When I was stationed at Lejeune about a million yrs ago there was an old guy ran the bracket drags in like a 66 Impala. Bone stock.
But he was consistent. Won the season a few times.
End of the night, he'd be up against some thundering heaving flamethrower, revvin' and lighting the tires before the race.
He'd be sitting in the Chevy like he's at a traffic light.
His green, he'd pull away like he's heading to the store for bread, milk, and smokes, one elbow hanging out the window.
The other guy would finally get his green, launch like a Saturn V.
About the time he'd be crossing the line, you'd see Homer's brake lights flash on as he'd notch another perfect 17.5 second run crossing the line at a blistering 78.385 mph.
Some guys said he raced just to aggravate the hot rodders.
Man, you'd see guys just blow runs against him when they'd ran great against 'equal' competition.