Above: Dale Earnhardt, surrounded by professional drivers, in the safest, most well-kept cars in the world, driving on the most ideal road in the country.
Turnersville, NJ—I’m a much better driver than Dale Earnhardt. I can prove it with an exercise in point-counterpoint.
Dale Earnhardt was a professional driver, who drove in circles for a living. He drove on a perfectly manicured race track with other professional drivers. These drivers wear special clothing, including driving gloves and helmets with intercoms, which are used to communicate with the pit team, to assay the status of the car, and the driving conditions in general. The stock cars they use are built and maintained by some of the best mechanics in the world. They are fueled with the best fuels, lubricated with the finest lubricants, and even painted to perfection to satisfy the sponsors. Hell, they even change the tires several times a day during a race. The cars feature cages to further protect the drivers in the event of a crash or other catastrophe. Even the track is designed for safety. The track is walled in on the outside, to prevent cars from flying off into the parking lot outside, and often times has a flat dirt or grass surface in the center, creating a buffer zone for wayward cars. The driving surface is perfectly tarred and finished; flat as a white man’s ass. To cap it off, Dale Earnhardt didn’t drive in these circles every day. If he drove once or twice a month, he was “very busy”.
I am an amateur driver, who drives in ever-changing directions, avoiding congestion, and otherwise navigating to my destination any way I can. The roads on which I travel are filled with morons, elderly people who are afraid to be in a car whether it’s moving or not, and jackasses that think they’re Dale Earnhardt. I don't get to wear comfortable driving clothes. I’m stuck wearing clothes that are best suited for working outside a car. My car is barely maintained, since most auto mechanics are thieving pricks who have the innate ability to create new, imaginary parts within my car’s engine, suspension, and exhaust system, that always need to be replaced with a “special order” replacement part. Even when it is well-maintained, the mechanics that work on the car are Vo-Tech asswipes that think they can build a car for fun, resulting in a half-built car frame sitting in their parent’s driveway for 17 years. I can only afford to put “plus” grade gasoline in the car on a semi-consistent basis, and oil changes happen “when they happen”. Don't even ask about the paint job. My car does have airbags, but I’m not wholly convinced that they work, and I don’t want to find out. The roads I use are barely drivable; full of potholes, uneven surfaces, and debris from the aforementioned morons and jackasses. They’ve become auto-graveyards, of sorts. It’s like an obstacle course sometimes; a daily obstacle course.
Suffice it to say that my daily drive is much more dangerous than Dale’s monthly one. So, after considering all these points, I’d like you to now consider the fact that Dale Earnhardt is dead from a driving accident on the track, and I am still alive.