Redneck Weekend Ends

Published in the Desert Valley Times
March 15, 2005

Well, Mesquite survived another redneck weekend.
Now before you pick up that pitchfork and break out your Zippo to light the torches, understand that there are some red-ringed branches on my family tree.
My dad was raised on a farm in the mountains of West Virginia, rode a Harley until I was too big to continue riding on the motorcycle’s gas tanks, and used to beat people up for sport as an amateur boxer at his high school.
After he turned pro, (which means he joined the local police department in the rural Maryland town where I was born, where he got paid to beat people up), he wore a blue uniform over a white t-shirt every day, but there was still some red under the collar.
I guess that red, white, and blue combination makes him something of an American hero.
He certainly was one to me.
Which means I have some redneck blood running through my veins.
Fortunately, my mom comes from a family of bluebloods, which sort of cancels out the recessive redneck gene, so I think I turned out pretty normal.
(Although I do occasionally let go with a “Yee-hah” after writing a particularly pleasing passage at four in the morning, and I’ve caught myself referring to my wife as “Sis.”)
So for those who consider themselves rednecks and are still able to read, don’t take offense.
Besides, as this weekend proves, everyone wants to be a redneck these days.
Bolstered by comedian Jeff Foxworthy, who defines redneckism as “a glorious lack of sophistication,” and fellow blue collar comedians Ron White, Bill Engvall, and Larry the Cable Guy, being a redneck is in vogue this year.
(For my redneck brethren, “vogue” is more than just a chick magazine filled with half-nekkid women.)
This weekend, Mesquite became Dogpatch West as NASCAR fans filled the hotels and restaurants in between jaunts to the Las Vegas Motor Speedway for the big Busch series and Nextel Cup races.
(I find a lot of irony in the fact that NASCAR’s premier series is sponsored by a cell phone company, a device that is just about useless in the mountains and hollers where NASCAR was born.)
I ran into a few of these race fans on Saturday night at the CasaBlanca, where guys with gold chains and Rolex watches camouflaged inside their $200 western shirts practiced their “Yee-hahs” and honed their beer-drinking skills at the “Little Texas” show in anticipation of Sunday’s UAW-Daimler Chrysler 400.
(Another irony. When was the last time you saw a Mercedes Benz doing 190 around turn four of a NASCAR track? And yet, the German luxury car maker which bought Chrysler a few years ago is now sponsoring a stock car race. Personally, I think they should use a Mercedes as a pace car. Is there anything more entertaining than the vision of 43 good-old-boys chasing a snooty rich flatlander around the track?)
I saw one redneck-wannabe stepping out of his Jaguar at the valet parking area adorned in a Dale Jr. racing jacket.
Is it just me, or is there something wrong with that picture?
Anyway, it was good to have so many nice folks in our town, and I look forward to their return next year.
Yee-hah, y’all!