One of the most common and pervasive image enhancing schemes for middle aged men is to buy an exotic sports car. The theory goes, "if you buy an exotic sports car you are, by definition, one of the beautiful people and a world class driver." Seeing this written out on paper makes it sound like a bunch of hooey. But consider this: how do you explain the popularity of these cars that are expensive, impractical, and unreliable? And the more the cars exhibit these traits, the more desirable they seem to become. The plain fact is that most of these exotic cars spend the majority of their time either with the mechanic or at speeds less than the national speed limit. When was the last time you saw an exotic car being seriously flogged? The teenager down the street spends more time at triple digit speeds in his Dodge Neon than most of the exotic cars I see. But still the myth persists that "if you own an exotic car, somehow you are a superior driver."

Rationally, we have to ask "why." Well, I have an answer. Occasionally, not often but occasionally, you will actually find a world class driver in an exotic car. Challenge him (or her) and not only will they "blow your doors off" but they will leave you upside down in the weeds with your hair on fire! This keeps all the common folks honest and creates an opportunity for a class of people called "posers."

Posers are, by definition, a fraud. If you want to be more charitable, then say they are pretentious or even delusional. Regardless, they buy their exotic cars and enjoy the prestige of being "one of the beautiful people" and a superior driver without ever having to prove it. Which brings us to my story and me. You see, I own an exotic car called a Marcos. This car is so damn exotic that no one has ever heard of it and even fewer people have seen one. It is the perfect "poser car." Who would ever be stupid enough to challenge such a car when it might have the new "unattainium V-24" engine with 288 valves?

Now, being a poser is not as easy as it looks, and there are a lot of rules that you have to follow and things you have to avoid. But the one rule that you never violate as a poser is to actually race your exotic car. In the Poser Handbook, there are no less than 30 pages of excuses as to why you can't plausibly race your exotic car. For example, last year Lee Cordner of the Golden Gate Volvo Club invited me to race my Marcos at Thunderhill racetrack (the Marcos has a Volvo engine). As soon as he issued the invitation I tore the car apart and sent the pieces to six different vendors in six different states. "Gee Lee, I would love to race the Marcos but I have it all apart..." This is a perfect poser excuse: plausible, understandable, and even an element of truth.

So I have enjoyed this last year with my image intact as I cruise through life in my exotic car. I was jerked back to reality when Lee made a point of inviting me early this year to join the Volvo group at Thunderhill racetrack. If I declined for a second time it wouldn't look good. So I accepted the invitation! Now I know what you are thinking, "how about the one rule you never, ever violate." Relax... chill out. I accepted his invitation but I have no intention of actually racing the Marcos. This is but the first of a number of moves in this little chess game. I am, after all, a world class poser with lots of moves. Since image is everything in a poser's world, I have embarked on a strategy that would make it appear that I was actually going to race the car. What could be more "racey" than a roll bar? So I built and installed a roll bar. To insure that everyone knew that I am dead serious about this racing thing, I even installed some Simpson seat belts and shoulder harnesses.

At the next dinner meeting of the Volvo club I found an excuse to seek Lee out. At an opportune time I casually mention that I am getting the Marcos ready for Thunderhill. "Yeah Lee, I even installed a roll bar." I said with a certain amount of swagger. Lee considered this and said, "I'm thinking about putting you in the class with the turbo cars." Panic stricken, I looked into Lee's cold eyes and all I saw was the image of a confident chess player that had just leaned across the table and said "checkmate." Jeez, what now! I left the dinner early, having lost my appetite.

Later I was relating this conversation between Lee and myself to my wife. She listened thoughtfully and then said, "Why don't you paint Wusses Racing Team on the side of the car?" Her mocking laughter echoed down the hall as I retreated to the garage.

In the weeks that followed I got a series of threatening e-mails from a man named Keith Soreng of the Golden Gate Volvo Club. The e-mails seemed harmless enough to the average person, but as a poser I immediately saw the implied threat. For example, the first in the series said, "you will be happy to know that we are including a box lunch as part of your entry fee." And what is wrong with that, you say? Well, let me see if I can explain it to you. It's race day. We are at the track. The track is two light years from anything resembling civilization. It's hot and it's dusty. It's time for lunch and only the drivers get a box lunch? I mean this is a sure-fire way to get your throat cut if my wife is around.

The next e-mail was a list of the cars that are participating, broken into groups with similar performance potential. Does my group have any 544s or 122s? On no, my group has a 945 V-8, an 855 turbo, an 1800S turbo and a bunch of other models that I don't recognize. Since when has Volvo been sticking V-8s in cars and turbos in 1800s?

Against this rather bleak (from a poser's point of view) background, I prepared to go racing. What else could I do? Oh, I didn't mean to leave you with the impression that I actually was going to race. No, actually what I meant was that I went through the Posers Handbook looking up good excuses and doing those things necessary to insure I didn't have to race. A trip to the doctor to confirm an old football injury and get a "no strenuous exercise" doctor's excuse. A quick call to the office to confirm that I would be needed to make an important decision race track weekend, a review of relatives with failing health that might need my assistance... the usual poser precautions.

The grand weekend finally arrived. First was the Golden Gate Chapter's Volvo car show at Davis, California. It's a wonderful show that is always well attended and a poser's dream. Park your exotic car in front, and sit back and receive your accolades in the form of "ooohs" and "aaaaahs" from the crowd. What could be better? I mean the only hard part is not hitting someone with the car during the entrance, which would be hard on the image. My image, not the person I hit!

All went as planned until that afternoon when I took Don Lattimer for a ride in the Marcos. During our excursion the car developed a high-speed miss. I mean the car really did develop a high-speed miss. Not a poser's excuse high-speed miss, but and honest to god high-speed miss. I almost failed to recognize it for what it was, a real excuse. An excuse that was heaven sent. After all, you can't race with a high-speed miss. I nursed the Marcos back to the car show parking lot with all the care of a student nursing a cold when they have a major exam the next day for which they haven't studied. Once at the parking lot I rattled a few tools around and proclaimed to anyone who would listen, "High-speed miss here!" with the same gusto as a ballpark beer vendor.

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