Trackside

Win At All Costs

Chick makes a statement in his first Piston Cup race, one that solidifies his style.

___

The season had started off with a bang, that was for sure. Twenty laps left and a pileup in turn two had completely botched the regular lineup of racers fighting for top ten. One of the new rookies that had been at the front of the pack made a mistake coming out of the turn and sent another racer into the wall, setting off a domino effect. Even the most seasoned racers were unable to escape it.

There wasn't enough time left in the race for anyone to make any significant progress. After the track was cleaned off and the race restarted, those at the front of the pack maintained their lead for the rest of the race. The top three positions ended up going to a couple guys that didn't normally finish high, and the rookie that caused the crash.

"Boy, that's a nasty lookin' dent you got there." Tex commented, looking Strip over as he approached his sponsor's tent. "That ain't gonna buff out."

"It'll get worked out just fine." Strip looked down at his side. "I've had worse."

He'd been caught right in the middle of the pileup, unable to avoid getting hit. Another racer had tried to swerve around him, but lost grip and smashed into his left side before veering off into the infield.

"Hmm." Tex shook himself in disappointment. "You woulda placed top five had that not happened."

"It's not a big deal, Tex." Strip said, shrugging it off. "Wrecks happen. It's part of racin'. We'll get 'em next time."

The old Cadillac sighed and nodded, turning around to go call up the body shop team. He wanted them prepared to fix his racer up as soon as possible. Team Dinoco had a good shot at winning the championship that year, and Tex was going to do what he could to make it Strip's best season yet.

Meanwhile in Victory Lane, Chick Hicks sat uneasily on the second place pedestal. The reporters were jumping at the bit to get a chance to talk to the top three finishers. This was the first time in a very long time that not a single big name finished in the top five.

He thought back about how the race ended up in his favor. It didn't make a lot of sense, and went against all his training. He was the one to come around the turn too fast and swing wide towards the wall. He'd been the one to accidentally push the other racer into the concrete and send them spinning into everyone else. A lot of cars were hurt because of his one stupid mistake.

Looking around, past the sea of cameras and microphones, he could see the other racers milling around, talking to each other, to their sponsors. There wasn't a one of them that didn't sustain some kind of damage. He was a bit frightened. Would they blame him for the accident? He was a nobody. Is this what they would remember him for? He hadn't meant to hurt anyone.

They were given their trophies, and the cameras started flashing. Chick put on his best face and acted proud. It wasn't hard - he was happy he'd gotten second. For his first ever professional race, it was impressive. He looked down at the shiny silver award and imagined it to be the start of many more to come.

"Mr. Hicks." a reporter caught his attention. "That was quite the finish for your first career race. How does it feel?"

He hesitated for a moment. He'd been expecting someone to call him out on his mistake, not compliment him. He didn't have a response prepared that wasn't some sort of self defense or excuse.

"Feels like the start I'd been hoping for." he answered simply enough. "Here's to the rest of the season being as good as this!"

He immediately found he had a knack for giving the reporters what they wanted. If there was one thing he was good at that wasn't racing, it was talking. The more they pressed him for information, the more confident he became. He was conscious of no one else around him but himself. General comments on the race turned to bragging and boasting in a matter of minutes. It felt good and the press loved it.

He eventually made his way off the platforms and into the crowd, slowly making his way towards his trailer with his new shiny prize. Every bit of self consciousness he'd felt during and immediately after the race was gone. Now he was confident. And proud of himself, something he'd been reluctant to feel before.

The Dinoco tent was positioned at the far end of the track near the trailers, and, as always, was the happening place for race fans and interviewers. Chick glanced over as he neared his trailer and caught a glimpse of Strip, talking to a group of reporters. From that angle, he looked pretty torn up, even if he didn't act it. Chick felt a twinge of guilt and worry return, the same that he'd just moments ago dismissed. Strip Weathers was a legend in the making, and Chick's own insolence had just caused a wreck that took even the Dinoco racer out of the top ten.

He heard a reporter mention the wreck and froze in his tracks, listening in. He didn't know why he felt the need to stick around and hear Strip's response, but he did.

"Officials have determined the wreck was caused by the new rookie's mistake." the reporter told Strip as if he didn't already know. "You were caught in the middle of it. Any comments?"

Chick held his breath. This was it, this was where he was going to be called out, and it was going to be by one of the greats.

"Wrecks happen." Strip answered. "Experience doesn't matter, it happens to everyone. I can tell you right now it wasn't intentional. The kid just didn't know well enough how to handle the track at that speed. It's a mistake he'll take and learn from, like we all do."

Chick was stunned. Even the other racers, even the experienced, damaged racers, didn't blame him for what happened. He moved on towards his trailer, considering it.

Once inside, he set the trophy in front of him and stared at it. It sparkled in the dim light. It had his name on it, newly chiseled into a plate on the base. This was something he'd earned, mistake or not. Wrecks happened all the time, and no one was about to argue any differently. Who caused them wasn't a hot topic, as he'd previously thought. He knew that as long as he stayed in front of them, they wouldn't affect his performance. If nothing else they'd put him farther ahead.

He remembered his training. His instructor had always been adamant about not taking loss as an option. He was going to be a winner. The sparkling trophy in front of him proved it. He recalled the invincible feeling he'd gotten talking to the media. They believed he was a winner, and subconsciously they'd reinforced the fact that no one was going to blame him for any 'occupational hazards' that might spring up behind him.

The feeling of confidence was intoxicating. If winning meant he could feel like that all the time, then he must continue to win. The trophy glittered in the moving lights as his driver began to drive away. It taunted him, telling him he must do whatever it takes to reach his goals, to feel confident. At all costs.