historical spots.

Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

Down the front stretch.

The other side of the front stretch.

The Pagoda from the Infield

Yesterday I was on a field trip with 4th grade students.  To its credit, IMS spends nearly two months inviting school groups in to learn about the track and the history of the Indianapolis 500.  This was the third time in four years I have gone on the field trip, thanks to Mr. Disque.  He is a great American.

Students learn about the cars and how they maneuver around the track.  Did you know the tires on these cars are about the width of a credit card?  I picked one up and it felt like I could throw it twenty yards!

Speaking of yards…I “kissed the yards of bricks” along the start-finish line.  This was my third trip and the first time I kissed the bricks.

I doubt I will kiss the bricks again.  Here, however, it is recorded that I did.

This is the car driven by Gordon Johncock that won the 1982 Indy 500.  To date this is my favorite race.  I doubt that will change.  Yes, there was a classic duel between Johncock and Rick Mears that day.  That is not why I remember the race.  I remember this race so fondly because of the guy that finished in 3rd place behind Gordon Johncock and Rick Mears.  His name?  Pancho Carter.  A Hoosier native, Pancho  is my favorite driver of all time.  My dirt track hero was Paul Crockett.  Paul was also the first guy to cut my hair.  He is a Brownstown Speedway legend.

Pancho Carter?  Thankfully my Dad took me to the Salem Speedway when I was a youngster and I fell for Pancho Carter and his aggressive driving style.  He raced Midget cars and he was more than great on that half-mile high banked track west of Salem proper.  I remember his driving to this day.

When I am in the Museum at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, I get nervous when I see the cars of the guys I so admired when I was a youngster.  A.J. Foyt’s 1977 winner is there.  Mears, Sneva, Johncock, Unser…these cars just make my knees weak.  Why?  Because these cars are important to me.  I never enjoyed racing like I did when I was a kid watching the races with my Dad.  When I was a kid we listened to the race on the radio as it was being ran and then the replay of the race would be on television later that night.  That is how I know what Foyt’s 1977 winner looks like.  I can still see it in my mind…watching that tape-delayed broadcast.  I can still see that checkered flag.  Dreams are made of such stuff.

A Famous Address…

The Rolling Stones are playing a concert at IMS on July 4th.  Why would anyone want to see a British group play on July 4th?  My big question is….why would IMS schedule a British group on July 4th?  Did someone just shout out “Money!”?  I’d say you are correct.

Two years ago my sweet Carrie made this field trip with us.

Being a Hoosier has not been easy the last week or so.  We have gotten plenty of bad publicity.  I am so thankful Indiana has a venerable old tradition that is both relevant and respected the world over.

Thank you Indianapolis Motor Speedway for giving us what is truly THE GREATEST SPECTACLE IN RACING.

Speaking the racing rights.

Danny Johnson