Ugh, I used to race karts, and there was always that stupid redneck dad standing around with a wad of chew in his mouth reciting Dale Ernhardt lines like he had a friggin string on his bad. This is while watching his fat, angry son purposely ram into other kids trying to claw into 6th place in a field of 8. 9 times out of 10, the kid either had a black #3 kart, or a red #8 kart.
As for me, I had the #27 Ferrari red kart, it used to be a crimson #21.