By Ronald N. Guy Jr.
There is, still, a prevailing perception among the broader
sporting public that NASCAR is a simple sport for simple folk. Superficially it appears only to be a bunch
of fast cars piloted by hotheaded drivers who flunked anger management 101
making left turns until the checkered flag drops. While that may have been a fair assessment 30 years ago, the
stereotype does a terrible injustice to the product’s evolution. Today’s “stock” car, having been wind tunnel
and on-track tested and every part and subsystem analyzed by the brightest
minds with sole purpose of sucking every last fraction of speed from the
machine, is an engineering marvel.
NASCAR’s modern machine is built and manipulated in a setting that’s
more lab than garage. Drivers too have
grown from beer swilling, hammer down, bump and grind outlaws to polished,
intellectual test pilots whose knowledge of the car and in-race feedback to the
crew chief is as critical to victory as their ability to navigate the car to
the front.
Ironically, this casually and incorrectly oversimplified
sport has as its most popular performer the most interesting and complex
athlete in the sports world. This
reference is of course to Dale Earnhardt Jr.
Describing Jr. starts with the obvious: he’s the son of NASCAR legend
and 7-time champion Dale Earnhardt. On
this fascinating foundation of a son following his iconic father into the same
line of work are many more layers of intrigue.
Jr. is also the driver who had the weight of the entire sport suddenly
heaped on his shoulders at the start of only his second full-time season after
his father was tragically killed during the 2001 Daytona 500. He’s the talented hotshot who, frustrated
with his progress and influence, made the decision to leave his father’s
company – Dale Earnhardt, Inc. – and sign with rival Hendrick Motorsports. He’s the driver who, name aside, frankly
hasn’t lived up to his talent and, in a desperate effort to match results with
his alleged skill, has rifled through crew chiefs like rock stars cycle through
girlfriends. And lastly, he’s the now
36-yr-old man whose spirit appears broken by it all: the weight of his
inescapable name, the suffocating love from fans and the unfulfilled expectations.
In these “layers of Jr.” there’s a personal correlation for
nearly everyone. Perhaps that’s why,
somewhat sadly, his pedestrian performance hasn’t affected his popularity. The fact of the matter is, despite his
access to the best resources in the sport, Jr’s won a paltry 18 races since
1999, 3 races since 2005 and has never finished better than 3rd (in
2003) in the final Sprint Cup standings.
Fans rarely celebrate the average, but we all (still) love us some
Jr. He connects with sons struggling to
overcome the shortcomings or equal the financial and domestic accomplishments
of their fathers. He’s an example for
those confronting a career fork in the road, having exhausted their growth
within an organization, and are facing the fear of the unknown in deference to
their ambition. He’s a source of
strength for those who have, or will, lose a major cog in their family machine
and will attempt (or be expected to do) the impossible task of filling the
void. And finally we cheer Jr. because life
will be, at times, unimaginably joyous and unbearably difficult, and when it’s
the latter, our resolve will waiver too.
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