The Unauthorized Dale Jr. Interview
What We Think He’d Say
Author’s Note: MaxChevy.com Editor Ro McGonegal and Publisher Jeff Burk emailed me almost simultaneously late, late Thurs. night: “We’ve been thinking. (Uh oh.) We want you to get an exclusive interview with Dale Earnhardt Jr. for the next issue, to publish on Friday!” I spit my adult-beverage-spiked coffee all over the keyboard. Sure! Piece of cake! Junebug announces on Wednesday to most of the Western world press he’s just joined the Hendrick Motorsports Fortress of Racing for five years, and he’s going to give up some of his even more ultra-exclusive time just for little ole MaxChevy.com?
Like we have that kind of juice and it was going to happen in our lifetimes. The order of press importance in Cup racing is still TV, print, and websites a faraway third. I emailed them back -- it would be easier for me to get an exclusive interview with the late Bill France Jr. They were unmoved by my whining and excuses (reasoning). So, the good ink-stained wretch that I am, I agreed. In desperation, I conjured up the following short Q&A to satisfy them and meet the deadline. Please remember: It is a fictional interview. That means it is made up, and in the spirit of entertainment. – Glen Grissom
MaxChevy.com hit the jackpot after the Dale Jr. press announcement telling he was going to drive for Hendrick Motorsports for the next five years. I was snooping around JR Motorsports looking for a Men’s room after the hour-plus long conference of hosannas for
the coming of the Son into the Hendrick House of Power. Too much caffeine.
ADVERTISEMENT
Who should come in just as I was flushing the upright fixture? (BTW, they are not as opulent as the urinals upstairs at DEI.) You know it. Dale Jr. He stopped in his tracks, with a “What the hell!?” look on his face – unsure if I was a stalker or a molester or a member of the media (essentially the same in his mind these days). Before he could retreat, the Men’s room door closed and our “interview” started as he cautiously walked over (with his fists balled up) to an empty fixture, coldly eyeballing me as I passed by and started washing my hands – the longest I ever have in my life. The typical Men’s room silence was broken by:
