Eliminations continue for the second annual CompetitionPlus.com War Stories Showdown, a competition which places sixteen of drag racing's personalities head-to-head in storytelling competition. Over the next four days, you will be presented with the semi-final round stories of each respective contestants. They are paired on an NHRA eliminations ladder seeded by reader vote last week.

Today's competition features the No. 4 seeded Gary Scelzi squaring off with the No. 1 qualified John Force. The second match up will be the No. 10 ranked Pat Musi matching up with No. 3 Don Garlits.

For the next four weeks, CompetitionPlus.com will conduct its second annual War Stories Showdown. The veterans of yarn spinning are paired for what promises to be a series destined to produce the finest behind-the-scenes stories.

Here are the rules –

The field was seeded by reader vote. The participants are paired on the standard NHRA professional eliminations ladder. Each story represents an elimination run for the participant. The readers will judge each war story on the merits of (A) believability and (B) entertainment value. Please do not vote based on popularity. You are the judge and jury, so vote accordingly.

Voting lasts for three days per elimination match. Once a driver advances to the next round, they must submit a new war story.

This is an event based on fun and entertainment value, and the rules are simple. The stories cannot describe any felonious acts (unprosecuted, that is) and you can't use a story about your opponent, against them. That happened last year and wasn't pretty at all. There is a one event win rule.

This is drag racing with no red-lights, disqualifications and plenty of oil downs minus the clean-ups. Please enjoy as each of our competitors tell their own stories.

WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – Once Did Donuts in a farmer’s yard with a Motorhome
1ST RD - defeated Steve Earwood, 59.86% - 40.14%
2ND RD - defeated Chris Kaufmann, 69.42% - 30.58%

THE DAY AJ ALMOST KILLED ME

It was one of those deals where I had been on the road for about three weeks and hadn’t been home. We had just run Joliet and decided we were going to have to test on Monday. We stayed, Jerry Toliver stayed and Alan Johnson with the Army car. That was a rare instance for Alan.

We finished about 2 PM that day which made it too late for me to drive back to Chicago, get a flight home and make it there Monday night. It’s going to be Tuesday afternoon before I can get home.

I’m talking with Alan and he suggests that I just jump on his jet. It’s just him, Jerry Toliver, Norm Grimes and a guy named Terry Morrow who works for Alan.

“There’s plenty of room, hop on the plane and we’ll fly to Santa Maria, I’ll give you a car and you can bring it back next week, fly to the race with me and then we’ll figure out how to get you home from there.”

That sounded like a good plan to me because it saved me a day.

Now I used to have a time flying on the jet with Alan back when we had the Winston dragster … playing guts, gambling and drinking. It was always a fun trip.

On this particular trip, since I am driving home, I am not drinking.

I chugged it down and asked for a second one. I figured that would help cushion the first bounce.

The guts game is going and the pots are getting bigger, we’re gambling and having a good time.

Nobody is being bashful with the adult beverage.

All of a sudden the right engine makes a funny noise. Now I’m sitting in the back beside Alan and Jerry Toliver is looking at me. Norm Grimes is looking at Alan Johnson. Kerry is in the front seat by the pilots mixing the cocktails for everybody.

Bout that time the right engine makes a loud noise and Jerry Toliver’s eyes get real big and he asked, “What was that?”

I started laughing and looked at him, “This piece of s#$% does that all the time. It’s alright.”

I no more than got those words out of my mouth when there’s a big kaboom and the plane does a little wobbly motion and you can see inside the pilot’s cabin. All the lights are red.

I’m not all that smart of a guy but I’m pretty sure that every red light lit up on the dash is not a good sign.

Everybody got real quiet.

One of the pilots turned around and asked us, “Do you guys see anything?”

Terry Morrow then pipes up, “There’s smoke in the cabin.”

To anyone who flies quite a bit, smoke in the cabin usually means instant death because it takes up all the oxygen.

That made me go into panic mode. One of the jokes we used to make about Lear jets is that they didn’t have a large wing span thus drawing the nickname “Lawn Darts”. On the tips of the wings, they have auxiliary fuel tanks. That means they don’t glide very well hence the name “Lawn Darts.”

Let’s take inventory. We’re at 42,000 feet, we just lost an engine and there’s smoke in the cabin. I’m wondering if the same thing is going to happen to the other (engine).

I just know we were going to go down in a blaze of glory as a lawn dart wherever the hell we were at 42,000 feet.

