It’s just been running through my mind all season, each week that I return to the Bowl the feeling intensifies.

Each night I’ve left the Bowl this season the thought has crossed my mind each time I walk out that front gate.

I wonder what happened. What happened to the Bowl? What happened to the place that, despite its warts, despite its bruises, despite its scars, made me want to keep coming back.

See every week this season I’ve waited for the feeling to return, I’ve looked for that high that the Bowl used to offer, that feeling that the place was alive like no other racetrack I’d go to.

And every week I’d leave wondering if maybe the next time I would feel that Bowl buzz again, only to be let down when I’d return.

A few days ago I went out to mow the lawn, but before heading outside I grabbed an old t-shirt from the bottom of the dresser drawer. It wasn’t until I got outside that I realized just how tattered and thinned the old grey thing had become. There were holes all over it, one sleeve was ripped and the collar was frayed to nothing.

But it felt so comfortable.

And that’s the best way I can describe how the Bowl used to feel to me.

Each of our state’s three short tracks has, or I should say had, for me, a distinct personality.

Stafford Motor Speedway to me is the big time place in the small package. When you go to Stafford the racing is just one part of the show. It’s a multi-level entertainment experience.

Thompson International Speedway to me is a 180 degree turn from Stafford. No frills, just a place where racing is the product served and racing is what you’ll get.

And Waterford. Well, Waterford to me was like walking into a bar in a town you don’t know. The place looks like it’s alright to grab a beer, you’re not worried the moment you walk in, but in the back of your mind you know a barstool could be flying through the air at any second.

Waterford to me was alive like no other track in the state. It had a pulse that beat hard and beat fast.

But for some reason this year, each time I’ve gone to Waterford I’ve struggled to hear that pulse beating, to feel the life in the old track.

I’ve sat back and tried to figure out what it is, but I can’t put my finger directly on primary reasons why that is. In the most general sense though I know there’s so many that have left, so many that no longer show up to breath that life into a place that was so alive.

I don’t blame Bill Roth and I don’t blame Jerry Robinson. And I don’t blame Terry Eames either. Honestly I don’t know who to blame or really if anybody is to blame.

Everything goes away at some point, and I guess so did the Bowl buzz that made getting in my car and driving that hour plus every Saturday never something that bothered me.

For some reason what I’ve watched and witnessed makes me think about the last line in one of my favorite movies, Goodfellas, when Henry Hill laments being hidden by the government in the witness protection program after turning on the mob.

“Today everything is different; there's no action; have to wait around like everyone else. Can't even get decent food. Right after I got here, I ordered some spaghetti with marinara sauce, and I got egg noodles and ketchup. I'm an average nobody ... get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.”

Egg noodles and ketchup, that’s what the Bowl has become.

Shawn Courchesne, 1:33 a.m.