NASCAR Nation (2 page)

As much as being a broadcaster and a member of an amazing crew has allowed me to be an active part of the sport, I also consider myself a fan, in the stands, cheering “U.S.A.” with everyone else. I'm just as amazed, fascinated, and perplexed by the sport as the rest of the onlookers. My eyes are always wide open, catching every moment, no matter how many races I see. The bright colors of the cars speeding around the gargantuan tracks never lose their shine – the frenetic flags flapping in the air, cars shattering like glass. However, it's more than visual; all of the senses are affected. The clouds of smoke, the smell of the fumes, the size of the mammoth track and the scent of the rubber, fuel and oil after a wreck, the sounds of cars zooming by – you definitely need earplugs.

And the experience isn't only reserved for people in the stands. NASCAR is one of the great TV sports because fans can experience it in a way that they just can't with other sports. The drivers let us put microphones and cameras in the cars; we can listen in on the radio communication between the drivers and their crew chiefs. This adds an entirely new element to the race that isn't possible in other sports. Imagine being able to hear a football player talk to his coach as he makes an important pass or being able to talk to a baseball player as he runs from home plate to first base. Well, we can talk to drivers at every moment. In the middle of the race, if a driver's car wrecks, he's able to talk to you to explain what happened. Fans can't get that close to the action and certainly not to the players themselves in football or baseball. But in NASCAR, fans can walk into the pit-road area before the race and stand, as if in some shrine, in front of the same cars that they see on the track a couple hours later.

But NASCAR is more than just cars. There's an important human element to the race. For every lap of a NASCAR race, a driver has to make countless split-second decisions: how to start; whether to overtake the car in front or to “draft” (hang behind the car in front, reducing air resistance); when to gain or maintain speed; where and when to turn, brake, or gas; how to dodge crashes; and whether to
change that tire that may be in need of a change or to stick it out (hoping it won't cause a crash or a blow-out that will cost the race). Every track is unique, calling for different driving techniques on the part of the driver and putting new demands on the car and the crew. It's driving at its fullest – a sport most Americans participate in every day in their own vehicles. It's something everyone can relate to, but here cars are moving faster than 180 miles per hour for exceptionally close finishes and lawsuit-and-insurance-penalty-free car crashes.

At the beginning, I was most interested in the human element of the sport. As someone who had interviewed football and baseball players for years, I was fascinated less by the cars and more by the drivers. It isn't just about making the play, but what the players are thinking about while doing it. Their teammates, the plays, the coach, their family in the stands – all of these elements actually play a major part in the psychology of the player and thus also play a major part in the outcome of the game.

I had enjoyed witnessing the psychological element in other sports but, when it came to NASCAR, I still wasn't sure if it was about the car that's being driven or the person driving it. The conclusion I've come to now is: it's both. Trying to separate the two is like trying to separate NASCAR from the U.S.A. and the U.S.A. from NASCAR. I quickly learned when I
started broadcasting that the sport was a lot more than finely engineered cars.

The race revealed itself to me to be a test of intelligence, both on the part of the driver and the crew working behind him – the crew members who keep the car in top racing condition, changing tires and refueling at record speeds. Everything happens so fast, people have to be on their toes. That's why the sport is so popular: people simply like speed, and they like cars, no matter who's driving them or who's winning.

Danica Patrick has become only the third woman to run in the Daytona 500, after Shawna Robinson (1995) and Janet Guthrie (1977), who ran the race twice. Patrick didn't get into a NASCAR ride just because she's an attractive woman. She's achieved six top-ten finishes at the Indy 500 and has proven herself as a capable driver. There's certainly pressure on her to stick in NASCAR and win races. Although she didn't grow up racing go-karts like many NASCAR drivers, she is competing at the NASCAR Nationwide Series level to earn her spurs and a NASCAR Sprint Cup ride. You've also got to trust Tony Stewart's judgment – he believes that she's worthy of a ride, so she'll have every opportunity to prove herself. It was announced that in 2012, Patrick will be driving for Stewart-Haas Racing, a NASCAR team owned by Tony Stewart and Gene Haas.