Everybody gets deathly quiet.

My first instinct was to call my kids and family and tell them I love them.

I’ve crashed dragsters at 300 miles per hour and I’ve been on fire, hit everything there is to hit, and I’m gonna die in an airplane.

I pull out my cell phone and realize that at 42,000 feet you can’t get a signal for it.

The pilot then spoke up and said, “We have lost an engine. Look out the window and see if it’s on fire.”

I looked at him and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

At that time, my mind traveled back fifteen years earlier in Fresno, Ca., near my parent’s house, a Lear 45 got in trouble, and they were trying to make it to the airport and they had an engine go out. It became evident they couldn’t reach the airport and there was a school in the path and they didn’t want to hit it either. They were going to try and land on a street.

I remember the findings determined the co-pilot had hit the extinguisher on the wrong engine killing the only working one. The plane hit an apartment building and killed the pilots.

Then I knew we were done.

Flying private long enough you come to the reality that there are airports usually 20 miles apart.

We’re not over any mountains so I am wondering why aren’t we landing this thing.

Alan and the guys have resumed their drinking and playing cards and told me not to worry about anything.

We’ve just lost an engine, the pilots are asking me what I see and they were telling me not to worry?

I did take notice that the consumption of alcohol was going up at a rapid rate. They’re cracking jokes and making fun of everything. Jerry Toliver and I are the only two with glazed looks on our faces thinking that we are going to buy the farm.

I scream out, “Why aren’t we landing this GD thing?”

The pilot turns around and responds, “There’s a really good jet repair center in Lincoln, Nebraska.”

My next question is how far is that and he tells me it’s 30 minutes.

I’m wondering why we don’t drop the plane then in an airport, who cares about how good the jet center is?

Alan tells me to relax but I’m not relaxing.

My next words were, “Give me a beer.”

I chugged it down and asked for a second one. I figured that would help cushion the first bounce.

I ended up drinking two beers in 30 seconds and then I ordered a Crown and water, hold the water.

I’ve got a good buzz going.

I look over at Alan and poured out my heart.

“Alan I know we had our moments over the Funny Car thing but I want you to know all is forgiven and I love you,” I said.

I leaned over and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Everyone is cracking up and I figure we might as well be funny because we’re gonna be dead.

The plane begins its decent and I can see the headlines of all these drag racing personalities who die when the plane crashed one mile from the airport. We’d die because we went to Lincoln “GD” Nebraska instead of landing at the nearest airport.

I started second guessing, wondering if what got into that one engine might get into the other and with us descending, I know we aren’t going to float too far.

Every bad scenario is going through my mind.

The one bad engine is off but every so often you could hear the wind going through the rotors and there was a bearing that had gone bad and every so often it would make the most god awful squeal. It sounded a lot like me wondering why we weren’t landing the plane. It made your hair stand on the back of your neck.

Then it would quit and I saw airports and wondered why in the hell we were headed to Lincoln.

About 1,000 feet off of the ground from the runway, this thing makes the worst noise you ever heard in your life. Then we hit turbulence and a cross wind. The plane is rocking.

I started envision an air pocket ripping the wing off of the plane and that being the end of the story.

I fumbled for my phone and then we landed.

The door opened and Toliver and I jump out and kiss the ground amidst the chorus of names they’re calling us.

I got called every name in the book.

It’s not bad enough we finally made it there that they call Casey Powell because he lives in San Diego and has a Lear 45. He can fly out there and pick us up and we could have been home by 2 am, but that wasn’t happening for me.

“I’ll go to dinner with you, but my next phone call is going to be to United Air,” I said.

I was only going to fly commercial from that point.

We ended up going to dinner and I ended up having way too many adult beverages. I got a hotel and went to sleep.

Those guys flew home that night and I ended up catching a commuter flight from Nebraska to Denver. There’s probably a dozen people on this plane, no big deal. There’s a direct flight from Denver to Fresno.

I sit down in the bulkhead seat and the guy beside me is about 300 pounds. Half of his body is laying over the side of me. It’s hotter than hell on this plane and for the first time in my life I get a panic attack.

I get up to get away from this guy and in my briefcase I have some muscle relaxers for a bad back. I hadn’t taken those pills in so long, but I did know I had them with me. I get up and about that time, this flight attendant who was very feminine in manner but anatomically a male comes over and orders me to sit down. He wasn’t even polite about it either.

