Best Dirt Track Race of All

Dirt track racing was in our blood.
Weekends from the track were few.
Most kids spent weekends at the ball field.
The race track was the life we knew.

Powered by a small block 289,
under the hood of a Mustang Fastback.
The Mustang was light and nimble.
Making up for the power that it lacked.

He was one of a few Ford drivers.
Sometimes the only one.
Chevys with bigger engines ruled the scene.
They took everything, they almost always won.

In a small town called Senoia.
The track was a banked dirt, 3/8 mile.
This night we hoped would be special,
since the last win had been a while.

The best dirt drivers were in the field.
They came from near and far away.
The names that everyone knew.
The purse and trophy, a big payday.

Bob, Billy, Roscoe and Charlie,
Leon, Stan and then some.
Most figured Charlie the shoe in to win.
If they only knew, what was about to come.

The Mustang qualified on the front row.
The other drivers and fans were stunned.
The biggest, brightest and best,
had been beaten by a local son.

The cars on their first parade lap,
The big engines revving out loud.
The Mustang drowned out by all that money.
The engines drowned out by the crowd.

The green flag is in the air.
All for the win, there are no cruisers.
Twenty of the best racers.
Second place, is just the first loser.

The Mustang and Chevy glued together.
few thought it would stay that way long.
By lap five, the rest of the field in line.
The front two were together and gone.

They were approaching lapped traffic.
It was time for the Chevy to go.
All knew the Chevy should be leading.
But the Mustang didn't get the memo.

They split the cars they were lapping,
one went high, one would go low.
The announcer couldn't even keep up,
with the exciting blow by blow.

Two drivers giving it their all.
Pushing their skills and their machines.
Cars and drivers at their limit.
Making everyone in the stands and pits scream.

The white flag in the air
The two cars still side by side
End of turn two it was the Chevy.
But the Mustang slipped to the inside

Exiting turn four, tires at their limits.
The engines screaming their tones.
The little Mustang took it by inches.
The Mustang brought the trophy home.

Crowd standing and yelling immensely,
no longer for their own drivers.
It was for Bob Morris in the Mustang

and in the Chevy, Charlie Mincey.

R. S. Morris