THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, November 12, 1996 TAG: 9611120370
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C2 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY BOB ZELLER, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: HAMPTON, GA. LENGTH: 81 lines
Even before Terry Labonte clinched the 1996 NASCAR Winston Cup championship Sunday at Atlanta Motor Speedway, the warm and enthusiastic applause he received during driver introductions proved he would be a popular champion.
During the same introductions, runner-up Jeff Gordon heard a surprisingly strong strain of boos. It's been that way for some weeks now, even though Gordon is earnest, well-spoken, enormously talented and a clean driver.
Fate has given the defending champion a tough loss - a character builder. In the long run it will probably help his popularity. People become irritated with someone they perceive as winning too much too quick and getting too big for his britches.
At the same time, Labonte - a driver the sport had consigned to the deep background just a few years ago - is back in the spotlight, and fans are appreciating his many likable qualities all over again.
There was a procession of Labontes through the press box Sunday night - first NAPA 500 race winner Bobby Labonte and later Terry, accompanied by their father Bob and other family members.
And the highlight of the family fun fest, for the gathered press, was the recounting of the family story of how Terry and Bobby shot and killed Bob's pickup truck.
This was only a few years ago - perhaps 1989 or 1990 - although no one seemed to remember exactly when. It was a 1983 Chevy truck.
``It was a piece of junk,'' Terry said. ``I borrowed it and it broke down on me. I hated that truck. It broke down on Bobby. He hated it, too.''
``I don't know what the problem was,'' recalled Bob Labonte. ``Every time they got in it and run it, it would break on 'em. And I would get in it and drive to California and back.''
Bob finally told Terry and Bobby to take the truck to the junkyard and get rid of it. But the boys couldn't leave well enough alone.
``We gotta do something with that truck,'' said Bobby.
``Why don't we shoot it,'' replied Terry.
So Terry went home and fetched a pistol. A .44 Magnum. A cannon of a gun.
``We shot the truck,'' Terry said. ``And here comes mom, driving in. The gun still had one bullet in it. We asked her if she wanted to shoot it. She wanted no part of it.''
``It took six shots to get it, but we got it,'' Terry said. ``And we took it to the junkyard.''
Unbeknownst to the boys, Bob Labonte happened to stop by the junkyard. And there was his truck, all shot up. One shot had gone through one door and out the other at seat level, tearing through the upholstery and exposing the seat springs.
``My dad stopped by the junkyard,'' said Terry. ``And he saw the bullet holes. All the guys in the yard were laughing about it. So he calls Bobby and says, `Go out there and get my truck. I've got this other guy who wants to buy it.' ''
Bobby called Terry in a panic.
``We're in trouble because you shot the truck,'' he said.
``You shot it, too,'' Terry said.
``Yeah, but it was your gun.''
As Bob Labonte recalls, he let Terry in on the joke right away, but ``we carried Bobby on for about four days. He was trying to figure out where to get two door skins and a seat and a fender and a lot of other stuff.''
In the truck story, we see the warmth of a genuine, open family. There are no trappings of superstardom in Terry Labonte. There are no entourages around, no air of self-importance.
He sells T-shirts and hats right along with the rest of the NASCAR drivers, but he does not dwell on himself as a marketing opportunity. He does not yet reek of being Terry Labonte, Inc.
In the garage Friday after qualifying, yet another fan asked for an autograph, losing sight of the fact that Labonte's autograph hand - his left - is broken, bandaged and lame from his crash in practice at Phoenix.
In his typically soft voice, Labonte said, ``Sorry, I can't sign because of my hand. Wish I could.''
Terry gets sick of autograph hunters just as the rest of the drivers do. But his reaction at that moment seemed genuine, if only because he paused long enough to actually explain why he couldn't fulfill the request.
We can be sure of one thing: that autograph hunter may not have gotten his autograph. But when race day came, he, along with so many thousands of others, was still cheering Terry Labonte. ILLUSTRATION: ASSOCIATED PRESS
The brothers Labonte, Bobby, left and Terry, turned Sunday's NAPA
500 into a family affair. Bobby won the race, Terry the title. by CNB