Feeling the way I did I told him, “I’ll sit down when I’m damn ready to sit down. What do you think of that?”

I start opening up my briefcase and he’s yelling that I can’t talk to him that way.

I dumped some of those muscle relaxers in my hand.

I think there were two or three in my hand and I just threw them down my throat. Then I realized if I get thrown off the plane, Denver is a 20 hour drive to Fresno. I’m not going to get home that way until Thursday and then I have to turn around and leave for the next trip.

I sat down and the big fella throws half of his body back over me.

The next thing I remember is I woke up in Fresno.

I have flown with Alan since and anytime I fly on a small plane, I’ll take a happy pill before I get on, and chug a beer. I get panic attacks on those small crowded planes.

The moral of the story is – shut your mouth and keep quiet in a bad situation, especially if you have a bunch of drunk guys around you who are better actors than you are. 

#1 – John “Brute” Force
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – Saw Elvis at 1,000 Feet in Memphis
1ST RD - defeated Don Gillespie, 50.33% - 49.67%
2ND RD - defeated Shirley Muldowney, 57.73% - 42.27%

THAT AIN’T NURSE GOODBODY I TELL YOU …

If it isn’t enough that I’m on overload I get a call from the gang at CompetitionPlus.com letting me know that I beat Shirley in the last round.  Don’t know how that happened.  All I can figure is she must have let me win.  Anyway, they told me I’m up against Gary Scelzi the next round.
 
Here you go, a match of two of the greatest BSers in drag racing history.
 
But I have to tell you that ole’ Scelzi is way more than a BSer. He’s just like me, he’s a guy with the passion for drag racing and even though he’s said he’s quitting a few times you know in his heart he wants to be out here more than anything. He'll show up in Pomona with a firesuit just in case someone needs a driver.

I struggled to remember when the first time it was that I met ole’ Scelzi, but then I remembered back tot he early days when he started driving the Winston dragster.  Back then I really couldn’t even tell you who was racing in a dragster because I was only focused on Funny Car, the class I was running.
 
I knew someone had crashed and then I heard some guy spouting off “is somebody trying to kill me, or what?”
 
That was one of my first introductions to Gary Scelzi.  In chatting with him, he was so negative that I thought he was ready to quit.  Somehow or another, though, they hammered the twisted wreckage back into a race car and the next day he came back out and won the race.  Later on that season, he won the championship and you could see the humbleness in the guy’s heart. I knew drag racing needed a guy like Gary Scelzi that day.  It still does.

When she fell to the floor, her legs went wide open and I saw the mustache on the face – it was Scelzi. He was doing everything he could to pull his dress down.

It was in those early years that I saw a lot of me in him.
 
Let me say, I spoke of my heroes in the last round and I just have to tell you that in the years I got to know Scelzi he became one of those heroes and legends that I described. All too often Gary would try so hard to show the soft and caring side of him and sometimes that would just go over like a bull in a china shop.
 
You just have to know that guy has a heart of gold and I love him for it. He will always be my friend.

I can still remember the first race Ashley drove a Funny Car, he and Capps were up there on the starting line as if she was their kid. She went to make her first run and Scelzi put his arm around me, and I know he was as nervious as I was, and said to me, "I know you're sick to your stomach. We're all praying that she will be okay and I know she will." I saw a caring side of Scelzi that wen't beyond what I could have envisioned.

So here’s my story of three instances where Gary tried hard to show the real true caring side of him, but it just never came off the way he intended it to.
 
Stay with me, I’m leading into something here.
 
I wondered when Scelzi came over into the Funny Car class if it would affect my friendship because he was now moving into my territory. Territory or no territory, you can’t help but love Scelzi even when he takes your championship away.
So we’re sitting there in Lake Tahoe at Christmas time and I check my messages and I get this call from someone who called himself Dr. Sezi.  He had made a habit of calling me every year at Christmastime.
 
To set the stage for this part, there were stories on the Internet saying that Force was going to therapy because Scelzi had taken away his championship.
 
I listened to Scelzi’s Christmas message and this is how it went.
 
“This is Dr. Sezi. I am calling because I understand the emotion that John Force is having over the loss to Gary Scelzi – the greatest drag racer of all time. I need to speak with you …”
 
Then I closed the phone and gathered the family together to hear this special message. Well that was a big mistake.
 
