My Afternoon As a NASCAR Fan

I didn't actually notice it until I tried to leave the parking lot after attending a Saturday afternoon wedding. Suddenly, my car felt like it was driving in wet cement. At that point, I had a natural, quite human reaction:

"Dear Jesus ... I know we don't speak as often as we should. I want to begin by saying that the movie you did with Mel Gibson — though a little violent for some tastes — was unfairly ignored during awards season. And that, also, I've been a fan of the temperature lately: not too cold, not too warm. Just right. Anyhoo, I was just wondering if there was any way you could ensure that the intense drag on my car's acceleration is simply a result of my forgetting to release the parking break and not a flat tire, which would necessitate me attempting to change the tire in the rain while wearing a suit, dress shirt, and tie. Thank you Jesus. Say hi to Grandma for me."

My eyes wandered from the dashboard to the parking brake, which was parallel to the driver's seat in the "down" position. I then noticed the right side of my car was decidedly lower than the left.

"Damnit ... I knew I should have gone to mass on Ash Wednesday."

I threw it in reverse and rolled back into the parking space. It was the first flat tire I've dealt with in about a decade — a streak that, much like the Lakers' run of consecutive playoff appearances, could only end in spectacular humility.

So as I jacked up the car and fought through my carpal tunnel to unscrew the lugnuts, the same thought kept running through my head:

Where the hell was my pit crew?

I'm not a NASCAR fan. Never have been. Growing up in Jersey, I knew guys who worked on their cars — Camaros and Mustangs, usually, with stains on the roof interior from their girlfriends' giant Garden State mallrat hair — but I didn't know anyone whose love of automobiles was a jumping-off point to professional racing fanaticism. It just wasn't part of the culture I grew up in; Jersey was closer to being a member of Fast Food Nation than NASCAR Nation.

There have been times when I've been downright disrespectful to the sport; like, for example, refusing to categorize it as a "sport" or drivers as athletes. (Save all that nonsense about "needing to be in top physical shape to drive at that speed." The only reason these guys aren't complete blobs is because they're the only people who spend the majority of their day on the road and aren't tempted by a single drive-thru window.)

I've also mocked — in no particular order — the corporate whoring of drivers and cars, those ridiculous walking-billboard jump suits, those even more ridiculous multi-colored hats that redefine the word "horrendous," Jeff Gordon on "Saturday Night Live," NASCAR dads, NASCAR flags, NASCAR fans who actually aren't watching just for the crashes, restrictor plates, Richard Petty, the Viagra car, those stupid window stickers with the little boy taking a piss on the Chevy logo, and really anything and everything regarding the over-televised tedium of professional stock car racing.

So I must now humbly report something that would, in some circles, be considered hypocritical: I watched a NASCAR race on Sunday, and was genuinely impressed ... at times, even blown away with what I saw.

I was stuck at a local tire shop for most of the afternoon (getting all four tires replaced will kill a good day of drinking, won't it?). So I settled into the customer lounge, where the small television mounted on the wall was tuned to the NASCAR event de jour: the Aaron's 499 Nextel Cup race at Talladega Superspeedway.

(An aside — what's more dehumanizing about a tire shop or auto body repair shop waiting room: the magazines from 1984, or the fact that you have to use powdered creamer to lighten the worst coffee found outside a Colombian sewer?)

FOX had the broadcast of the race. It's funny: when FOX did the NHL games, it's technology and approach to the sport diminished its appeal. It went beyond the "glow puck" fiasco; remember those stupid robots that destroyed each other after every goal? It was like some sports executive at the network decided that the only way people were watching pro ice hockey is if they get to see some bizarre hybrid of the Transformers and the Whammy from "Press Your Luck" a few times each game.

I couldn't help but think about the late, great "NHL on FOX" while watching the pre-race coverage of the Aaron's 499. One of the reasons NASCAR is so damn popular is that each race feels like a major event, and is treated as such by the fans, media, and the broadcasting partners. It's like the NFL, whose games are spread out on a weekly basis and take on an extra sense of importance because of it. You anticipate individual hockey and basketball games, or individual baseball series; but you make time for football games and NASCAR races.

FOX treats every NASCAR race like a major event. There's ample pre-race coverage, from handicapping the field to reviewing recent action to interviews that span the spectrum from vital (talking with a pit crew chief) to the delightfully frivolous (a quick series of unconnected questions and one-word answers with a driver).

Going back to the hockey comparison, I was stunned by how familiar these drivers were to me after about 30 minutes of pre-race coverage — not only their names, but their place in the standings, their chances in the race, and a little about their reputations. Watch a hockey game on broadcast television, and you're lucky if they mention who the goalies are at the top of the show. The pre-game coverage is usually about five minutes of contrived storylines the announcers half-heartedly try to sell.

The start of the race is amazing on television. (Well, after the NASCAR-endorsed blessing read over the loudspeaker. I marvel at the fact you can have a prayer before a car race in Alabama, but not before a public school football game in Virginia.) As the gentlemen prepare to start their engines, the screen literally splits into 20 or so small squares. We see each driver — well, at least the ones contending — rev up his car and get ready to race. It's an incredible sports television moment, bringing the anticipation to a boil before the race explodes onto the track.

It's everything a face-off should be in hockey.

