I remember listening to Cale Yarborough telling a story a long time ago. I forget what track it was, but it was during the golden age of NASCAR. I of course don't remember verbatim, so I paraphrase:
He was 84.
...so we have like, 50 laps to go. It was hotter than hell. I'm dying. I'm sitting there thinking I was about to pass out.
Now, Bobby had been right behind me a few laps. Hell, I don't really even know how long he'd been back there.
So he pulls out to come around me and I'm thinking, yeah. He can have it. I just want to make it to the end.
And so as he's coming past me, and I look over, and that son-of-a-bitch has one hand on the wheel and a lit cigarette in the other, like he's out on a Sunday drive.
Years later, when I brought that up, he laughed and said, "I was dying man, I just didn't want you to know that. Figured I try to demoralize you."
It worked. He won. I gave up.
He was 84.
