NOTE: I brought this piece out of hiding for the
benefit of some of my Nascar friends on Facebook. It was written before
Jimmie won "#5."
An old familiar adage states "To the victor belongs the spoils." But in the case of modern day Nascar, the saying could be paraphrased to state that "too many wins spoil the victor." And there is probably no single driver on the scene more aware of this bitter truth than four-time Sprint Cup series champion Jimmie Johnson.
Johnson, whose accomplishments within the sport of auto racing stand alone in a class all to themselves, has amassed to date a total of 49 career victories, a single checkered flag shy of joining the elite group of drivers claiming 50 or more trips to victory lane over the course of their careers--and he is not finished yet. Add into this mix his precedent-setting four consecutive series titles, and the sum of the equation in the eyes of the sport's millions of fans is simply this: predictability and boredom.
Enough already.
While no one will readily argue that fans of Nascar or any other sport simply love to back a proven winner, there comes a point in time when one has to stop and ask the question, "is winning 'really' the only crowning achievement, or is there something more?" And from a driver's perspective, a catch-22 quickly emerges into the picture. If he indeed truly possesses the necessary talent, experience and determination to succeed irrespective of any and all obstacles that may stand in his way, what then should be his ultimate goal? Succeeding at what he does best, or simply appeasing the fans who repeatedly express (arguably) justifiable disdain at the fact that he appears virtually unstoppable in his continued quest to remain at the top of his game? In essence, what is truly most important--a successful career, or popularity among the fans? And just what, if any, is the "mysterious secret" behind Jimmie's unbridled success?
Past and present speculations have pointed to the most obvious possibility: plain and simple, old-fashioned "cheating." After all, it is no secret that Johnson's crew chief, Chad Knaus (nicknamed "Cheatin' Chad" in various and sundry circles), has been busted and even suspended countless times after post-race inspections have pointed to something "sinister." But if suspected cheating on the part of the crew chief were solely responsible, then how does one explain the team's going on to post a Daytona 500 victory with an interim chief at the helm, during the course of a six-week suspension once issued by Nascar to Mr. Knaus? Pure luck? Mere coincidence? Or is it just that Johnson is "that good?"
And while Driver 48 may simply be the one currently occupying the "hot seat" amongst bored and displeased fans, bear in mind that Johnson is not the only one who has found himself, at one point or another, the recipient of a non-harmonious chorus of jeers and boos with each and every trip to Victory Lane. There appears to be a consistent trend within the sport, whereby fans naturally tend to express seasonal "hatred" (if you will pardon the harsh term) for virtually "any" driver who exhibits a clear-cut dominance of his game within the course of any given season. Take as the ultimate example, Richard Petty's unsurpassed season consisting of 27 victories--those occurring well before the sport's sanctioning body expanded its year to consist of 36 events. Your writer can only imagine at this point that even Mr. Petty's most loyal fan following found itself bored after watching "The King" make those victory laps week in and week out. Does anyone even recall from that era, which "other" drivers actually won a single race during Petty's "banner" year as a driver and champion? When all the attention is focused on a single driver or organization, then is it really so unreasonable to wonder just "what is left" for the fans to get excited about and actually glue them to their seats each week for the course of three to four hours of a single broadcast?
Not convinced? Need a further examples of modern-day fan displeasure? For starters: Driver 18, Kyle Busch, and in the same breath (your writer pauses here to shudder at her own thoughts), Driver 99, Carl Edwards. Looking back upon the 2008 season, Busch (who scored eight victories) and Edwards (whose celebratory "victory backflips" totaled nine and placed him in the runner-up position for the championship--which by the way, ultimately went to, uhm, Jimmie Johnson) managed over the course of a single season to amass a combined total of 17 checkered flags, a mere fraction shy of equaling "half" the number of scheduled events for the entire duration of the season. Exciting for their respective fan followings, yes, but for those supporting the remaining drivers on the circuit, simply a great big, loud yawn and a chorus of "here we go again." And consider further, the vintage years of Rusty Wallace's dominance in terms of victories. Once more, your writer shudders to admit, Wallace's predictability in terms of number of wins within a single season didn't accomplish a great deal in terms of boosting his popularity. In fact, when Rusty's "impressive" victories were added to an equally "unimpressive" total of blown engines and other miscellaneous DNF's, Driver 2 subsequently earned the nickname "Mr. Inconsistency" amongst a few broadcasters and commentators within Nascar's inner circle.
So now emerges the ultimate and eternal question: what should be a driver's truly most important career achievement? Victories and titles which either showcase his talent or make the fan masses speculate regarding sinister secrets to his success, or simply going out there and driving the car, doing his best and letting the checkers fall where they may--all the while projecting a squeaky-clean Mr. Nice Guy image simply to gain and maintain a consistent, large fan following?
Perhaps someday a driver will emerge from the shadows and strike that seemingly impossible perfect balance. But in the meantime, as long as certain organizations continue to dominate, the fans will in turn continue to speculate on what secrets may lie hidden behind the scenes.
