NASCAR needs me in the pits

Resslin' Around, by Casey Ressler

Dear Tony Stewart, NASCAR points champ:

Hello. My name is Casey Ressler, but my friends and family call me "Thumbs" because mechanically, I don't know a nut from a bolt. But if your pit crew is looking for a tire changer, please consider me for the position.

Now, my wife teases me because the only way I know how to change my own oil is to get in my truck and drive down to Mr. Lube and have the well-trained people do it for me. And, I admit, most of the dirt and grime I get on my hands comes from my keyboard, or from the ketchup I have undoubtedly spilled on my notebook. But changing tires, Mr. Stewart, I can do. Just ask some of my "admirers."

Let me share my experiences as a world-class tire changer with you, before you send your private jet to the Frontiersman to pick me up, fit me in one of those advertising suits and put me to work at Daytona. See, my sister had a flat tire last week, and she is a bullhead. She wouldn't ask for help, but she had no qualms calling me and telling me about it. She didn't ask me to help, because she wasn't confident in my abilities.

Before I left to change the tire and showcase my mechanical abilities, my wife had a few choice words.

"Casey, don't get hurt," she said. "I'm just changing a tire, honey," I said. "Do you know how? Do you want me to go with you?" she asked.

When I got to my sister's work, I evaluated the situation. I got the jack and the wrench-thingee and went to work.

"We can wait for Jaden [her husband] to get off work and he can fix it," she said, trying to make sure I didn't come within five feet of her truck. "Or Pete said he'd stop by and get it. Or I could walk eight miles home tonight. Are you sure you know what you are doing?"

As I finished up -- with actual dirt and grease on my hands, I'm proud to say -- we lowered the jack and there was definitely a tire on that truck, and I'll be darned if it didn't stay on there. And, Mr. Stewart, it took less than half an hour. I know your crew has to change four tires in less than 20 seconds, but I'm sure I can cut my time down if need be.

As I was getting ready to leave, her cell phone rang, and it was Jaden. I eavesdropped a bit, I admit. "Don't worry about it because Casey changed my tire," she said. "Yes, Casey. Yes, that Casey. Yes, my brother Casey. Jaden, we don't know any other Casey. No, he didn't hurt himself. I know, I'm impressed too. It looked like he actually knew what he was doing."

From her work, I went to my mom's house, and the adulation was there, too.

"Casey, I'm so proud of you," my mom said. "Mom, I changed a freakin' tire. If I can't do that, I'm a moron." "I know, but I'm still proud of you."

She told my dad later that night. My dad can fix things before they are even broken, so the monumental achievement was lost on him.

So, as you can see, Mr. Stewart, I am more than qualified to step in and help your pit crew. My references are my wife, my sister and my mother. I could only do the tires, though. I don't know how to change oil, I don't know what a carburetor does let alone be able to locate one, and I certainly couldn't help you out with your "sway bar adjustments," because I don't know what a sway bar is.

If you need some windshield wiper fluid refilled in addition to your tire changed, however, I'm your man.

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) is the Valley Life editor. He pounded his chest repeatedly in celebration after hearing his sister's tire did not fall off on her one-mile trip to the tire store.