My mama did not like Kyle Busch. 

Or Kurt much either.  But she really did not like Kyle.

I don’t follow NASCAR much anymore.  Sure—at the beginning of the race season—for about 20 minutes.  Other than that, if the race is on, it’s just for background noise.  Nostalgia on a Sunday afternoon…maybe napping.

I was pretty shocked when I heard that Kyle had died today.  I realized I’m at the age when I’m pretty shocked when it’s anyone younger than me, ‘cause I’m not that old. 

But life happens, and death doesn’t care.   

Everyone, it seems, that follows NASCAR especially, has someone they love to hate.

I was sure I had a picture of Kyle I’d taken at the spring Richmond race back in 2014. It was my brother’s first race not working the maintenance crew in over 20 yrs, Kyle Larson’s RIR debut I believe, and my chance to get closer with some very basic camera equipment, and really, really basic knowledge of them. Most of what I was comfortable photographing didn’t move fast, if at all.

As I was giving the images fresh edits from that race twelve years ago, I thought about my mom’s dislike for Kyle.

I remember Sunday evenings either on the phone or in her kitchen, asking about the race, even if I knew who’d won. If he’d won, she’d tell me about that “blamed old Kyle Busch”… disgustedly.

Except sometimes it wasn’t “blamed”…it was “blankity.”

She would get offended if he won.

O-F-F-E-N-D-E-D.

Highly. But for no more than a couple of hours, usually.

“Rowdy” Busch had talent. Pure and simple. He could drive the wheels off anything that had them. I didn’t always care for his off-track antics or his attitude sometimes. I’m sure he wouldn’t have cared for mine either.

Dale used to talk about being able to “see the air”, and knowing where to put the car. I’m sure all those drivers have something like that, especially on that level.

I cried when Stevie Ray Vaughan died.

And Dale too. 

Like I knew them both, well.

There are grown men crying over Busch.   

Life happens and death doesn’t care.   

Childhood heroes.
Lifelong villains.

Busch was great for the business of NASCAR.  Everyone loves to have someone to hate.  And that's been marketed well, for years. 

Funny how the people we spend years fussing about somehow become part of the furniture of our lives. Then one day, they’re gone too.

 I don’t know where you wound up Rowdy, but keep an eye out for a little old lady named Shirley, who’s probably got a bone to pick with that “blamed ol’ Kyle Busch.”