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I'm all for gushing over sex symbols. If Tom Cruise knew how many pictures I had of him, he'd have a restraining order against me. But Dale Earnhardt Jr.? I don't get it. I know there are thousands of fans who eat KFC not for the secret blend of 11 original herbs and spices but because Junior tells them to. I know teenagers and their great-grandmothers shriek and swoon when they catch a glimpse of their hot-rod hottie. Good for them. I still don't get it.
But Dale Jr. is making an appearance at a local mall, so I figure, what the heck--I'll go see what all the fuss is about. I arrive about an hour before Junior is scheduled to appear, and already there is a sea of red around the stage where he'll sign autographs. There are more than 1,000 people here and almost that many No. 8 hats and Budweiser T-shirts.
"My twin brother named his son after Dale Jr.," says the guy standing behind me. I turn around and realize he's talking to me. "I was at Daytona when he won." I smell stale beer on his breath. I have no doubt that it's Budweiser.
The emcee surveys the crowd. "Who here is a fan of Dale Earnhardt Jr.?" Women squeal and wave their hands in the air. "I love him!" cries one. "I want to have his baby!" yells another.
I am at a religious revival--Junior is the evangelist, and these women are looking to be saved. When Junior makes his grand entrance, it gets so loud the pen in my hand starts shaking. Everyone is on tiptoes, straining for a good look. Suddenly, I get a hard shove from the right, nearly sending me over a railing. A woman with snow-white hair, wielding a flower-decorated cane, moves into my spot. She barely comes up to my shoulder. I try to work my way back in front of her, but she's not budging. I sense that if I push my luck further, I'll get the cane upside my head.
There is giddiness in the air as onlookers wait for their 5 seconds with Junior. One of the first fans to get an autograph is Kirsten, a "traveling nurse" (I'm not sure what that is a euphemism for) ...