I started the message over with the family listening and Scelzi gets past the opening part and I had forgotten that he usually gets a few beers in him when he calls on Christmas Eve.
 
It’s Ashley, Brittany, Courtney and Laurie sitting there listening on the speaker phone as Scelzi talks.
 
“This is Dr. Sezi. I am calling because I understand the emotion that John Force is having over the loss to Gary Scelzi – the greatest drag racer of all time. I need to speak with you with you. I need to give you this recommendation on how to get through this.”
 
My girls are laughing. Then I realized the message was intended for just me.
 
“We know John you have debated jumping off a bridge. We know that you are up there in the snow and you’ll want to run off and go crazy, take your wife and jump in the snow naked. We don’t want you to ruin everyone’s Christmas by doing that. I want you to know that jumping in the snow will make your wee-wee fall off (I ain’t gonna say what he really said). In case you didn’t know, John, it’s already short enough, or so I’ve been told.”
 
My girls are in shock. I’m just wondering how in the world he’d know anything about my wee-wee.
 
I’m fumbling for the off switch as Scelzi rambles on.
 
“What kind of guy would you be without your wee-wee ... “
 
So much for Scelzi at Christmas … Great guy, just a little rough on the edges I tell you.
I always warned him in advance after that day whenever we are on speaker phone.
Fast forward to 2007 after I had my accident and who else would come to cheer me up but my buddy Scelzi.
 
This was weeks later after I’ve had my crash and laying there in the bed, beat up and depressed. I’d been crying and wondering if I would ever race again.
 
The timing was always right for Scelzi.
 
I get this call from someone who sounds an awful lot like Scelzi and it says, “Jesus boy … if you don’t get enough ink this is what you do.”
 
Everybody is there, Laurie, Ashley, De nsmore and everyone. It’s quiet and then all of a sudden he bounces into the room – loud and everything.
 
The nurses are trying to grab him and stop him but he’s coming in.
 
“He’s my brother; don’t tell me I can’t see him.” And he’s really loud.
 
In the process, he bounces in and he’s brought in a whole bunch of food with him. He must have spent $700 but knowing Scelzi he probably took up a collection and pocketed $1000 off the whole deal.
 
He had gone to the best steakhouse in town and he’s got these T-bones, wine, he’s got beer, beans, cake and everything. He came prepared to feed everyone in that room.
 
He’s in his element. We get Scelzi at his finest.
 
He’s bound and determined to make John Force healthy enough to get out of bed.
 
Hospitals are supposed to be clean but even at Baylor they advised me to put on my socks if walked around. He’s pulling out plates, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I couldn’t eat a steak.
 
The first thing that happens are the steaks are upside down and then everything comes flying out of the bag. Steaks hit the floor, beans and everything else follows.
 
You never saw a guy in a panic like Scelzi. He’s down on his hands and knees with towels trying to clean up these steaks. Everybody’s in shock just sitting there watching him.
 
None of us had the heart to tell him we wouldn’t eat it.  Besides, looking at Scelzi, if he’d spent that money, we were going to eat them whether we wanted to or not.
 
Densmore and I, coming from where we came from, never turned down a free meal, even one that had fallen on the floor.  You look at one side and it’s fine and you look at the other, it’s enough to scare you. There’s no telling what we ate. I know for the next two days I was stepping in beans on the hospital floor. There’s no worse of a feeling than picking beans from between your toes.
 
Scelzi came there with the full intentions of getting me out of the bed and as quickly as he came, he left. Laurie and I were in shock.
 
I tried to explain to everyone he’s got good intentions while they were worrying about whether or not some fungus was going to eat up our insides from eating off the hospital floor.
 
I said, “God bless him,” we ate ‘em and it was one of the best steaks I’ve ever had.
 
He came in and did his best but he just basically screwed it up. Scelzi always reminded me of that old guy Jeremiah Johnson who lived in the woods and the Indians wouldn’t mess with. They’d scalp everyone else but old Jeremiah they didn’t mess with because they thought he was crazy.
 
That was old Scelzi, just like ‘ole Jeremiah, that day coming into the hospital.
 
Now I told you this to get you ready for the big finish and I call this my top end charge.
It’s just like we are racing, but we’re telling stories.
 
I got out of the hospital and I was in my bus so I could be close to my cars and my teams. This was Vegas and I had my bus outfitted to hold my hospital bed. I was in pretty bad shape still.
 
