At Talladega, rubbin' is racing: What if George Bush was a NASCAR driver?

Everyone knows that the Talladega Super Speedway is haunted. In 1973, Winston Cup champion Bobby Isaac was in the lead on the front stretch of the Talladega 500 when he heard a voice saying, "Get out of the car and just walk away." And he did.

In 1987, Bobby Allison's car ran over something on the track. He lost control while driving at over 200 MPH and tore up 150 feet of fence -- but stopped just short of taking out half the spectators in the grandstand. Then he walked away without a scratch. They invented restrictor plates because of him.

Davey Allison's helicopter crashed there mysteriously.

And Dale Earnhardt, our own Number 3, won his last race there too -- miraculously moving from eighteenth position to first place in only five laps.

What would the Cherokee ghosts of Talladega do if George Bush were to put on yet another costume -- this time a firesuit -- and race there? Nothing. They wouldn't have to. NASCAR fans would have already laughed him off the track. No one at Talladega likes a cowardly fool.

If Bush raced at Talladega, his stock car would be a limo -- very hard to maneuver on the curves.

If Bush raced at Talladega, his pit crew wouldn't even know how to change a light bulb let alone a whole set of tires.

If Bush raced at Talladega, his sponsors' decals would be Halliburton, Enron and Arlington Cemetery.

If Bush raced at Talladega, he would have peed himself from fright on the first qualifying lap.

If Bush raced at Talladega, he would have had his Poppy forge the entry forms, Congress cough up the fees out of our Social Security reserves and the Ohio/Florida election supervisors count the laps.

But if Bush raced at Talladega, I would be happy. It would mean that he would be losing there instead of in Iraq, New Orleans and the White House. Real NASCAR drivers who knew what they were doing would wipe him out -- and all the TV promos telling us what a good race car driver he is wouldn't be able to fool them. Or us.

Rubbin' is racing. It's time someone bumped the Bushmobile out of this race and let someone who knows what they are doing make the pass in the grass.

Ghosts of Talladega, where are you?