Egg-thuse me. I thust sneezed twithe and sniffled, too.
I thuppose this is the danger of being here at Lowe’s Motor Speedway without a vaccination of some sort or a large, mobile plastic bubble.

Apparently, Thompson believes NASCAR fans are a threat to those who have not managed to build up an immunity no doubt acquired by a hefty diet of pork rinds and a nice selection of breakfast beers.

Actually, it all started last week with fever and chills at Road Atlanta, so it would appear Petit Le Mans is just the centerpiece of a 2.54-mile, 12-turn bio-hazard. Somebody call CDC — it’s right down the road.
And that’s not even the NASCAR crowd, so imagine the cooties I would’ve gotten at Talladega.
That’s what Rep. Bennie Thompson (D-Miss.), chairman of the House Committee on Homeland Security, was imagining when he instructed congressional committee aides on field trips to Talladega and Lowe’s Motor Speedway (our tax dollars at work, thank you) to be immunized against a who’s who list of diseases, including hepatitis and diptheria — cooties run amock.
Apparently, Thompson believes NASCAR fans are a threat to those who have not managed to build up an immunity no doubt acquired by a hefty diet of pork rinds and a nice selection of breakfast beers.
It is a stance so absurd, so completely disconnected that it seems — pardon me — so very Republican. Had anyone so insulted the great state of Mississippi by sweeping its population into one festering pile of humanity, Thompson would be standing on the House steps calling for justice and punitive damages.
A friend texted me on Friday, asking if I had my shots. At this point, the furor over Thompson’s instructions and perceptions was being met by both laughter and raised eyebrows at the speedway.
I reminded him that whatever the redneck pandemic feared by Thompson, I was no doubt immune. I have survived way too many races from southeastern dirt tracks to speedways across the country. In fact, I’m made of the stuff Thompson is scared to find in his Petri dish. None of it has killed me — yet — though I was nearly hit by Paul Newman on one of those mini-motorcycles before a CART race at Homestead once.
On what would Thompson blame that sudden and ugly departure? Cool Hand Lukemia? The Hudsucker Poxy?
When I think about Washington, D.C., I always remember a line from “All The President’s Men,” in which “Deep Throat” advises a young Bob Woodward to “forget the myths,” meaning to discard the belief that just because someone gets himself elected he must be some sort of genius.
While NASCAR has had to overcome a past filled with moonshiners, rednecks and hell-raisers to be accepted into the mainstream (and some do not call this progress), the campgrounds surrounding Lowe’s Motor Speedway that Thompson unwittingly compared to a third-world country that could somehow threaten congressional aides and, by extension, national security somewhere between the ritual booing of Jeff Gordon and the checkered flag, do not constitute even a yellow-level health hazard.
What those aides found here as they did research on a would-be federal response to a crisis situation at a large, crowded venue such as Lowe’s Motor Speedway was a fervent, race-loving bunch who are not in need of quarantine. In addition to some simple tents and good folks spending their hard-earned dollars on their passion, the campgrounds surrounding the speedway are filled with state-of-the-art campers and buses, some of which easily cost six figures and actually include showers along with their keg-a-rators.
All that should be in their report — along with a note to their boss to open his mind and occasionally close his mouth.