Kyle Busch is one lucky dude. I wonder if the unfathomable depth of his good fortune has yet penetrated his thick, young skull.
Busch, who was cited last week for driving 128 mph on a public road near Troutman, wonít be spending the weekend in jail. Instead, heíll be driving today in the Coca-Cola 600 at Charlotte Motor Speedway. He might even end up in the winnerís circle.
But that isnít why heís lucky.
At 26, heís a NASCAR superstar who lives a fantasy lifestyle and makes millions of dollars from his driving and endorsements.
But that isnít why heís lucky, either.
For Busch to fully grasp how fate has smiled upon him, heíd need to have a short conversation with another young race driver named Rob Moroso. It would only take a few trackside moments for Moroso to set Busch straight.
Unfortunately, that conversation will never occur because Rob Moroso is dead.
Moroso was a rising NASCAR star when the light winked out on an October night in 1990. He and a young China Grove woman named Tammy Williams died in a head-on collision on N.C. 150, just west of Mooresville ó not all that far from where Busch was pulled over by a cop.
My colleague Mark Wineka steered me toward Morosoís story (which Wineka covered). The Postís archives contain a thick envelope of articles describing the accident and the ways in which it wrecked two families and cast a pall on stock-car racing.
Like Busch, Moroso was a highly talented driver. At the time, Humpy Wheeler said the Connecticut native ěunquestionably displayed the talents that would have made him a superstar in Winston Cup racing.î He was considered a lock to win Winston Cup Rookie of the Year honors in 1990, an accolade accorded Busch a few years ago.
The Sunday night the accident occurred, Moroso had competed in the Holly Farms 400 in North Wilkesboro. He was driving home to Terrell, his girlfriend a passenger in the Oldsmobile Cutlass, when he veered across the center line on a curve and slammed into the oncoming Toyota Celica driven by Tammy Williams.
ěApparently he was traveling at a high rate of speed,î Trooper Roger Smith told the Post. ěHe lost control, went sideways and evidently he couldnít correct it.î
Tammy Williams was 27 and the mother of two young children. Fortunately, they werenít in the car at the time.
According to the accident investigation, Moroso was traveling faster than 75 mph when he lost control of the Olds.
Excessive speed wasnít the only factor. Earlier, heíd stopped at a restaurant and consumed enough beer to have a blood alcohol level of .22 ó twice the legal limit. It also emerged that Moroso had a string of earlier infractions and was driving the late-model Cutlass ó provided by General Motors, his primary sponsor ó because he had totaled his previous car.
The tragedy continued to play out for months, with Williamsí family suing Moroso Racing, General Motors Corp., Woodyís Restaurant and Morosoís estate. Eventually, the suits were settled out of court.
When the litigation was finally over, Tammy Williamsí mother expressed relief as well as the void nothing would ever fill. ěWhatís money?î she said. ěIt can be spent. It canít replace a human being. We have still got to live with the fact that Tammy is gone.î
Thereís no indication Busch was drinking, and you might argue that clocking 128 sober is still safer than 75 under the influence. Thatís like arguing that playing Russian roulette with a .22 revolver is less hazardous than doing it with a .357 Magnum.
You also could argue that, with his finely honed reactions and experience guiding high-speed projectiles, Busch wasnít tempting fate but was merely exploring the potentials of an exotic sports car, and things got out of hand. In his oft-repeated apology, he says he made an error ěin judgment,î like taking two tires during a pit stop when you needed four or going high on the banking when you should have stayed low.
Fate isnít a matter of judgment, experience or competitive instinct. Itís a collision of circumstances beyond our ken. Fate is the deer or the dog bolting out of the woods and into your lane. Fate is the kid on the bike, lost in his own fantasy world as zooms down the driveway. Fate is two cars converging on the same unyielding space, at the same unforgiving moment.
Fate is utterly indifferent to your driving skills, your fan base or the glittering hardware in your trophy room.
Some days, weíre lucky in life because of what happens to us. Other days, weíre lucky because of what doesnít.

Chris Verner is editorial page editor of the Salisbury Post. Contact him at cverner@salisbury post.com or 704-797-4262.