When in Rome, do as the Romans. When in the South, do NASCAR.

Last Sunday, while I was waiting for the shrimp and the shish kabob at the Tampa, Fla., home of South Warren refugee Mark Preston, I sat and watched the Nextel Auto Club 500 NASCAR race on television for three hours, 34 minutes and 45 seconds.

It was the first time in 64 years I watched an entire NASCAR race and probably the last. In the three hours, 34 minutes and 45 seconds, they never made a single right turn.

The best I had done previously with NASCAR was watching the closing lap or two as I walked by a television. But I had never, ever watched a race from beginning to end. I had no idea they could last three hours, 34 minutes and 45 seconds.

Since Maine’s Ricky Craven is racing pickup trucks, I knew very few drivers. I knew Jeff Gordon, of course, from the Pepsi ads. And every one knows Dale Earnhardt, Jr. from his father’s fatal crash at Daytona.

Everyone else in the Tampa living room knew not only each driver but the make of their car, the number of their car, the sponsor and their race team affiliation. I remembered that Craven drove the Tide car, but no one was impressed.

I must admit that the camera work during the race was astonishing. There were cameras inside the cars, outside the cars. Every pass was recorded from five different angles.

Through some high-tech computer work, the 200 mph jumble of cars were clearly identified and you could actually tell who was in first place.

As my attention waned, I concentrated on the shrimp.

The shish kebob.

250 laps.

250.

On one lap or another (I lost track), Gordon was “black flagged” for something or other and had to leave the proceedings. Earnhardt suffered several flat tires, of all things, and he left, too. Had no spare, I guess.

Finally around 7 p.m., just after the hallucinations started, the race concluded.

Greg Biffle, driving a Ford (these things are important), came home first, a mere 0.231 seconds ahead of Jimmie Johnson. The race was over.

I have no idea how they figure the money, but Biffle got $285,650 and Johnson got almost as much with $235,041. Everybody gets a taste. Bill Elliott, who finished last (Dodge), got to bring home $75,788. Not bad for three hours and not finishing. Gordon still made $126,936 and Earnhardt got $124,728, although neither finished. Don’t ask me.

We couldn’t eat the shrimp until we watched the interviews. They were hilarious.

After he finished spraying the champagne (what a waste), Biffle told us how his “rear grip” (no idea) failed in the last three laps and he kept hitting the wall at 200 miles per hour.

“When I got back out front, it was so dang loose that I couldn’t drive it,” Biff confessed.

Clearly, these are special people. If I ever lost my rear grip (at 200 mph) and kept slamming into a wall, I would pull over, park the car and have a beer.

Johnson had a great view of Biffle’s problems. “I saw Biffle hitting the wall [at 200 mph] and going sideways [at 200 mph] there at the end. I could hardly believe that he got to the finish,” he said.

Now that I am a NASCAR veteran, I can’t wait for the next dang race.

In another 64 years.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.