Backseat Blonde - Racing in the South is Just Different

May 24, 2005

Racing in the South is Just Better
By Allison Wagda

Saturday night’s race had some of the most boring racing
action (an oxymoron?) to date this season.

Yet something intangible saved the night. Perhaps it was
Mark Martin, a champion of hearts if not in truth, taking the
checkered flag. It certainly wasn’t the scantily clad grand
marshal, the too-impressed-with-their-own-celebrity commentators, or the much-
hyped ‘levigated’ track (sorry Humpy, I give you credit for trying).

Ahh, yes. I know what it was. NASCAR was home. Daytona may be where the original
daredevils raced the dunes, it may be where the NASCAR suits live, but Charlotte is
the soul of the sport. I couldn’t help but feel the energy of the fans, drivers and teams
alike even through my puny ol’ 20” tube TV.

After the first handful of races this season I was seriously worried. Was I really losing
interest in a sport that not two years ago had me rearranging my life around races?
Had my antipathy toward all the changes instigated by Brian France finally taken its
toll? More often than not I dozed off during events, totally uninterested in the outcome.

Bristol and Martinsville briefly held my attention, but then we headed back out West to
Phoenix and Texas. I think I missed one of those races, but the one I saw was so
inconsequential I don’t even recall it. Who won? Who cares.

Something changed the minute we stepped foot on the hallowed grounds of
Darlington Raceway. The little track that could, the track most likely to be swept aside
in NASCAR’s pursuit of the almighty dollar, the track buried on the night before
Mother’s Day in hopes no one would tune in, proved inspirational to the most jaded
of us.

Then, the final laps last weekend at Richmond had me on my feet for the first time in
a very long time, cheering future veteran Kasey Kahne on to his first Cup victory. Not
only did I watch the whole race, I didn’t even sit and surf the Internet while doing so.

It was racing as racing is meant to be.

It may seem a little odd, this coming from a left-coast Californian who only gets the
opportunity to see a race once or twice a year, but the events in the South are just
plain better. Even over thousands of miles, the atmosphere is more genuine. Races
seem more like real races rather than spectacles (Saturday’s pre-race show not
withstanding). The fans know racing, and are there for the love of the sport.

NASCAR seems hell-bent on shoving its Southern heritage under the carpet. They
treat race fans like the red-headed step-child on the sport, intent on showcasing the
Hollywood elite while shedding its roots like a mangy dog – (badly) metaphorically
speaking.

Yet NASCAR’s salvation lies within its oft-ignored history. It lies within the Southern
fans who loved racing before racing was chic. It lies within the now-desolate turns of
North Wilkesboro and Rockingham, the marked walls at Darlington, and even the
streets of Charlotte.

So now NASCAR has a choice. Continue the nationalization and even
internationalization of the sport by taking away Southern races and lose the emotion
that makes stock car racing superior to today’s open-wheel series’. Let Sprextel and
the Kansas taxpayers purchase the Hall of Fame, or honor its heritage and the true-
blue fans by footing the bill to build its monument to the past and future in the heart of
NASCAR country.

Like we have to guess. They’ll sell the Hall to the highest bidder, and continue to pad
their own fortunes by migrating Southern race dates to venues in big media markets.

But we fans, even West coast fans located in a galaxy far far away, can take solace in
these rare trips back home, these rare races that actually have meaning, that we’ll
remember for years to come even when most pass by into oblivion.

Someday, I’ll join you there in person.

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