‘Ole Scelzi ain’t giving up.
 
Weeks earlier he shamed me into eating a steak off of the floor, but this time he had me in a position where I couldn’t run. Trust me, I couldn’t run, but it wasn’t for a lack of effort.
 
Laurie, the girls and everyone is there when I am told that Ron Capps wants to interview me for a magazine. At the time, I said sure I’ll take any interview I can get.
 
No one wanted to talk to me in my condition.
 
I love ‘ole Ron Capps, too.
 
Anyway, he’s chat-chatting and then ups and says, “All the racers got together and they all chipped in for a little gift for you.”
 
That Capps is a sneaky one.
 
About that time, I hear Laurie start saying, “Oh no, John isn’t well. This isn’t good.”
 
I’m thinking back to Scelzi and saying, “I hope he ain’t bringing steaks, I can’t eat the $%#&.”

In through the door comes this big chested, blonde-haired nurse. She comes through the door and her face is partially blocked by her hair. Plus I’m too doped up to tell the difference.  I’m trying to turn my head because my wife and girls are there.  I’m awful embarrassed. She was wearing a short dress and this was a hottie. She’s dancing and walking backwards down the aisle of the bus. They have that sexy music playing.
 
Capps is laughing and my girls are laughing.
 
The next thing I know is the nurse jumped on the bed beside me. I could tell by the beer smell that broad was drunk.
 
Then I looked at the eyebrows through her hair and said to myself, you could have at least gotten me a real blonde. Then she lost her balance falling into the floor.
 
When she fell to the floor, her legs went wide open and I saw the mustache on the face – it was Scelzi. He was doing everything he could to pull his dress down.
 
Ashley was screaming because at this point they thought it was a woman from their angle. They knew shortly thereafter that it wasn’t.
 
Here’s old Scelzi with his thong on and everything he owned hanging out. The girls are running out of the bus.
 
Then Scelzi gets up and starts apologizing.
 
That sight was enough to make anyone get out of bed.
 
He got up, pulled up his thong and pulled his dress down. He had nursing shoes and hose on. This guy went through a lot of trouble just to make me feel better.
 
ESPN had been there to record it and they couldn’t use it unless they ever did a show on the Playboy channel.
 
Once again my children were put into shock.
 
I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was the ugliest nurse I had ever seen in my life, but the whole thought of him doing that for me, going through that much effort just to cheer me up, touched my heart.
 
That’s why he’s loved by the fans, why he’s a true champion and, most importantly, why he is my friend.

VOTE ON THESE STORIES AT THE END OF THE PAGE 

#3 –  “Big Daddy” Don Garlits
WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – I Didn’t Do It - T.C. or Swingle Did It
1ST RD - defeated Jim Rockstad, 
2nd RD -defeated Kenny Nowling, 72.02% - 27.96%

A ROUGH AND TUMBLE WORLD, LITERALLY

Swamp Rat III-B came into being following the bad wreck Connie Swingle had with Swamp Rat III-A in Emporia Virginia on August 6th, 1961, a Sunday afternoon.

The chute had failed to open and Connie went into the pine woods at the end of the strip, at well over 150 MPH, destroying the car and breaking several of his ribs.

We were in trouble. I was under contract to appear at York US 30 Drag Strip and race the “Shadow”, driven by Dick Belfatti, next Saturday night, August 12th.

Connie and I drove straight back to the Tampa shop to build another car, which would be Swamp Rat III-B. Upon such short notice my tubing supplier couldn’t get me .065 walled 4130 chrome moly tubing and I had to opt for .065 walled 1020 mild steel seamless tubing. This was a big mistake as the mild steel tubing was not strong enough to support the heavy steel 392 Hemi Chrysler engine.

Swingle worked hard, welding the car together while I cut out pieces on the new band saw. However by the time we got the car on the open trailer, Swingle was hurting real bad and dead to the world; he crawled up into one of the old Army surplus “bunks” in the 1960 GMC “Carry All” and passed out for the remainder of the trip.

The two of us arrived at York 30 about 30 minutes before time for the match race. We never even warmed the engine, just started it and raced the “Shadow.” Swingle won turning 8.33 seconds with a speed of 183 MPH, he shut off early as he was having a lot of trouble controlling the car. The chassis was sagging under the heavy 392 Hemi and needed additional support.

