Puddle of Suss: Engine failure, a.k.a. the "Peanut Butter Bandit"

Some might think it's emasculating if someone's girlfriend knew more about cars than him. Then again, everyone thinks it's emasculating to be me.

But for this macho, macho man, that is the neutering, neutering situation. When it comes to cars, Chelsea can change the oil faster than I can change lanes.

However, it's not just the maintenance of the car. It's operating the car as a whole. It took me four years just to find my hazard lights.

Granted, my cautiousness has resulted in zero tickets. As for Chelsea — let's just say she's a Home Depot sponsorship shy of winning the Nextel Cup.

But imagine being a senior in high school and having your buddy say "pop the trunk," forcing you to turn your car off, take the keys out, get out and open it manually. Before you get to the trunk, your friend — who has been in the car for the first time — opens the glove compartment, hits a button and opens not only the trunk, but a wound that is my smashed pride.

So while it would be mature to blame myself for my automotive shortcomings, it's much easier to blame fictional traumatic childhood episodes.

You see, years of playing "R.C. Pro-Am" are to blame. You never had to fix a damn thing about those teeny little racing cars, even if you hit an oil slick and crashed on the side. But here's why the game misled me into a lifetime of car maintenance: It fixed itself, people! In three seconds you were back on the road, ready to do real car things like drive over tiles that spelled "NINTENDO."

You can't expect a child to play that game then become a prodigy car mechanic.

I also blame Catholics. ("Gasp! Religion is to blame? BURN HIM!") Our all-boys high school had no shop class. Which is why any time our quiz bowl team faced a public school, we got trounced whenever the categories were "Carburetors," "Classic Fords," and "What It's Like To Get An Erection During Class And Not Look Like A Homo."

To make matters worse, in fact, that on the first draft of this column I spelled "carburetors" incorrectly, adding a superfluous "e" so the word "carbeurator" looked like more of a French-sounding word. The French didn't give us cars. They gave us Peugeots. We have higher odds of not breaking down in a buggy pulled by a horse with three gangrenous legs.

Article Author: Matthew T. Sussman

Sussman is the founder and former editor of Blogcritics Sports. Twitter: @suss2hyphens

Visit Matthew T. Sussman's author page — Matthew T. Sussman's Blog