Seriously ... why is it that the old "Blades of Steel" game for Nintendo was able to give us a better camera angle of the face off than ESPN can? I want a split-screen shot of every scarred-up face on the ice watching the ref's hand as he prepares to drop the puck.

The race itself is brilliantly conveyed. NASCAR is nearly perfect for television, now that they've gotten the technology figured out. You know where all the cars are, and how many laps they have to go. You have reporters assigned to follow certain drivers, or report in certain pits. Every angle is covered.

The camera work is stellar. You feel the speed, you feel the danger, because you are literally in the driver's seat of these cars, or staring out the back window, or planted in the grass near the turn. The director of these races must be a mollusk of some sort, because humans don't have enough arms to control all of these angles at the same time.

Again, I come back to hockey — there's nothing in a NHL broadcast on American television (outside of that camera in the back of the goal) that gives the viewer a perspective unique to television. In other words, why should people get jazzed to watch hockey on TV when it's just a more placid version of what we see in the arena? NASCAR and football are better on television than they are live; and have you checked the ratings of NASCAR and football lately?

Finally, a few words about the NASCAR announcers, and indirectly, the Republican Party.

NASCAR announcers sound like NASCAR fans. You're not going to find a sharp Brooklyn accent, or a Bostonian accent. And you sure as hell aren't going to find some dude from Saskatoon who sounds like he just crossed the border for the first time.

I've said for years that one of the NHL's biggest obstacles in selling the game to an American television audience to getting past its xenophobia. Having ESPN's Bill Clement and Darren Pang and John Davidson sounding like Bob and Doug McKenzie is not going to get some guy in Oklahoma to watch hockey. But having Darrell Waltrip crowing "Boogity, Boogity, Boogity" might keep him watching NASCAR.

It's like that old cliché about Republicans relating more to Southerners because they "speak their language." It's also the reason the Democrats picked Clinton and John Edwards to run nationally — because no matter how much the rhetoric is geared towards Blue-collar, middle-class Americans, the majority of them will tune it out if the messenger doesn't sound like they do. (See Kerry, John.) Forget wider nets and blue ice — the first thing the NHL should do when it gets back is hire Larry the Cable Guy for its studio show.

As entertaining as it was, I didn't see the end of the Aaron's 499 Nextel Cup race. I understand Jeff Gordon won, although I have no idea what that means in the grand scheme of the NASCAR season ... other than the fact that there'll be a few more cars that have window stickers with the little boy taking a piss on his car number, I suppose...

"Boogity, Boogity, Boogity!"

Radio is a Sound Salvation

Thanks to the five or six of you who sent in your radio memories in accordance with last week's column. Here's Peter Mueller with a nice memory about New York sports on the radio:

It was either 11/16/72 or the 17th. The Knicks were playing Milwaukee, who then had Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Willis Reed was still out injured; Jerry Lucas played center most of the time. Knicks are down by 18 points, 86-68, with 5:50 left. No three-point baskets in '72. The Knicks go on a run, score 19 consecutive points, and win 87-86. Either Kareem or Lucious Allen missed at the buzzer. Marv Albert on the radio call: "And that's it. The New York Knicks have stolen a ballgame. And they are a happy group." That's back when basketball was a team sport.

It really is a shame that after all of the back-biting pervert crap came out about Marv Albert, his legacy has been diminished. But for my money, he's the best — and most influential — play-by-play man in the business.

As always: love, hate, or indifference mail to [email protected].

Random Thoughts

So Jeff Van Gundy comes out and says that the officials are targeting Yao Ming this postseason, refuses to tell the league which official told him this, and gets slapped with a $100,000 fine and possible further action by NBA commissioner David Stern.

I haven't seen Stern this upset since they told him he'd have to pronounce "Zydrunas Ilgauskas" at the '96 draft...

You know, I really do wish only the best for Van Gundy. In fact, I hope he wins a championship one day ... just so he can get a ring, leap onto the nearest rock, and start petting it while hissing "myyyyy preciousssssssss..."

After wasting the time of both local police and the general public, "Runaway Bride" Jennifer Wilbanks may have to reimburse the city of Duluth, Georgia for money spent searching for her.

The bad news continues: after making up a story to police in New Mexico about being kidnapped, Wilbanks will no longer be considered as a head coach for Notre Dame football...

In case you good folks weren't aware of it, I've been reviewing every episode of NBC's boxing opus "The Contender" this season. You can find the complete archive of the reviews here. I'm beginning to feel like Joel and the robots on "Mystery Science Theater 3000," only instead of Roger Corman films, I'm forced to watch Stallone pretending to be Rocky and Sugar Ray Leonard giving some of the worst line readings this side of a Star Wars prequel...

I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure Jean-Sebastian Giguere pumped my gas for me the other day...

This "American Idol" Paula Abdul/Corey Clark relationship seems to be a pretty big deal.

I actually think it's a little scary. Can you imagine what a simultaneous orgasm would sound like between those two tone-deaf no-talents?

Probably like Scott Savol, come to think of it...

Finally, the fantastically funny "Chappelle's Show" has halted production for undisclosed reasons.

And whatever those reasons are, I'm sure in the end it'll all be whitey's fault...

Greg Wyshynski is also a weekly columnist for SportsFan Magazine. His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].