Swingle wanted the see if he could hit 100 MPH in this short distance, I told Connie to be careful, because there wasn’t much distance to the first turn. Well Swingle hit 110 MPH and got into the loose clay in the top of the first turn and flipped the new car over the wall! This infuriated me to no end and also broke another of Swingle’s ribs.

The next run netted an 8.15 ET with a blistering 195-MPH! The 8.15 would become the new Drag News 1320 ET Record. Monday morning we called George Hurst and asked him if we could repair the car at his Hurst Shifter shop outside Philadelphia. George said he would be glad to have us use the shop.

Connie and I straightened the frame and “fish” plated it under the engine to give the mild steel some additional strength. By Wednesday morning we were through and headed up to Reading PA for an exhibition burnout at the Reading round track.

This was to promote the match race the following Saturday night at York 30 against the “Greek” from Chicago. Reading was a “dirt” track, which is actually clay. You would be surprised at how smooth and hard the clay was in front of the grandstands. You could actually smoke the tires on this so called “dirt”! They had a set of clocks set up in front of the grandstands to give the speeds as the cars passed by.

Swingle wanted the see if he could hit 100 MPH in this short distance, I told Connie to be careful, because there wasn’t much distance to the first turn. Well Swingle hit 110 MPH and got into the loose clay in the top of the first turn and flipped the new car over the wall! This infuriated me to no end and also broke another of Swingle’s ribs.

We hurried back to Hurst’s shop to repair the car in time for the Saturday night match race. This time I had to build a couple of body panels and repair the twisted frame. We didn’t beat the “Greek” as Swingle was really hurting by now and to this day I will never understand why I didn’t drive the car that evening.

A little footnote to end the story of Reading is, the following Saturday night at York 30 was to be the “Greek” against the “Speed Sport Roadster”. Bill Holtz, the promoter for York 30 DW, again took the “Greek” to Reading to promote the race. The promotion with Swingle and me the week before had been a real hit!

The track informed the “Greek” that Garlits & Swingle had set the track record at 110 MPH the previous Wednesday night. “No problem” said Mr. Karamesines, and he blasted down the straight-a-way at well over 120 MPH. I don’t have to tell you what happened, over the fence he went and he was not able to repair his car properly and he lost to the “Speed Sport” the following Saturday night!

Then Bill Holtz took the “Speed Sport” to Reading hoping for another exciting exhibition run, Lyle Fisher, the cool driver of the Speed Sport wouldn’t even start the little orange Roadster! Lyle was no fool, he had heard about the two previous crashes.

#10 – Pat “The Thug” Musi

WAR STORIES CLAIM TO FAME – Once Dropped An M-80 in a Porta-Pot Occupied By Bob Glidden …
1ST RD - defeated Whit Bazemore, 79.17% to 20.83%
2ND RD - defeated "Waterbed" Fred Miller, 62.12% - 37.88%

ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL THE PANTS COME DOWN, THEN IT'S HILARIOUS


What you have here is a Pat Musi depantsing, barroom fight story featuring me, Roy Hill, Rickie Smith, a guy who looked was a John Travolta wannabe and another guy who hands down could yank your pants down so quick you wouldn’t know what hit you.

It’s going to be tough to beat last round’s story, but I’m going to give it a shot.

We worked hard, raced hard and after the racing was done we played hard.

Our group was notorious for pranks and there were phases we went through in our racing career. There was the period where we used quite a few M-80s in porta-pots. Just ask Bob Glidden about Denver, he accidently walked into one after we’d blown it up. Bob wasn’t too happy with that scene.

But as mad as Bob might have been that day in Denver, he couldn’t hold a candle to this old guy we ran across in a bar while we were testing in Norwalk, Ohio.

We went to this Holiday Inn where they had a lounge, a band and the three of us, it was me, Roy and Rickie had brought our crews out for some relaxation time.

It was later in the night and Roy was starting to get bored. Remember last round it was Roy getting bored that got old Paul Gant stripped down and handcuffed in the elevator.

Roy spots this old guy sitting at the edge of the bar with his elbow and body resting. Now this old boy had all the makings of a John Travolta. He had these jogging shorts on. Everyone else had jeans and this fella had jogging shorts on.

Roy starts yelling at the cop, “You ain’t got enough stripes on your uniform. I want the guy with the most stripes. You ain’t got enough to talk to me.”

