BEST OF JODY'S BOX: MOTOCROSSERS SPEAK THE SAME LANGUAGE — BUT IT ISN'T ALWAYS WHAT IT SEEMS.

Isn’t it eerie that the first and last words we speak in a lifetime are often the same. Even stranger is that the word “mama” can be used to express the joys of life yet to come and the regret of one about to pass. Language is a very complex subject. Not because we need to associate sounds with events, experiences, feelings, colors and concepts, but because what is said isn’t always what is meant. A word-for-word transcript doesn’t do the language justice (even though transcripts are all the Justice Department relies on). Word are like swords—they still have the potential to cut even when in the scabbard—and no place is that more evident than in the swashbuckling world of motocross. Motocrossers speak the same language, but the meaning isn’t always what it seems.

“That was a great race, wasn’t it?” asks your buddy after a titanic 20-minute duel in the 125 Intermediate class. But what he really asking is, “I hope you don’t have any hard feeling about me brake checking you 32 times?”

“You can’t pass on this track,” whines Jimmy Mac after the first moto. But what he really means is that he didn’t pass anybody. However, seven guys managed to pass him.

“I got the holeshot,” says Crazy Dave. But, if you polled everybody in Dave’s race you would discover that 25 percent of them believe that they too got the holeshot. Some mean they jumped out of the gate first (before being blow away by 34 guys who didn’t miss third gear). A few define the holeshot as leading to the first turn (before shutting off too early and ending up sixth out of the first turn). And one guy means he led the pack into turn two.

“I got a bad start, but worked my way through the pack,” says Crazy Dave. In truth, you know that Dave didn’t have a bad start because you had one and he was no where in sight. Later, it turns out that Dave was fourth into the first turn—you were 23rd.

“I would have caught you if the race had been one lap longer,” said Fred Phalange. But Fred doesn’t realize that once I got the white flag I started to cruise to the finish line (largely because Fred was 700 yards behind me). True, we crossed the finish line nose-to-tail, but if the race at been one lap longer the result would have been the same.

“Did you see the big tank swapper I got into on the back straight? I barely saved it. I thought I was going to die,” says Monte Floyd. You bite your tongue because you saw it and you’ve had bigger swaps unloading your bike.

“This track is no good. If you are racing a guy that’s just as fast as you are you can’t pass,” says Jimmy Mac after the second moto. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. That’s akin to a Highway Patrolman telling you that he had to do 90 mph to catch you. But, you can’t tell the cop the obvious—“Of course you had to do 90. If you went 80, you’d still be chasing me.”

“This track doesn’t have enough jumps,” says Stumpy after practice. However, we’re not quite sure why Stumpy would want more jumps—he’s never cleared the ones that are out there.

“That flagman is an idiot. I didn’t get the white flag,” says Fred Phalange in a huff. ”How could he make such a mistake?” There is one very obvious way that Fred would have failed to get the white flag—it’s called getting lapped.

“Sorry about that move,” says the guy who knocked you down in the second moto. “I didn’t see you there.” That’s racing, but let’s see what he says when you back your pickup truck into his when leaving the pits. Will “I didn’t see you there” still sound like a good excuse?

“That guy’s not 30,“ says a disgruntled Jumpin’ Jack Finn after some slim, trim, fit and fast guy passed him for the win in the Vet Intermediate class. Jack knows what he’s talking about, because he isn’t 30 either.

“I was mis-scored,” complained Jimmy Mac to the promoter. “I finished right behind Fred Phalange and you have him as fifth and me as 17th. I should be sixth.” Ten minutes later new results are posted. The Mac is now 18th and a very angry Fred Phalange is 17th.

“Why don’t they water the track to knock down some of the dust?” is almost inevitably followed by “Why is my race always the one after they water the track?”

“Can I have your jersey?” asks a kid after you win your class at Punkin Center Raceway. It’s the first time anybody ever wanted something of yours as a souvenir. Luckily, you aren’t watching when he uses it to clean mud off the front number plate of his YZ85.

“How did you do?” asked the Mac after the first moto. The truth is, he didn’t give a wit for how I did, he just wanted me to ask how he did.

“Are you racing here next weekend?” I nodded yes. “Good. See you then,” said Monte Floyd as he and Jimmy drove out of the pits. As they drove away I swear that I could read Jimmy’s lips as he he turned to his brother and said, “Let’s go to Carlsbad next week.”