Years ago, before I actually ever went to a NASCAR race or knew anything about racing, my husband spent time disabusing me of any stereotypes I might have of those I would see in the stands. You know, really not that raucus, more sedate than I’d expect, really just a bunch of people sitting in the sun for three hours watching intently as cars go around in circles and listening to their headphones.

Then, a short time later, he went to a minor league hockey game down in South Florida.

He called me and said,

“You know all those people you thought you were going to see at the race?”

“Yeah?”

“They were all at the hockey game.”