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Old F*rts Rule! The Legend of Hershel McGriff...NASCAR's Oldest Driver

July 20, 2009

I've been saying that we have a problem because the automation profession is graying-- we're getting older and fewer people are entering the profession. Maybe we could look to NASCAR for inspiration, with Mark Martin racing at the top of his profession...and then there's Hershel McGriff.

Hershel McGriff

I've been saying that we have a problem because the automation profession is graying-- we're getting older and fewer people are entering the profession. Maybe we could look to NASCAR for inspiration, with Mark Martin racing at the top of his profession...and then there's Hershel McGriff.

McGriff Breaks Own Record!

(from the HARDCORERACEFANS.COM website) On Sunday at Portland International Raceway Hershel McGriff became the oldest NASCAR driver after the 81 year old completed the Salute to the Troops 125 NASCAR Camping World Series West. Hershel qualified his Park Corporation Chevrolet on the pole, but was forced by NASCAR to start on the back row after changing his carburetor. "We had to change it," said Hershel. "I didn't want to go out there and flop around. We didn't have time to repair it -- we'd already done that."

You can read all about Hershel McGriff's incredible racing career that started in 1945 and continues to this day at http://www.legendsofnascar.com/Hershel_McGriff.htm

So maybe there's hope for the rest of us. As Dylan Thomas wrote years ago:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.