Not all open-wheel (single seat cars with wheels outside the car's body) racers have come to NASCAR and found success. For example, drivers Patrick Carpentier and Dario Franchitti were unable to replicate their open-wheel track records in NASCAR. The betting is that Patrick will find a way to win.

In the past five to ten years, drivers' profiles have changed and gotten younger. They used to be mature, married men. Today, NASCAR driving isn't only for those drivers, but it's not just for the young athletes, either – it's everybody's sport. And whether people want to call them athletes or not (and I think they are because of what they do and the way that they do it), their driving skills and the decisions that they have to make are a true measure of mental dexterity. What matters in NASCAR, more than any other muscle, is the mind.

Some critics of the sport ask, “If drivers are so intelligent, why do they risk their lives driving in circles, crashing their cars into walls?” They view the admiration of a wreck as grotesque. These are people who don't understand the races and who haven't given it an honest chance. The sights, sounds, smells of the wrecks are a necessary part of the spectacle. Perhaps it's the knowledge that these cars have been handmade by some of the greatest engineers in the country and handled by some of the most skilled crews. Or perhaps it's the assurance that the driver
is going to step out of the car and be okay. These drivers may crash and total cars, but at the end of the day, they walk away.

There's nothing wrong with a crash, especially in today's races when the necessary safety precautions have been taken to ensure that drivers are guaranteed as much safety as possible. And there's a reason for these precautions. When Dale Earnhardt, who was the face of the sport, died on February 18, 2001, as a result of injuries from a wreck, it changed the world of NASCAR forever.

My introduction to NASCAR as a broadcaster was earth-shattering. Everyone was affected that day – the parents and kids sitting at home enjoying the final lap of the Daytona 500, the drivers who were well across the finish line before they realized what had happened, my fellow broadcasters and I. All of us, as a nation and community, held our breath as car No. 3 stopped moving. Nobody could be sure of what had happened. We hoped, but in vain. Earnhardt and his No. 3 swerved and crashed on the very last lap. Just moments before, everything had been different. Fans at home were holding onto the edges of their sofas, people were standing up in the stadium with joyful anticipation, and we were narrating the final lap of the race with extra tension in our voices – only to be interrupted by speechlessness.

Everyone was waiting, no longer interested in how the end of the race would turn out; waiting to see if Earnhardt would emerge, just like all the other drivers had in most crashes. He was the symbol of NASCAR. His kind gestures, formidable grasp, bushy moustache, and down-to-earth demeanor fully embodied what NASCAR was and is.

After the first man to approach the window became frantic, everything became unsure. This was no ordinary crash. Then ambulances arrived – the only vehicles you
never
want to see racing out onto the track. It was something that no one expected. In the sport where viewers, fans, and drivers learn to expect the unexpected, this was something for which no one was prepared. No matter how many times the race footage was replayed, it never ceased to seem somehow unreal.

Since Earnhardt's death, safety regulations have greatly increased. Some have complained that these safety regulations have caused uniformity in car design. This is possible, but there's no doubt that being sure that these drivers make their way back to their families at the end of the day is vitally important to NASCAR and its fans. It's a family sport – good, safe fun. After this tragedy, many more drivers have been able to drive safely doing the sport that Earnhardt loved, that the nation continues to loves, and that I love, too.

That day brought the end to the career of one of the greatest NASCAR drivers to ever set wheels on a track. It also marked the beginning of my career as a NASCAR broadcaster, and taught me an early lesson: this sport is all about surprises. In the years since, I've learned a thing or two about what makes NASCAR great, and how all the elements of racing – risk, patriotism, teamwork, tradition, and endurance, just to name a few – come together to make this the true American sport. It's not just that we all love fast cars or the thrill of the open road. It's that the values of NASCAR mirror the values of our great nation, the place we call home.

