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Fired? Check yes or no
By Marty Smith, Turner Sports Interactive July 25, 2002
10:56 AM EDT (1456 GMT)
Email Marty | Message Boards
Hello, and welcome to seventh grade.
Marty Smith
Remember when you were younger, "going steady" with that cute little girl in homeroom class and suddenly, in your frivolous pubescent mind you get bored with her and MUST break it off immediately?
Scared to death and too gutless to face her, you wait until that evening to ring her on the telephone and break the disheartening news.
She is emotionally crushed, but rather than be there to offer a comforting hug as she sobs uncontrollably, you simply hang up the phone and carry on.
In a nutshell, that was the method A.J. Foyt used to inform Stacy Compton he would no longer be driving the No. 14 Pontiac.
That's as pathetic as it gets. You don't run a legitimate business like that.
Stacy Compton Credit: Autostock
Wednesday afternoon, I bolted through the door of my house, starving plumb to death and frothing at the mouth over the foot-long turkey sub I clutched in my left hand. Just as I crammed that scrumptious first bite into my mouth, I noticed that the message light on my answering machine showed a blinking "4."
Four messages in 10 minutes? What the...? They all said precisely the same thing:
"MartDawg, you hear about Stacy, man? Foyt mailed him a letter telling him he was fired. That's some (two-word expletive), bro."
Mail him a letter? That's even worse than the seventh grade breakup phone call. How cold could a guy be?
I simply couldn't believe it. Would such a renowned racing legend, known for his toughness and grit, stoop so low? I wouldn't believe it until I heard it for myself, straight from the source. So I called Stacy, left him a message and waited. Minutes later he called back. Immediately, I knew it was true.
"Yeah buddy, he did send me a letter in the mail," Compton said. "The thing of it is, he sent it out last Thursday, so that it would be here Monday when I got home from New Hampshire. Everybody knew about it but me."
Compton finished 30th at Loudon -- the last guy in the lead lap. Credit: Autostock
Foyt should be ashamed.
I'll admit, I'd be taken aback by such a cowardly deed were it administered to any elite driver, but Compton is different.
I've watched him race since I was 10, covered his career with the written word since I was 19 and sought advice on myriad subjects throughout our relationship.
Put simply, they don't make them any nicer than Stacy Compton. He's a homeboy, born and raised in rural Virginia and hasn't forgotten where he came from. He's genuinely kind and caring, a rarity in today's backstabbing, me-first society.
Plus, given proper equipment he can drive his rear off.
Lord knows Foyt didn't give him ample equipment.
If he had, he wouldn't have had to write such a pathetic letter.
Fired? Check yes or no
By Marty Smith, Turner Sports Interactive July 25, 2002
10:56 AM EDT (1456 GMT)
Email Marty | Message Boards
Hello, and welcome to seventh grade.
Marty Smith
Remember when you were younger, "going steady" with that cute little girl in homeroom class and suddenly, in your frivolous pubescent mind you get bored with her and MUST break it off immediately?
Scared to death and too gutless to face her, you wait until that evening to ring her on the telephone and break the disheartening news.
She is emotionally crushed, but rather than be there to offer a comforting hug as she sobs uncontrollably, you simply hang up the phone and carry on.
In a nutshell, that was the method A.J. Foyt used to inform Stacy Compton he would no longer be driving the No. 14 Pontiac.
That's as pathetic as it gets. You don't run a legitimate business like that.
Stacy Compton Credit: Autostock
Wednesday afternoon, I bolted through the door of my house, starving plumb to death and frothing at the mouth over the foot-long turkey sub I clutched in my left hand. Just as I crammed that scrumptious first bite into my mouth, I noticed that the message light on my answering machine showed a blinking "4."
Four messages in 10 minutes? What the...? They all said precisely the same thing:
"MartDawg, you hear about Stacy, man? Foyt mailed him a letter telling him he was fired. That's some (two-word expletive), bro."
Mail him a letter? That's even worse than the seventh grade breakup phone call. How cold could a guy be?
I simply couldn't believe it. Would such a renowned racing legend, known for his toughness and grit, stoop so low? I wouldn't believe it until I heard it for myself, straight from the source. So I called Stacy, left him a message and waited. Minutes later he called back. Immediately, I knew it was true.
"Yeah buddy, he did send me a letter in the mail," Compton said. "The thing of it is, he sent it out last Thursday, so that it would be here Monday when I got home from New Hampshire. Everybody knew about it but me."
Compton finished 30th at Loudon -- the last guy in the lead lap. Credit: Autostock
Foyt should be ashamed.
I'll admit, I'd be taken aback by such a cowardly deed were it administered to any elite driver, but Compton is different.
I've watched him race since I was 10, covered his career with the written word since I was 19 and sought advice on myriad subjects throughout our relationship.
Put simply, they don't make them any nicer than Stacy Compton. He's a homeboy, born and raised in rural Virginia and hasn't forgotten where he came from. He's genuinely kind and caring, a rarity in today's backstabbing, me-first society.
Plus, given proper equipment he can drive his rear off.
Lord knows Foyt didn't give him ample equipment.
If he had, he wouldn't have had to write such a pathetic letter.