May24

May 24, 2004

When Life Supersedes Speed
By Allison Wagda

My friends and family are used to it. I opt out of events
all the time in the name of NASCAR. I schedule just
about everything around the weekly race. I’ve rented
hotel rooms for a few hours, begged cable customer
service folks to get service installed in time for
Daytona, holed up in seedy bars at 9 a.m. with no other
company than FOX Sports and a Bud, even called in sick
to watch a rain-delayed race.

But for this All-Star Challenge, the race that’s supposedly run for the fans, I decided
to forgo my weekly NASCAR fix and headed out to San Francisco’s annual KABOOM
concert/fireworks extravaganza.

I debated my plans throughout the day. KABOOM is something of a tradition with my
friends and me and it was incomprehensible to miss it. However, I knew the All-Star
Challenge would be an exciting race. A year or two ago, I might have stayed home. Or
more likely, I would have dragged my friends to a local bar for a race break. But after
all of the changes over the past year, I’m feeling a little disconnected from the sport.

I wonder…is this a sign that my devotion to NASCAR is waning? Has my interest
peaked? I haven’t yet purchased tickets to the upcoming Sonoma race. Last year, I
bought a season pass to Infineon a full six months in advance. I was so excited to
once again make the trek out to the track that I took a week off work and spent a full
four days taking in the aroma of pure exhaust. Yet this year, I’m considering saving
my money and watching it on mom and dad’s big screen TV.

While scanning recent news headlines, I realized I am one of many feeling
disenfranchised. NASCAR has a genuine PR crisis on its hands right now as
negativity has pervaded almost every aspect of media coverage today. It’s viral…the
fans voice their frustrations, the media cover it, more fans get upset, the Rock gets
banished, reporters revolt, the fans riot, the media cover it…etc.

It’s affected me. When NASCAR banished the Southern 500 to a blustery winter date,
I was upset but not surprised. When officials started freezing the field and ceased
the long-held practice of racing back to the yellow, I thought it was a hyper-reactionary
move but *sigh* probably prudent. When Winston/RJR jumped ship and Nextel took
over primary sponsorship of Cup racing, I felt like we were sending a great old car to
the junkyard…sentimental and glad for the memories but excited by all the
opportunities with something new. Not exactly positive feelings, but certainly not
enough to take the shiny varnish off the sheer excitement of racing.

Then we lost Rockingham. It was foreseeable, but incredibly depressing. On top of
all the other earth-shaking changes over the past year, it was the anchovy icing on a
stale fruitcake. Simultaneously, the word got out that Darlington’s future is likewise in
jeopardy, and the race formerly called “The Winston” may also find a new home. I
have to ask – where will it end?

NASCAR must understand how detrimental this steady stream of bad news is for the
fan psyche. It’s like ripping a band-aid off a little at a time. Assuming all of these
changes needed to be made, NASCAR could have employed a better strategy. Either
do it all at once and then move on, or take a more measured approach and institute
the changes over five or ten years.

So, Saturday night, I passed on the All-Star Challenge and went out with some
friends. It was a great time, saw Train, ran into some old friends, oohed and ahhed
at the fireworks and generally had a great time. Yet about 5 p.m., I left a voicemail for
my brother (also a fan) to see who won the Open. An hour or so later after I didn’t
hear from him, I called a friend of mine in Nevada and left her a message too.

In the cab on the way home from the bar, I saw a missed call from her and
immediately called in to get her message, shushing my friends. It was garbled
(maybe she needs Cingular or Nextel for her cell service) and all I heard was “gbldjs
GORDONcrdbldKENSETHblhldBUSCHfldtgGREAT RACE!” I listened four or five
times, trying to make out what had happened, to no avail. At 3 a.m., tired, slightly
drunk and in dire need of my down comforter, I logged in to read all about it.

Maybe I’m not so disinterested after all.

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