ACT I: Dale Earnhardt Jr., alone in his garage, speaking to a container of Turtle Wax.
Earnhardt Jr: To drive or not to drive? That is the question.
Heavy is my heart. Flat is the front tire of my mind. Verily, though I race for the company that bears my name and that of my beloved and deceased sire, control of the business lies not with me but with my shrewish stepmother. The question plaguing my nights then is this: Dare I renounce Dale Earnahrdt Inc.—which rightfully should be mine, but is not—and drive for a competitor?
(Dale Earnhardt’s ghost enters stage left. )
Earnhardt Jr: What trick of the light be this apparition?
Earnhardt: Product of my late loins, take the advice of one doomed to drive through purgatory in second gear until his offspring doth claim a Nextel Cup. Throw down thy flag of caution and step out on thine own.
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