Well, let me tell ya somethin’ ’bout this number 43 car in NASCAR, you know, the racin’ thing. It’s a big deal, a real big deal, even if I don’t know much ’bout cars. Folks keep talkin’ ’bout it, so it must be somethin’ special.
That there 43 car, it’s been around a long, long time. I hear tell it’s been in more races than I got chickens, and that’s a whole lot, let me tell ya. They say this “King” fella drove it most of the time. Don’t know no kings, ‘cept in them fairy tales, but this fella, he musta been somethin’ special with all that racin’ he did.
This “King,” they say he won a whole heap of races with that 43. Two hundred wins, they say. Two hundred! I can’t even count that high without takin’ off my shoes and socks. And championships too, seven of ’em. That’s more championships than I got kids, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. He made that number 43 famous, like my prize-winning pumpkin at the county fair, only bigger, much bigger.
- The “King” and the 43, they was like peas in a pod. Stuck together, they was.
- They won races all over the place, I reckon. Daytona, Talladega, places I only seen on the TV.
- This 43 car, it ain’t just any car. It’s got history, like that old oak tree in the pasture. Seen a lot, that car has.
Now, this King fella, he ain’t racin’ no more, I guess. Too old, maybe. Like me, my bones gettin’ creaky, can’t chase them chickens like I used to. But that 43 car, it’s still racin’. Other fellas drivin’ it now, tryin’ to be like the King, I suppose. Hard shoes to fill, I say.
They had a big to-do a while back, celebratin’ somethin’ ’bout the King’s last win in that 43 car. Twenty-five years ago, they said. Time flies, don’t it? Seems like just yesterday I was churnin’ butter and listenin’ to the races on the radio. Now they got all them fancy TVs and whatnot, but the racin’ still sounds the same, loud and fast.
This number 43 car, it’s like a family heirloom, passed down from one driver to another. They try to keep it goin’, keep the King’s legacy alive. It ain’t easy, I bet. People expectin’ big things from that number. It’s like havin’ a famous name, gotta live up to it, you know?
I heard they even changed the rules ’bout how many cars can race, took some out. But that 43, it stayed. They wouldn’t dare take that one out, I reckon. Folks would get madder than a hornet’s nest.
And this young fella, Erik Jones, he’s drivin’ the 43 now. A bright talent, they say. Well, I hope he does good, keeps that 43 car up front where it belongs. The King’d like that, I bet. He’d be watchin’ from up yonder, noddin’ his head and sayin’, “That’s my car, that’s my 43.”
So, that’s what I know ’bout the 43 car in NASCAR. It’s a legend, a piece of history, like that old quilt my grandma made. It means somethin’ to folks, more than just a car and a number. It’s ’bout winnin’, ’bout the King, ’bout keepin’ somethin’ special alive. And that, my friends, is somethin’ worth talkin’ ’bout, even for an old woman like me who don’t know a carburetor from a cow patty.
They raced that there 43 car in over two thousand races. Two thousand! That’s more times than I’ve been to the grocery store, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. That car’s seen more racin’ miles than a hound dog’s seen rabbits. It’s been around the track so many times, it probably knows the way by itself.
And that King, he drove that 43 almost all the time. Said he only drove a different number a few times. Guess he liked that 43, just like I like my old rockin’ chair. Comfortable, reliable, gets you where you need to go.
So next time you hear ’bout NASCAR, remember that number 43. It’s more than just a number; it’s a story, a legend, a piece of racin’ history. And that’s somethin’ worth knowin’, even if you’re just an old lady like me, sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the world go by.
