He plants one foot on the accelerator, one foot on the brake, and the rear tires begin to spin and scream. Thick, white smoke starts to billow from beneath the racecar, drifting into a grandstand filled with cheering fans. Engine parts mangle and melt. If he’s really good, the driver can make the tires blow out, the loose pieces of tread ripping into the sheet metal of the rear end. When they finally roll the thing into Victory Lane, the vehicle is a charred, smoking husk of what it used to be.