Because in racing, and in life, the yellow tire never wins. The one that’s been through hell and kept its shape—that one does.
His crew chief, Harry, didn’t say much at the hospital. Just sat beside the bed, turning a yellow Goodyear racing tire over in his hands like a farmer examining a bad apple. Days of Thunder
The crash wasn’t his fault. A lapped car drifted high, Cole went low, and then he was sliding backward into a wall at 170 miles per hour, the world reduced to the sound of tearing metal and his own breath gone silent. He climbed out unhurt, but something in him had cracked. Not bones. Certainty. Because in racing, and in life, the yellow tire never wins