Here's a take on it that I posses. They think I'm a moron for spending a ton of money to race (gas, food, registration, hookers for the after party). Maybe I am. But there is abso-fricken-lutely no substitute to the rush of a being in a three man break and getting chewed up and spit out at the line with your tongue getting caught in the spokes of your blazing hot wheels. I don't give a shid how many city limit signs I win or how many times I get to the coffee house first. It just doesn't matter until I come home with my internal organs pinned to my back bone. So I say let them scoff - the jags.