[b][h2][center]Joel Nicolosi[/center][/h2][/b]

Joel whipped swiftly into the pit stall where the rest of the team was waiting, tires out, fuel can and air hose ready. In a flash the air jacks went up and he was out of the car swapping places with Tommy in a carefully choreographed dance with the crew. If nothing else, they could do a very fast pit stop. It was almost comical and one of the greatest assets for which the team was known. Tommy’s former teammates towered over many of the rest of the crews and they moved with experienced NFL precision though not over a field with a ball, but with wheels and tires and an air ratchet. Joel checked Tommy’s harness just as the car settled back on its fresh tires. A race marshal watched carefully. The penalty for leaving the pit stall without being properly restrained was automatic disqualification. He patted his co-driver firmly on the helmet and rolled over the wall with the rest of the crew. Tommy was out of the paddock and on the track when Joel looked up. The entire stop lasted about twelve seconds.

High-fives went around the pit area. It was a clean stop and Tommy was in good position. The former quarterback actually preferred the middle section of the race. Whereas Joel preferred belting out fast laps from the front, Tommy liked the strategic nature of navigating the field mixed up in the first round of stops and driver changes. No lap was ever the same and a driver had to be patient and think several moves ahead. It reminded him of his NFL days in a way. The ball in his hands fresh out of the grip of the center, the anticipation of the defense, the sixth-sense of danger from a blitz, scrambling out of the pocket or launching a bullet pass over the middle between two defenders. His hands worked the wheel and paddles while his feet danced between the brake and accelerator. A slower car came up and he pirouetted around working the next car in the process.  Eyes darted across the mirrors as the RPMs roared. He had one of Joel’s metalcore songs stuck in his head and nodded in rhythm.

The fresh air tasted sweet and clean as Joel removed his helmet and ran a hand through matted, sweaty hair. He cleared the steps to the top of the hauler in a few wide bounds finding Lou and his dad occupying their regular positions and Marlin in Tommy’s spot behind them. “Damn, I love that car.” He said stepping up behind them. 

“Nice pass.” Joel’s dad said. He was busy spotting for Tommy now. With the 300 working its way through traffic, his job had quickly become more exciting. 

“Nice job, dude.” Lou said glancing back and giving an affirmative fist bump. In the heat of the crowd, the car’s computer reported it was running slightly hotter, but everything remained within acceptable tolerance. 

Joel was feeling good. One section down and they were in it. Tommy was good in traffic and he drove the car just like he was out on the 923 beating rush hour in a Ferrari. He glanced up at the live feed from the local station, but caught a whiff of something vaguely familiar across his nostrils making his nose curl slightly. “What the hell is that smell?” He said looking around, “Smells like burnt antifreeze.” 

“That’s miss Marlin’s coffee,” Joel’s dad said not looking back, “She’s not your girlfriend.”

Joel looked slightly confused.

“I thought she was a pilot based on what we saw back at the airport the other day,” Lou said with a broad, white toothed grin, “Now she tells us she’s an air hostess, got the uniform and everything. You should ask about it sometime, yea?”

Joel looked over Marlin, then down at the coffee cup and back up again catching the glance of her grey eyes, “I don’t even want to know what you all have been talking about.” He said shaking his head.

[@PrinceAlexus]