April7

April 5, 2004

And So Here it Goes...
By Allison Wagda

It seems only fitting that my first piece here on
Backseat Blonde chronicles how I became a NASCAR
fan, and why I love the sport. Sure, these days there
are myriad reasons to complain. It’s hard not to when
NASCAR insists on unilaterally changing just about
every facet of this sport on what seems to be a daily
basis.

I’m sure to spend many late nights berating the folks at NASCAR. But for this
inaugural column, I want to talk about the reasons why so many of us bother to
expend the energy being such vocal critics: racing is in our blood.

The sport that many claim is not a sport has drivers risking life and limb every time
they take to the track. These road warriors spend hours battling a sensitive car
traveling in excess of 180 mph mere inches from 42 other cars, needing exceptional
mental acuity to avoid disaster. They cope with powerful g forces that wreak havoc on
their bodies. They give up all semblance of privacy to the flashing cameras and pen-
waving fans. All of this simply to entertain us.

While NASCAR racing on TV is riveting, a trip to the track will never be forgotten. All
the pageantry, the reverberating rumble of engines firing, the seas of multicolored RV
flags waving in the wind, and all the floor-to-the-board racing will make a fan out of
just about anyone.

NASCAR racing is also a sport that still represents the American spirit. Many other
pro sports have evolved into business ventures that churn out larger-than-life
characters, more marketing machines than human beings. Steroids, drugs, rape,
even murder have been relegated to the back page of newspapers as the public
becomes more and more inured to the foibles of their sports stars. Athletes can get
away with anything as long as they deliver the points. NASCAR drivers are more
closely linked to their sponsors than any other sport, and are therefore more
accountable for their actions. If Dale Earnhardt Jr. was caught driving while
intoxicated, the value of his name attached to the Budweiser brand suddenly
plummets. It’s unlikely that Budweiser would cough up $20 million a year to be
associated with drunk driving.

To me, NASCAR drivers seem like guys (and the occasional gal) with whom I’d hang
out. There are veterans that have raced for 20 years competing with cocky young hot
shots fresh out of the schoolroom. Some we love, and some we love to hate. With
other sports, fans rarely learn more than the alma mater of most of the players. But
with NASCAR, much of the drama revolves around the personalities driving the
action.

I don’t resemble the stereotype of a NASCAR fan. I’m not from the South, I’m not a
beer-swigging hick with a mullet and a Trans-am. I’m a blonde California girl who
prefers heavy metal over country, works in the uber-geeky world of Silicon Valley and
spends as much time in the Sierra Nevada mountains as possible. Except for
Sundays…I’ll be watching NASCAR.

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