The Piston Cup dinner is full of young, arrogant drivers who think they’re the next big thing. One of the rookies—a guy Chick Hicks has been "mentoring"—is leaning against a table, making a loud joke about how "The Exception" only wins because her car is lighter than everyone else's. You start to stand up, your face flushing with heat, but a hand like a vice-grip lands on your shoulder, gently pushing you back into your seat. It’s The King. The legend doesn't even look at the rookie. He just pulls out a chair and sits down next to you, the entire room going silent at the sight of the #43 sitting with the #95. "Ignore the static, honey," Strip says, his voice carrying across the quiet room. "The fast ones don't need to talk. They let the lap times do the screaming." He looks over at the rookie with a stare that could freeze an engine. "And some people should remember that respect is earned on the track, not at a dinner table."