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Calling me a NASCAR fan would be an insult to anyone that’s ever hauled his camper to the parking lot of a speedway and chugged a 30 pack of Bud while waiting for the gentlemen to start their engines.
At best, I’m a racing detester that’s come around to begrudging admiration; a blue-state heathen who needed some contemplation before taking NASCAR off of his “not a sport” list, leaving golf all by its lonesome.
I dig the competition, especially the way it’s presented on television. As a hockey fan, I’m insanely jealous of the ways in which televised racing conveys the sport’s velocity and danger, while at the same time providing detailed information — concise and understandable, even for the newbies — about every facet of the event. No other sport has utilized digital technology better than NASCAR, from the graphics that identify drivers around the track to the dozen audio feeds that enable fans to witness conversations between the cars and their crews. It’s extraordinary stuff, to the point where a guy who hears “lap 100” and thinks “c’mon, already” actually is drawn into the action.
Here’s what I don’t dig about NASCAR: nearly everything that doesn’t happen on the track.
I was reminded of that during this Dale Earnhardt, Jr. soap opera that has infiltrated the mainstream sports media over the last two weeks. Evidently, racing is a team sport and Dale Jr. was the biggest “free agent” in the history of NASCAR. I’m sure someone a bit more schooled in the ways of auto racing can name 10,000 reasons why his joining Hendrick Motorsports is important for his career from a competitive aspect. I’ve no doubt this move means a different caliber of car or crew or spark plugs.
Yet most of the attention surrounding this titanic shift of power within the racing community has been placed on the ancillary melodrama. At first, I was interested in the Freudian tension when Dale Jr. left Dale Earnhardt Inc. and his own stepmother in his rearview mirror; but that storyline has degenerated into endless speculation about the most mundane of racing topics: colors, sponsors and numbers.
Will Dale be able to buy back his No. 8? Will Dale still have a relationship with the King of Beers? God, who cares? OK, millions of NASCAR fans do. But an extraordinarily casual fan like myself is just repulsed by it.
Can you imagine if the headlines about every free agent signing in the NBA centered around what it meant for NIKE or Adidas? Or if every big-time trade in the NFL was eclipsed by endless speculation on whether a stud running back would stay with Gatorade or move over to Powerade? When a superstar player in baseball comes to a new city, the drama over his uniform number lasts about two sentences in a spring training notebook; entire articles have been dedicated to Dale Jr.’s numerical dilemma.
It gets worse: What about these stories that predict whether or not Dale Jr.’s “rebel attitude” will blend with the clean-cut Hendrick image? Ooooh, he drinks Budweiser, sleeps late, wears T-shirts, doesn't shave and curses in public...but Hendrick likes dress slacks! How ever will they cope?
What manufactured nonsense. Suddenly, Shaq v. Kobe looks like a mature debate about the Palestinian conflict by comparison.
Not to pigeonhole a fan base here, but all of this off-the-track stuff fits right into both the country music and pro wrestling aesthetic. Dale Jr.’s about as rebellious as Big and Rich -- only he doesn’t have a black cowboy rapping in the passenger’s seat -- and knows how to use that image to his advantage. This “can the All-American champion co-exist with the villainous superstar?” routine was played out after Hogan and Macho Man pulled it off in 1987. (Memo to Jeff Gordon: Please don’t make it seem like you’re interested in Miss Elizabeth, or Dale will drop a top-rope elbow on your ass.)
I know these alleged personality conflicts, sponsorship quandaries and fashion follies are as much a part of NASCAR as spectacular crashes and awful-looking hats. I know they’re the reason why car flags and those stickers with the little boy taking a piss on a Chevy logo exist. I know they’re the fuel that drives sales of merchandise with specific colors, numbers and logos associated with a certain movement, as millions of fans strut around like redneck Crips. Playing up these rivalries and indulging in the melodramas of the racing is good and vital for business.
But speaking as an ultra-casual, still-being-wooed fan — so casual that I have trouble changing my own flat tire, let alone understanding the intricacies of the pit — it’s a part of the sport that does nothing for me. The attention it receives makes me wonder whether the races themselves have been eclipsed by the drivers competing in them.
Ask an NBA fan whether that’s a good thing or not…
Published on the web and www.SportsFanMagazine.com since 1997, "The Jester's Quart" is a weekly satirical look at sports, pop culture and why NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman is a jackass. Columnist Greg Wyshynski is the Senior Editor for SportsFan Magazine in Washington DC, and the Senior Sports Editor for The Connection Newspapers of Northern Virginia. His book "Glow Pucks and 10-Cent Beer: The 101 Worst Ideas in Sports History" can be ordered now. Email Wyshynski at jestersquart@hotmail.com.
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