By Marty Smith, Turner Sports Interactive
October 2, 2003
10:42 PM EDT (0242 GMT)
Contains adult language. Reader discretion advised.
It's 2 p.m. on Tuesday and New York traffic is configured in typical gridlock fashion: A seemingly endless string of black Lincoln Town Cars and yellow taxi cabs that inches along at a snail's pace.
One imagines that, from above, it must resemble caution tape.
Somewhere amongst this vehicular quagmire is New York cab No. 8C85, stopped alongside a construction site bustling with humanity. Suddenly, a worker approaches the cab driver.
"You're f---ing Jimmie Johnson!"
"Yep."
"What the hell are you doing in that thing? Open that f---ing s--- up, bro! Cut some skids with that f---ing thing, man. Open'r up! Show us what you got!"
Soon, courtesy of NBC, we'll all see "what he's got."
As part of NBC's ongoing effort to delve deeper into the true personalities of NASCAR's Winston Cup stars, Johnson is driving a New York taxi for a day, transporting passengers from Times Square to Soho and back again.
The idea, spawned from a similar skit performed earlier this year by Today Show anchor Matt Lauer, took some five hours to complete. On air, it will last just four minutes. Two hundred forty seconds. I do not envy those that must choose what and what not to use.
The thought of so much quality humor on the cutting room floor makes me nauseous. So my hope is that, via the written word and infinite space, I can supplement NBC's work with added detail to show just how insightful -- and hysterical -- this project truly was.
Buckle up, folks. This is no typical cab ride.
Johnson is creeping towards Lincoln Square, in the draft (if you can consider it that at 20 mph) of a Chevrolet Tahoe packed to the windows with camera and sound equipment. Hanging out the rear, a cameraman captures Johnson's every move.
Johnson turns left, around the corner that joins 67th St. and Columbus Ave., and slides easily to a halt in front of ABC Studios. On the corner stands comedic genius Jack Black -- dressed in a black satin shirt with red tassels sewed under the arms -- wielding an acoustic guitar. He flitters about front of the car in a sort of Riverdance-ish type maneuver, then hops in back.
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| Jimmie Johnson stands outside the cab that would be his for the day. Credit: Paul Wein, New York Taxi & Limosuine Commission |
"Hey man, I'm Jimmie."
"Jack Black. The Black Attack."
Immediately, a fan runs up to the car requesting Black's autograph. Johnson shoots him down like a wounded duck.
"Step away from the car, sir."
Whoa. Testy. It's only 9 a.m., and Johnson already has the New York cab routine down pat.
After a quick discussion about autograph hounds and the annoyance of those who make a profession of pursuing celebrities, Johnson throws in the soundtrack from Black's new movie, The School of Rock, which Johnson and a small group of friends had seen in a private screening the previous evening.
Moments later, Black requests Johnson reduce the volume. He breaks into song, first picking up where the CD left off, then spouting a wayward, impromptu ditty about NASCAR.
"Baby we was NASCAR racin'
And I was telling 'em, go faster,
He took the turn and it was, dangerous,
And then get got the..."
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| Johnson spends a minute with actor/comedian Jack Black. Credit: Paul Wein, New York Taxi & Limosuine Commission |
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Just then, a vehicle in an adjacent lane nearly rear-ends the car ahead of it. The driver locks up the brakes to avoid the collision, much to Black's chagrin and Johnson's delight. Black lets forth a blood-curdling yelp, then continues the song:
"NASCAR racing is quite insane,
I got NASCAR, on the brain,
You take the turn like a demon from hellllll,
And then I seen ya ring the bell.
Then they put out the yellow flag,
But he gave a red...uh, penalty
There comes the black and white checkered flag...
(Token dramatic pause)
"Yeah, that's about all I got right now. I need to work on it a little."
Something like that. After a brief discussion about the components that constitute "rocking," Black offered Johnson advice on the best way to channel his anger during competition:
"Dude, you don't have to rock, to rock," Black lamented. "You can be pulling around a dude, or pulling an awesome move on a guy. Well, you're rocking. Know what I mean? That's rockin'."
For sure. "Pulling around a dude" is the very definition of rockin' in the Winston Cup Series. A bit dazed from the hilarity, Johnson answers his cell phone. It's younger brother, Jarit, calling to discuss the date he'd gone on the night before. Johnson hands the phone to Black:
"'Sup Jarit. Black Attack. You make seats? Are they plush? Do me a favor, dude. Get rid of the leather. Put a little crushed velvet in there. Dude, let me ask you -- How was your date last night?"
Bad idea. Again, Black breaks into song -- this time about Jarit's date gone awry -- before handing the phone back to Johnson, who quickly explains the situation to his bewildered younger brother. On with the mission.
The discussion turns to the coming weekend's race. Black requests front row seats at Kansas City, prompting Johnson to explain the chicken bone situation and the myriad perks of corporate suite life. Free food. Free beer. Television replays.
"Do I have to share it with a bunch of people I don't know?" Black asks.
"No."
 | Marty Smith | | | Note: Marty has been experiencing problems with his e-mail recently. If you have sent Marty a note and have not received a reply, Marty sends his apologies. |
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"Can I get one?"
"Sure."
"Sweet."
As Black's ride winds to a close, he doodles a picture of a demonic-type figure, complete with No. 48 T-shirt, for Johnson to affix to his dashboard in Kansas City. Then, he departs with a life's lesson:
"It doesn't matter if you win, it's if you rock. See you at the finish line, dude."
