Before getting to this weekend's NASCAR preview, something that actually matters.

A couple of close friends came to mind this morning.  Both are fellow fans.  One has had a rough go of it lately both personally and professionally, neither through any fault of his own.  When we talk, there's an unmistakable eagerness in his voice to steer the conversation from his serrated edged reality tearing and cutting all that once seemed untouchable to comfortable, familiar ground.  What's new in diecast?  What's going on with that blasted new car?  When's Jeff Gordon going to win again?  It's a refuge, a respite from crushing reality.  It's me doing at least part of what I'm supposed to be doing by providing a way out through the comfortable familiar.

Another friend is a true rarity: someone who actually knows what he's talking about when he talks NASCAR.  An engineer by trade, he's turned the wrenches about which 99 44/100% of those who fancy themselves fountainheads of wisdom for all things stock car racing related can only pretend to have working knowledge.  When we talk, I learn.  What I learn, I share through these assorted scribblings in magnetic ink while making no pretense of being a mechanical wizard dispensing grease-covered pearls out of my personal warehouse.  It's me doing at least part of what I'm supposed to do by providing a way in through making things previously a mystery the comfortable familiar.

During these communications, we all try to give each other cause for laughter.

The Internet is home to more than a few practical jokes: bizarre Photoshopped imagery, weird conspiracy theories, the comments area of any given news article or column on FOX Sports' NASCAR page.  One of the more popular tidbits of tomfoolery circulating ‘round the information superhighway is ‘rickrolling,' the fine art of creating a link allegedly dealing with today's topic du jour but in fact taking the unsuspecting Web wanderer to an online presentation of Rick Astley's video for "Never Gonna Give You Up."  The clip is one of the cheesier examples of what populated MTV in the 1980s before it decided first rap and then an onslaught of teen angst pseudo-reality shows was the meal ticket.  As to the song itself, it is an innocuous pop ditty that has been turned by some into the oddest protest song imaginable, used as a blow against such institutions as Scientology.  But I digress.

When it comes to anything outside life necessities, if you can't have fun with it and you can't enjoy it to where it gives cause for laughter why bother?  It's always provided unintended amusement how those who whine nonstop about all things NASCAR, conveniently enough having all the answers for what they say ails the sport, paint themselves as superfans yet care for absolutely nothing about same.  Actually, that needs to be modified.  They love more than love itself the sound of their own voice as they pontificate, some going so far as to honestly believe the powers that be at NASCAR hang on their every word.  But of course.  And that cheerleader who made eye contact with you when you were sitting in the thirty-seventh row at that football game last fall?  She's into you.

There's a massive difference between those who whine for whining's sake and those whose complaints are a barely restrained primal scream of frustration over something adversely affecting the sport they love.  An example of the latter is Darrell Waltrip's recent column detailing exactly what's wrong with the new car.  Read it and you gain something useful.  Read the perpetual kvetch crowd and you might as well be getting rickrolled for all the good it'll do you.

My friends again come to mind.  We share many things in common, one of them being a deep love for racing.  Disasters like this past weekend at Indianapolis will not put out that fire.  Nor will the almost certain boredom awaiting one and all at Pocono this weekend, a track that is to exciting competition what "Never Gonna Give You Up" is to the average Motörhead aficionado.

The name for the race this weekend -- Sunoco Red Cross Pennsylvania 500 -- is appropriate given how whenever someone goes to a Sunoco (or any other) station to fill their tank there is the realization it would be less painful to visit the local Red Cross office and fill their tank by donating blood in lieu of bleeding their bank account with every gallon of gas.  A race at Pocono often evokes bloodshot eyes courtesy of the bleary strain induced by trying to stay awake as one driver runs away with things and everyone else focuses more on not being eaten alive by the track's treacherous third turn than trying to tackle tactical trickery taking them toward topping things.  Totally.

While the Cupsters are spending the weekend in Pocono, the claims jumpers (truckers are off this weekend) are up in Montreal learning the proper way to say certain key phrases in French such as "why does this have to be a road course," "you mean the steering in this thing turns right as well as left," and "so that's why in Australia they call Marcos Ambrose the Tasmanian Devil" as he runs around, over or through them on his way to the front.  Alas, no Robby Gordon this year.  But it should be fun anyway.

Enjoy the weekend, everyone.  With friends, enjoying the comfortable familiar.  And laughing.