It's all part and parcel of the onward and upward progress of the sport--and like it, love it or hate it, rest assured that "the cycle shall continue."
An old familiar adage states "To the victor belongs the spoils." But in the case of modern day Nascar, the saying could be paraphrased to state that "too many wins spoil the victor." And there is probably no single driver on the scene more aware of this bitter truth than four-time Sprint Cup series champion Jimmie Johnson.
Johnson, whose accomplishments within the sport of auto racing stand alone in a class all to themselves, has amassed to date a total of 49 career victories, a single checkered flag shy of joining the elite group of drivers claiming 50 or more trips to victory lane over the course of their careers--and he is not finished yet. Add into this mix his precedent-setting four consecutive series titles, and the sum of the equation in the eyes of the sport's millions of fans is simply this: predictability and boredom.
Enough already.
While no one will readily argue that fans of Nascar or any other sport simply love to back a proven winner, there comes a point in time when one has to stop and ask the question, "is winning 'really' the only crowning achievement, or is there something more?" And from a driver's perspective, a catch-22 quickly emerges into the picture. If he indeed truly possesses the necessary talent, experience and determination to succeed irrespective of any and all obstacles that may stand in his way, what then should be his ultimate goal? Succeeding at what he does best, or simply appeasing the fans who repeatedly express (arguably) justifiable disdain at the fact that he appears virtually unstoppable in his continued quest to remain at the top of his game? In essence, what is truly most important--a successful career, or popularity among the fans? And just what, if any, is the "mysterious secret" behind Jimmie's unbridled success?
Past and present speculations have pointed to the most obvious possibility: plain and simple, old-fashioned "cheating." After all, it is no secret that Johnson's crew chief, Chad Knaus (nicknamed "Cheatin' Chad" in various and sundry circles), has been busted and even suspended countless times after post-race inspections have pointed to something "sinister." But if suspected cheating on the part of the crew chief were solely responsible, then how does one explain the team's going on to post a Daytona 500 victory with an interim chief at the helm, during the course of a six-week suspension once issued by Nascar to Mr. Knaus? Pure luck? Mere coincidence? Or is it just that Johnson is "that good?"
And while Driver 48 may simply be the one currently occupying the "hot seat" amongst bored and displeased fans, bear in mind that Johnson is not the only one who has found himself, at one point or another, the recipient of a non-harmonious chorus of jeers and boos with each and every trip to Victory Lane. There appears to be a consistent trend within the sport, whereby fans naturally tend to express seasonal "hatred" (if you will pardon the harsh term) for virtually "any" driver who exhibits a clear-cut dominance of his game within the course of any given season. Take as the ultimate example, Richard Petty's unsurpassed season consisting of 27 victories--those occurring well before the sport's sanctioning body expanded its year to consist of 36 events. Your writer can only imagine at this point that even Mr. Petty's most loyal fan following found itself bored after watching "The King" make those victory laps week in and week out. Does anyone even recall from that era, which "other" drivers actually won a single race during Petty's "banner" year as a driver and champion? When all the attention is focused on a single driver or organization, then is it really so unreasonable to wonder just "what is left" for the fans to get excited about and actually glue them to their seats each week for the course of three to four hours of a single broadcast?
Not convinced? Need a further examples of modern-day fan displeasure? For starters: Driver 18, Kyle Busch, and in the same breath (your writer pauses here to shudder at her own thoughts), Driver 99, Carl Edwards. Looking back upon the 2008 season, Busch (who scored eight victories) and Edwards (whose celebratory "victory backflips" totaled nine and placed him in the runner-up position for the championship--which by the way, ultimately went to, uhm, Jimmie Johnson) managed over the course of a single season to amass a combined total of 17 checkered flags, a mere fraction shy of equaling "half" the number of scheduled events for the entire duration of the season. Exciting for their respective fan followings, yes, but for those supporting the remaining drivers on the circuit, simply a great big, loud yawn and a chorus of "here we go again." And consider further, the vintage years of Rusty Wallace's dominance in terms of victories. Once more, your writer shudders to admit, Wallace's predictability in terms of number of wins within a single season didn't accomplish a great deal in terms of boosting his popularity. In fact, when Rusty's "impressive" victories were added to an equally "unimpressive" total of blown engines and other miscellaneous DNF's, Driver 2 subsequently earned the nickname "Mr. Inconsistency" amongst a few broadcasters and commentators within Nascar's inner circle.
So now emerges the ultimate and eternal question: what should be a driver's truly most important career achievement? Victories and titles which either showcase his talent or make the fan masses speculate regarding sinister secrets to his success, or simply going out there and driving the car, doing his best and letting the checkers fall where they may--all the while projecting a squeaky-clean Mr. Nice Guy image simply to gain and maintain a consistent, large fan following?
Perhaps someday a driver will emerge from the shadows and strike that seemingly impossible perfect balance. But in the meantime, as long as certain organizations continue to dominate, the fans will in turn continue to speculate on what secrets may lie hidden behind the scenes.
It's all part and parcel of the onward and upward progress of the sport--and like it, love it or hate it, rest assured that "the cycle shall continue."
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