I had this guy on my crew named Joey and he was hands-down the best depantser in the world. He’s gotten Joe Lepone on the starting line at Indy on race day. People were clapping in the grandstands more for Joey than the cars that had run down the track.

Joe had to walk around all weekend with duct tape wrapped around his shorts that weekend.

Joey was good, he could drop your pants to your ankles before you knew what was going on. Underwear and all, he’d leave your stuff swinging in the breeze.

So back to this fella, he’s sitting there thinking he’s the man, he’s John Travolta.

Roy looked at Joey and said go pull that man’s pants down.

He drops this guy’s pants and he’s wearing no underwear and he’s the exact opposite of my buddy in the elevator from last round’s story. He was not well equipped, let’s put it that way.

Ole John Travolta boy turns around and Joey starts laughing. He had this life that would pierce steel and stop traffic. He sounded like a human Hyena.

As soon as he went over to jump Joey, four or five tables stood up simultaneously.

Back in those days, if you messed with one of our crews, you got the whole class.

He looked up at us, and then laughed it off saying, “It’s cool, that’s funny guys.”

About a half-hour goes by and Roy is bored again.

Roy says, “Joey, pull his pants down again.”

Joey didn’t waste any time. You know the drill. He slides up behind and there they go to his ankles again. By this time, the guy is really hot.

Same deal, Joey laughs, the guy moves towards him and we all stand up. Then he says, “Guys can we cool it down a little bit?”

We put our heads down and start drinking and relaxing. I happen to look up and the band is playing and you’ll never guess who the lead singer for the band is. Yep, Mr. Pants Down, Travolta wannabe.

He’s up there singing and gyrating with those jogging pants on. He’s working the crowd and flirting with the women.

Roy pipes up, “Joey, I’ll give you a $100 if you go yank his pants down with him on stage.”

Joey looks at Roy and says, “Keep your money this one is free.”

Is was the thrill of the challenge and for Joey, he had to figure how he could get up there on stage without the singer noticing and yank his pants down.

Then the guy made it easy on Joey when he started singing and walking through the crowd. Then he makes his way back to the stage.

The next thing you see is this guy singing and the spotlight following him, a step behind – you see this hat following him and then these arms go up and then disappear.

Then the singer’s pants were down to his ankles again.

The music stopped and you could have heard a pin drop as this guy stood on stage with his pants down at his ankles and his $%&* swinging in the breeze and there ain’t much to swing.

I don’t need to tell you what happened next because now he has the band rallied behind him. They are going to fight.

That was really a big mistake for them.

We come charging down from our spot because they’re chasing Joey and he’s laughing all the way.

Next thing I know I look over and Rickie’s got one of them by his neck with his feet off of the ground. Roy was slapping another one. It’s an all-out brawl. I’m looking around and I’m not even fighting because my guys have complete control of this deal.

Guess who was approaching me to fight?

The guy who had his pants yanked down wanted to fight me.

He looks at me and I look at him.

“Hold on fella, take it easy,” I said.

He responded, “No, I can’t take this $@#! anymore.”

I looked at him and said, “Look, I’m a little older than you so just hear me out. Let me give you some advice.”

He responded, “Okay.”

At that point I knew I had him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t take it because you look like you took it okay before,” I said. “Let me ask you; is it worth an ass-whipping on top of what you’ve already gotten already?”

He starts looking around and about that time Rickie drops his guy and screams, “What do you want anyway?”

The guy pauses and looks around and says, “I was just looking for my glasses there’s a fight going on here.”

He stands there for a moment, “I guess you’re right.”

The cops got called and that ended the party.

Now the guy is telling the story about Joey yanking his pants dow, and after the stage incident, we had gotten him out of there and hidden him. We are standing around acting like we don’t have a clue what guy they are talking about.

We get the situation halfway calmed down and one of the cops wants to ask Roy a question, from there – it went all to heck again.

Roy starts yelling at the cop, “You ain’t got enough stripes on your uniform. I want the guy with the most stripes. You ain’t got enough to talk to me.”

Now they are dragging Roy out but luckily no one went to jail. It was just all in fun, but I have a feeling that old boy wasn’t having too much fun.

This is definitely one of those stunts we want to warn you kids at home not to try and duplicate.

If I make it past this round and looking over at that John Force and Gary Scelzi match, I plan on bringing out the big guns.

Let’s see, I think the story involves a German Shepherd, the Mayor of Carteret, New Jersey and, oh yeah … a midget.
 

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