NASCAR fans don't get half the respect they deserve. As a broadcaster, I get an earful from people who are constantly trying to criticize them and put them down. But in all honesty, the values of NASCAR fans really are the values that make America great. That's why fans deserve to be celebrated, not cut down – they're the people who form the backbone of our nation. NASCAR fans aren't backwoods rednecks: they're the quintessential American heroes.

NASCAR is America. And if you love them both: read on.

N
ASCAR drivers are confident – they have to be. They think they can overcome anything, and oftentimes, they're right. People who love NASCAR are confident enough to push the envelope to the very edge. It's not about wanting to get hurt or wishing harm on others. The feeling a person gets watching a race is the same feeling they get watching a horror movie. The monster nears the child, reaching its arms out from under the bed.
Of course you don't want to see a child eaten by a monster, but the tension and the excitement of the film lies in the unknown, in the fear, in the hope of a resolution – in the risk.

In baseball or football, this type of risk doesn't exist to the same degree. If an athlete in one of those sports makes a mistake, it is often viewed as detrimental to the game. In NASCAR, however, it only adds to the thrill. Sure, there are plenty of moments when a football, baseball, or basketball viewer may not know what will happen next or may feel excited or worried, but it doesn't compare to the accidents that make NASCAR so addictive.

Carl Edwards is an example of one such NASCAR adrenaline-addict – and I mean that in the best way possible. For the average person, racing at top speeds and crashing into walls would be enough to get their blood rushing – if not to get their heart stopping. Still, Edwards doesn't stop at the races. He keeps going. In his spare time he flies planes, doing stunts in the air. It takes this particular type of person to appreciate the glory of racing from behind the wheel.

There is no doubt that NASCAR is a sport of risks. Still, there have been many measures taken to ensure that risk and fun do not make safety a casualty in this full-throttle sport. The head-and-neck support (HANS) device is one such innovation that has been made mandatory. It was developed by American Bob
Hubbard and is one of two different neck-support devices that drivers can choose. Made out of Kevlar and carbon fiber, with several liners, a visor, fireproof Nomex lining, a communication earpiece, a foam pad, and light outer lining, the system offers the best protection available.

And yet, there are people, perhaps those who relish memories of the old, down-and-dirty, less-regulated NASCAR days, who say the races have lost some of the risk due to additions such as the HANS. It's hard to believe that something that could save a driver from a lethal fracture at the base of the skull could really interfere with the excitement of the race. If anything, knowing that a driver is carefully prepared in case of an accident should make a fan more able to enjoy the good wholesome fun. Fans watch NASCAR as if it were a real-life action movie; they don't want to see a tragedy on the track.

Drivers can also immediately turn off their engines with the flip of a safety switch. This is another example of how NASCAR's technological advancements are working to make racing about the action, not about accidents. These safety devices and new regulations, which range from checking the size of the spoiler, to weighing the car, to making sure all head and neck supports are in place, perhaps soften the reality of the situation, but in no way do they take the risk out of the sport. Risk is essential
to NASCAR – it's a defining quality. You can't have NASCAR without risk.

There are many risks in the sport that fans may not notice. Take, for example, the most basic risk of driving at a high speed. Sure, the cars look like they're moving fast on the screen, but it's all relative. People don't realize that these cars are actually burning rubber, sometimes moving at speeds in excess of 180 miles per hour. At such high speeds, the mere ability to control the vehicle, as well as the driver's responsiveness to other drivers, is at risk. The drivers have to manage a 3,450-pound vehicle while hurtling at top speed. No driver could ever say that there wasn't risk involved.

Many drivers have expressed fear about the sport. It's hard to say what makes them face these risks and it's hard to say what makes us want to watch them face it. We don't want anything bad to happen, but that risk creates the tension that keeps the race interesting. That's what risk is – not knowing what might happen. The safety devices allow a person to enjoy the race with a bit less guilt. We don't feel like we're putting someone's life on the line for the sake of our entertainment. We have the comfort of knowing that they, like a tightrope walker with a net beneath them, will not die for our enjoyment.