Growing up in the Northeast, the Supercross never made it to within 500 miles of my hometown. So last weekend I ventured down to the stadium for what was truly a good old-fashioned lesson in white trash, trailer homes and the demise of American youth.

The Supercross in itself is an awesome event, and with a superstar like Jeremy McGrath, perhaps the most dominating performer in any sport, the three-plus hours of racing were well worth the price of admission.

But, what was even better than the racing was the people-watching.

Before we parked our car a good two miles from the stadium ? because the lot had turned into an RV and Camper Show ? I sensed an event very different from a San Diego State football game brewing inside.

I was more than right.

The first two people I saw as we walked down Friars Road were tailgating out of the back of a brand-new Range Rover, and I nearly passed out as they sipped Zimas and discussed the future of the stock market.

I thought to myself, “I must be at the wrong event. Where the hell are all the rednecks?”

As we entered the parking lot two minutes later, I got my answer loud and clear in the form of a guy playing air guitar to some song on KSON, dressed in a Motorola hat, Wrangler jeans and a No Fear T-shirt.

Yes, indeed, I had arrived at Supercross.

Tickets were $20 or $25 at the gate, but when I was approached by a teen-age girl dressed in a LeAnn Rimes shirt and acid-washed jeans, I jumped at the chance to buy her field-level, second-row seat for 20 bucks (the three other guys I came with got nosebleed specials for $20 and sat on top of the stadium after they unsuccessfully tried to snag seats in my section on the field).

I wasn’t expecting to sit by myself in the middle of two families but it made for comedy nonetheless. To my left sat a kid about 13 years old dressed in a Miami Dolphins jacket with his father, who donned a ponytail, beard and a brand-new AMA Supercross shirt.

They knew everybody in the race like they were somehow related, which, of course, when dealing with this event is not out of the realm of possibility.

“C’mon, Dowd, get the f?- up there,” the 13-year-old kid yelled.

“Yeah, what the f?- is his problem? He could have passed him on the last triple,” his father stood up and screamed.

It was like an episode of “South Park” without the annoying “beeps” over the expletives.

I was f?in’ lovin’ it myself when a kid in the row in front of me, who couldn’t have been older than 10 yelled, “s?-,” after he lost a balloon he was holding in his lap.

The 125cc final was the best race of the night, and the kid next to me nearly mudded himself because his hero John Dowd got the win. But I was there to see McGrath and all the hype the four-time AMA Supercross champ brings with him.

He didn’t disappoint. McGrath is solid and without a doubt one of the best athletes in the world.

But even more impressive was the crowd. I had never seen anything like it. It seemed like the entire town of El Cajon jammed Qualcomm Stadium with Kodiak chewing tobacco, Justin cowboy boots and Budweiser beer (of course, everything at the Supercross is sponsored).

It was good ol’ American fun minus the confederate flag.

And I left on the highest note of all, with the lasting memory of an adolescent kid looking up to his father outside the stadium and asking: “Dad, where the f?- did we park the truck?”

Sean Colclough is a journalism senior and the sports editor of The Daily Aztec.