April12

April 12, 2004

Critical Masses
By Allison Wagda

Three blondes walk into a chi chi restaurant in Silicon
Valley…

A bad joke? Nah.

Yesterday afternoon on a beautiful California spring
day, I met up with two fabulous business colleagues
for a fancy lunch to talk about advertising. Surrounded
by geeky businessmen in three-piece suits, the conversation took an interesting turn.
The hot topic of the day? Not shoes, clothes, hair, make-up or the latest American
Idol gossip.

NASCAR.

NASCAR fans in the uber-liberal and oh-so- fashionable San Francisco Bay Area are
about as rare as grits at the Ritz. But yesterday I met another true-blue race fan, and it
was a blast. While our Raider-fan third wheel may not have understood our
obsession with all things NASCAR, I had the pleasure of freely talking about my
favorite pastime without the typical snide comments I usually get from local
metrosexual types.

Jamie (not her real name...she's still in the closet) is an Elliott Sadler fan to the
extreme. When not talking about network intelligence and security protocols like
SOAP and UDDI, she researches Elliott’s every move because she’s convinced he’d
be the perfect mate for her best friend. She herself is married, but on weekends she
and her friend dress to the nines and jet to Vegas and other west coast tracks and
transform into what they jokingly call “Pit Lizards.”

It’s that connection with our favorite drivers that makes NASCAR racing so much
more colorful than Formula One or IRL racing. They seem accessible. Jamie even
Fed Exed a photo to Elliott for an autograph a few weeks ago and was surprised she
hadn’t received it back yet. I don’t think she realizes that Elliott probably has a
warehouse of similar packages awaiting his Sharpie.

Last year, I had a cold pit pass at Sonoma and was determined to put it to good use.
Pit passes at Sonoma are only given to season ticket holders, so I’d spent about
$500 because I wanted a new experience at the track.

But the pits were almost always “hot.” The only legal time I was given access to the
pits on either Saturday or Sunday was hours before or after a race. The other folks
wandering around with me were other peeved season ticket holders and a few
random tire guys.

Before the Cup race on Sunday, scores of pit pass holders waited at the fence to go
down for driver introductions. The passes had been advertised as a way to meet the
drivers, and the NASCAR officials we spoke with claimed that would be our chance.
But as driver intros got underway, we were still stuck at the fence. Apparently, the
Infineon track security personnel decided it would be too much of a hassle to clear
us out of the pits before the race, so we weren’t to be allowed access. I felt like a
moron, standing there with my pass trying to explain to security guys that I wasn’t
trying to sneak past them. I was just trying to use a supposedly legit pass. While I
was embarrassed, other pass holders were understandably angry.

Instead of whining with the rest, I took off to the other pit entrance over by the infield
tunnel. It was a very narrow entrance, more for emergencies than anything else. I
spoke to the track official, who again turned me away. So when HE turned away, a
sympathetic security person waved me through, and I melted into the pit.

I was lucky. Thanks to that kindly guard who understood that I’d paid for an
experience rather than a headache and embarrassment (and that little ol’ me with
my disposable camera wouldn’t be a risk), I got to be right up front for a few leftover
introductions.

Fans like Jamie and I are loyal to a fault when it comes to NASCAR. We do silly
things like wave at our drivers as they speed by, sneak into the pits and send out
random Fed Exes with dinner invitations. It’s part of the fun. But as Jamie waits for
her autograph, and as NASCAR continues to “fix” everything we love about racing and
ignore the will of the fans, it's getting easier to become more of a critic rather than a
blind follower.

I didn’t buy an Infineon season pass again this year. Actually, I didn’t even buy tickets
for the race. Yet. Sure, it’s a good time, but last year's experience left a bad taste in
my mouth. I’m having a hard time justifying a bunch of money, up to 10 hours of
Highway 37 traffic and arrogant track personnel to see about 100 yards of the track
and single-filing “racing.”

Don’t they say that the best seats for a road race are in front of the TV anyways?

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