“Boogity, boogity, boogity — let’s go racing, boys!”

The infamous National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing (NASCAR) phrase echoed throughout my house, as it did every Sunday around noon when I was a kid. Belly full with a bowl of Cheerios, I settled into the couch, eyes fixed on the television where 43 stock cars glided beneath the crisp green flag. 

When the sound on the TV was low, the cars were like little buzzing gnats under the hot Daytona sun. But when my dad cranked the volume, and the roar of the engines reverberated through every corner of the room, watching those cars fly across the baking asphalt was like watching thunder in motion.

It wouldn’t be until nearly a decade later that I would see one of those races in person.

Last Sunday, the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum hosted the Busch Light Clash for the first time ever. The track was small — a mere quarter mile long compared to Daytona International Speedway’s two-and-a-half miles, which the drivers will race later in February. The cars only averaged 63 mph due to the near-infinite curve of the tiny track.

The greatest appeal of this race, though, was that it marked the first time spectators could see NASCAR’s “Next Gen” cars in competitive action, with their fancy new aluminum wheels and independent rear suspension.

The energy in the stadium was palpable. If watching the stock cars on TV when I was a kid was like watching thunder in motion, witnessing those 150 laps at the Coliseum was like standing in the center of a storm. The rumble was everywhere, all around, so loud and visceral I could hardly hear myself think. 

I’m not sure if I would ever go back.

My ears are still ringing and the beer was close to $15 a can. Despite ongoing strides toward inclusivity, NASCAR does have a history of racism and there’s the issue of sexism in motorsports as a whole.

Don’t get me wrong — I like cars. And I’ve always been surrounded by engines. Saturdays at my house were often spent working on something, whether it was a friend’s truck or my brother’s offroad race car. There was always something to be done, some part to be tuned or some problem to be fixed.

Even long after the sun went down and the work ended, remnants of the day’s projects would still remain. Tools lay haphazardly strewn across the garage. Old work boots piled up by the door. Dirty fingerprints stained each door frame. Streaks of grease blackened the porcelain kitchen sink.

Needless to say, I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating cars.

I can appreciate my family’s connection to motorsports. My brother was among those who had been anticipating the event at the Coliseum for months. He watched the cars with reverence, his wide-eyed gaze tracking each turn around the track. To him, it wasn’t just a race. It was art in motion.

To me, however, car people are often more intriguing than the cars themselves. I know people who collect vintage cars. I know people who flip cars. I know people who’ve touched every single bolt on their car over the course of several summers, and now they can never bear to part with it, because no one will know that car like they do.

Each has a different reason for why they do it. Some love the history, some love the speed. And some just tinker because they like to get to the bottom of things; which, I can understand. It’s why I became a reporter.

When I ask my brother what it is about cars, he always cites his favorite movie quote from Ford v. Ferrari, when Matt Damon’s character, Carroll Shelby — known for his work with Ford Motor Company — describes the feeling of pushing a car to its limits:

“There's a point at 7,000 rpm where everything fades,” Shelby says in a voice over, while he drives through Los Angeles reminiscing on his days as a racecar driver. “The machine becomes weightless. Just disappears. And all that's left is a body moving through space and time.”

I find it a bit silly, but maybe I’m just not a car person. I don’t know the hype behind the aluminum wheels or independent rear suspension. But I know how much cars mean to my family, and I could see the passion in their eyes that day in the Coliseum, and that’s enough for me.

Besides, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel like a kid again, if only for a moment.

Rating: 4/5