Here today, gone two days later

As I've mentioned, one of my duties working the pressbox at Talladega was helping sportswriters in the 'box ask questions of the drivers in the infield media center. Sportswriter Bob raises his hand, I run, wireless mike in hand, and give Bob the mike so that can make with the queries. You really have to be qualified to handle such an assignment, too. The guy who had the job before me, Mr. Snickers, has been called one of the most intelligent chimps ever (non-cigar-smoking division).

Sunday, one of the writers I had to give the mike to was David Poole, aka the Grantland Rice of NASCAR reporting. There are a bunch of great writers like Mike Mulhern, Monte Dutton, Jenna Fryer, Nate Ryan, and others, but David was generally regarded as the best. Was regarded, because he's dead now.

Over thousands of backstretches and hundreds of checkered flags, David Poole made himself into more than one of the nation's leading authorities on NASCAR. He became a part of the sport he loved.

“David Poole was as much a fixture in this sport as the actual cars themselves,” driver Dale Earnhardt Jr. said Tuesday. “He was a one-of-a-kind individual and an extremely talented writer.”

Poole, who covered racing for the Observer, died of a heart attack Tuesday at his Stanly County home. He was 50.

A native of Gastonia, N.C., Poole became the Observer's NASCAR writer in 1997. He built a national following through ThatsRacin.com and a daily program he hosted on Sirius NASCAR Radio.

The National Motorsports Press Association four times named him its writer of the year. He wrote about the sport with the enthusiasm of a fan and the critical eye of a journalist.

“He could be controversial from time to time but he always wrote and spoke what he believed,” said Richard Childress, president and CEO Richard Childress Racing. “He didn't pull any punches with anybody and that's what people respected about him. He was good for the sport.”

I don't mean to act as if David and I were close personal friends or anything like that. I knew him, had interviewed him, and as I mentioned, handed him a mike Sunday. But I doubt he knew my name or face. So I'm not being dramatic or going for a cheap emotional punch by writing this. It's just weird that Sunday, when he walked into the pressbox, he was winded and a little flushed. I thought, "That walk up the steps almost killed him." And two days later, his heart gave out.

One of my long-time jokes is that one day, I'm going to unleash a new diet on America, called the Sportswriters' Diet. All it will consist of is pictures of fat sportswriters, which is almost a redundant term. Seeing what a lack of exercise and eating road food will do to the human body will cause millions of Americans to put down the spoon and go for a walk, and I'll be rich. And I'm including myself in that group of chubby writers, since it's not like I'll ever be mistaken for Kate Moss.

David was also a member of that group. He had a weight problem, and had for as long as I'd known him. He was 50, and my own father (who wasn't fat but who smoked and had a family with a history of heart disease) died when he was 44 from a heart attack, so David was definitely in the risk zone for having a heart attack. If I had to bet, I'd say that he was going to try to eat better and lose weight "one of these days," and just never got around to it.

I think I'm going to get around to it. I hope some of the folks in the media center and pressbox do, too.