After dumping Black, Johnson hits the next corner and picks up a guy headed for Wall Street. Small talk reveals Johnson's identity, and the guy immediately starts peppering him with stereotypical questions.
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| Johnson says driving the Lowe's Chevrolet is much different than driving a New York City cab. Credit: Autostock |
"Do NASCAR guys drive drunk? Just asking, they do it in every other sport."
"What's so great about NASCAR? Nobody from New York or Boston watches it. Why do people watch that stuff?"
"Is Earnhardt, Jr. any good or just living off his Dad's name?"
"Can't you just draft the guy in front of us and get us there faster?"
"Is this ride free?"
Interestingly enough, he's the only guy Johnson accepted payment from all day.
Freeloader jumps out and Johnson can't seem to score a passenger, so he simply pulls up alongside a young couple from Boston and yells, "Hey, want a ride?"
A proactive businessman is a successful businessman.
It would be much easier to learn how the light atop of the vehicle functions. Johnson has been riding around for five minutes with the light off, signaling he has a passenger.
The couple is headed to Soho, a chic New York City shopping district some 20 minutes away. En route, Johnson throws in Black's soundtrack and asks if they like to rock. They do.
Johnson asks if they'll head bang with he and his wingman, NBC pit road reporter Dave Burns. Sure enough, sitting stationary at a red light, they're bobbing like Ozzy Osbourne.
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| Johnson takes a young Boston couple for a spin. Credit: Paul Wein, New York Taxi & Limosuine Commission |
A few blocks up, they pass the Naked Cowboy. You know him. He's the buff guy that stands in Times Square, strumming a guitar and posing for photographs with tourists, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat, boots and stark white tightie whities that read NAKED COWBOY across his cheeks in red and blue lettering.
As Johnson passes, Fruit of the Range sees the video camera in the rear of the Tahoe. Suddenly, all photographs are put on hold. Cowboy grabs his guitar and breaks into song and dance for the camera. For the record: his song sucked.
The couple on board doesn't watch NASCAR, but relatives do. They request an autograph, which Johnson is happy to oblige but has no paper with which to do so. They're left with a one-of-a-kind item - Johnson's John Hancock on a taxicab receipt.
An attractive blond is standing on a street corner in Soho, glued to a cell phone and in no mood to converse with a random cab driver. Late for lunch with a prestigious potential client, she tells the cabbie to stand on it.
Minutes later, she notices the camera pointed directly at her.
"That camera crew yours?"
| JIMMIE JOHNSON | | | | | |
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The gig is up, and Burns explains the project. She doesn't recognize Johnson, but when asked about Lowe's Home Improvement Warehouse, she informs him she's a stockholder.
Jackpot.
Moreover, her knowledge of the marketing business is obvious and makes for engaging conversation. Turns out she's with a firm that represents athletes and actors. The big time variety. We're not talking obscure soap opera drivel or semi-pro lacrosse players, here. We're talking Muhammad Ali and Christopher Walken, folks.
Business cards are exchanged. Killer. (This must be unprecedented. I asked the locals. Executives of this caliber do not trade business cards with cab drivers.)
Throughout the journey - and believe me, it was epic - her cell phone rang on several occasions. Each time, she answered with the same response:
"I'm late and you'll never believe why. No, seriously. I'll tell you when I get there."
What, she doesn't think they'll believe a famous professional racecar driver is driving her to lunch on national television? Shoot. She's in the entertainment industry in the Big Apple. Nothing's shocking.
Twenty minutes later, Johnson drops her off at a high-end restaurant, refuses to let her pay a significant fare and requests she say hello to her high-profile lunch partner.
Who is she? It's one of those, "If I tell you, I have to kill you" deals. I was sworn to secrecy. Sorry.
The last of Johnson's customers is a gorgeous young lady whose father will kill you simply for recreational pleasure, much less if you cross him. Jamie-Lynn DiScala, who plays Meadow Soprano on the HBO hit drama The Sopranos, needs a ride. Johnson scoops her up to take her to her husband's Manhattan office.
"You're the best-looking and nicest cab driver I've ever had," she says.
(And she's undoubtedly the best looking passenger of the day. No offense, Dave.)
"Can I get a cameo on the Sopranos?" Johnson rebuts.
After discussing DiScala's affection for cars and the fact that she's never heard of Wally Dallenbach -- "I think I'd remember that name," she says -- they arrive at her destination.
She's gone and the taping is over.
"That was an awesome experience, getting to interact with the passengers, learn about them and their lives," Johnson said. "Jack Black was so funny. It was awesome to meet him and it was great to meet Jamie, too. But the coolest part for me was the other people. That was a great experience. Cab drivers must hear some crazy things every day.
"In some ways, that was harder than driving 200 mph at Talladega. Weaving through traffic with so much going on around you. I definitely respect what they do."
Don't we all. On our way to dinner last evening, I'd have sworn we were at Martinsville Speedway. Our cab driver - a real one, mind you, not Johnson - was repeatedly wide open in the gas for a few seconds then hard on the brakes.
Seriously, from the back seat this guy looked like a bobble head doll.
Ryan Newman stays in the throttle longer than anyone, but I'd bet my man would give him a run for his money. I asked him what he thought.
"NASCAR drivers can't hang with me," he said. "I could go out there and do that, but they wouldn't last a minute up here."
I beg to differ. Wonder how many business cards he's gotten today?
Marty Smith is a senior writer for NASCAR.com. His column appears each Thursday.
The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.
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