Last week’s Daytona 500 was both exceptional and extremely ordinary. As the premier event on the NASCAR calendar, every Daytona 500 is exceptional, as this race is considered the “Great American Race”. Some of the things that made last weekend’s race exceptional:
The 50th. Last weekends race was the fiftieth Daytona 500. The fiftieth of anything is special, whether it’s a birthday, a wedding anniversary, or a stock car race. If you don’t think the fiftieth is special, check back with me in eight years when the NFL holds it’s fiftieth Super Bowl. They will make a HUGE deal out of that one football game, so this race was special just for that reason alone.
The introduction of past winners. The tribute NASCAR paid to past winners was special. Cale Yarborough, Darrell Waltrip, and Richard Petty were among the legends recognized by NASCAR before the race. It was even cool to see Richard Petty wave the green flag to start the race.
The pre-race concert. OK, Maybe the concert didn’t seem exceptional, I mean, so what if Chubby Checker was lip syncing, he’s what, 75, 80? I’m surprised he wasn’t singing from a prescription motorized scooter. What else could we expect from NASCAR’s version of the Super Bowl? Did you think they wouldn’t have a special pre-race event?
Ryan Newman winning the race. Newman’s win automatically makes him the answer to a trivia question. When anyone asks who won the 50th Daytona 500, you won’t have to think very hard to answer them. It does seem strange, I must admit, to think that his name will be mentioned in the same breath as that of Waltrip, Yarborough, Petty and Earnhardt.
Here, also, are some of the things that made the Daytona 500 extremely ordinary, and some of these things should never happen again, as far as I’m concerned.
Jeff Hammond and Chris Meyers should never, never ever, sing on my TV again. Neither of them could carry a tune in a dump truck, and that song from “Grease” was only sang because of the racing element in the lyrics. I wish they had been lip syncing instead of Chubby.
The Gopher-cam. If you’re going to have an infield, ground level camera, someone should be assigned to come out and clean the lens every other lap or so. I personally would rather see an elevated camera put at the inside of the turns to get a “birds eye view” if you will, of the field as they make the turn. The NFL and NBA have been using elevated cameras for several years now, and it has made the television experience of their games better. I think NASCAR would definitely enhance their telecasts with a similar positioned camera.
The Gopher-cam graphics. Every time the director asked for the gopher-cam shot a cartoon gopher popped up and made some cheesy face gesture. The first time it was kind of cute and funny, but after the fourth or fifth time it was just irritating.
Uneventful racing. The whole first half of the race there were no cautions, not that cautions are good, but it does make for interesting race scenarios, what with the “lucky dog” and all. Maybe it’s because Daytona is a Super Speedway where the cars can run 3 and 4 wide, or maybe it’s due to the “car of tomorrow” and with it’s similar setups from one race team to another there’s just not much of an advantage to be had and it makes all the drivers equal to a certain extent. For whatever reason, the first half of the race is best described, in my opinion as boring.
Jeff Burton losing the lead. OK, This is more personal for me as Burton is my NASCAR favorite. His lead of nine laps vanished on the restart after the last caution with 5 laps to go. On the restart Burton was pulled into the middle of the pack like a swimmer pulled into the undertow at the beach. Of course, as the only RCR driver in the top 5 at the time, he had no teammate close to help him out.
So, there are my reasons why the Daytona 500 was both exceptional and ordinary, both exciting and boring, both an adrenaline rush and a deep letdown (see #5 above). However, that’s the nature of every sport, and NASCAR is no different in that respect, and that also is why NASCAR is the great sport it is, and we’ll all witness these things again as the schedule moves from Daytona to California.
I am a sports fan. I am not a fan of every sport, but I doubt if anyone actually is. Of course, to properly ascertain one’s status as a sports fan, one must first clarify what is, and is not, considered a legitimate sport. Is it being shown on a sports cable channel? If it is, then spelling bees, eating contests, and dog shows are sports because they’ve been telecast on ESPN. Is it a competitive event between participants? If it is, then Scrabble, chess, and checkers are sports because of the competition between two players.
There are, I believe, a few things in common that all real sports have with each other, and racing, specifically NASCAR, has these as well.
Admittedly, there was a time, 15 or so years ago, when I did not consider NASCAR a legitimate sport. Like most uninformed observers, I thought NASCAR drivers just drove around in circles, constantly turning left, but without that annoying turn indicator flashing like it does on your grandmother’s Buick. I have since come to realize the errors of my ways, and have become a big fan of the uniquely American sport of NASCAR. Sure, other countries have auto racing, but unlike the open wheel racers of the IRL and European Grand Prix circuits, I actually like the cars in the race to look like cars, not torpedoes with wheels.
NASCAR shares lots of similarities with other sports. Football, baseball, basketball, hockey, and soccer are all team sports, and so is NASCAR. Jimmie Johnson, or any other driver would be in sad shape without his pit crew, not to mention the research and development personnel at the home office. At the same time, NASCAR is unique in that it is an individual sport, one driver and one car, dueling with 42 other drivers and their rides. Speaking of rides, is it a far stretch for me to equate NASCAR with rodeo? Bear with me on this one. One “rider” in one car- one rider on one bull or bronco? Let me know.
There is one thing that in my opinion, makes NASCAR unique and special in the world of sports. All other sports, at least team sports, have their ultimate event at the end of their season. The NFL’s Super Bowl, and the NBA, NHL, and MLB have their premiere events after the regular season is over. NASCAR has their version of the playoffs, the chase for the cup, at the end of the season, but the premiere event, The Daytona 500, which starts in less than an hour, is the largest, most prestigious event on the NASCAR calendar, and it serves as the catapult to kick off the season.
Finally, what makes NASCAR special, at least to me, are the fans. NASCAR has tried to attract a more sophisticated and intellectual audience over the past few years. I’ve often said the best way to do that is to stop referring to Dale Earnhardt Jr. as “Little E”, and start referring to him as “Lower case E”. Sorry. A little attempt to interject humor. Seriously NASCAR, like rodeo, is a sport born from a way of life. From the moonshine runners of the prohibition era came the sport we have come to know and love as NASCAR. These fans are by and large blue collar, roll up your sleeves and get the job done, lunch pale toting Americans. True blue and patriotic. NASCAR has among it’s sponsors The Army, Air Force, and The National Guard. It would truly, in my opinion, be a sad day in NASCAR if a team were ever sponsored by MoveOn.org.
With the Super Bowl on Sunday, the NFL season will come to an end (oh sure, there's the Pro Bowl, but even the most novice fan knows that that's not REAL football), the NBA is amost to the All Star break, and there's NASCAR in a few weeks, so there's a lot going on in sports right now. With the new year though, we also have the PGA season going on, and that has put me, at least for the moment, in a golf state of mind. Tiger is tearing up the course in Dubai, and then there's the FBR in Scottsdale. Regarding golf, here is a post I put on another site a few months ago. Every word is true. No names were changed because there are no innocent. After reading this you'll know why my fantasy golf team (on another site) is named "1More3WoodTreed".
It was a blustery fall day, with the wind varying between a soft cool breeze to the occasional gusts that would take the hat off your head. It’s been said that we only have two seasons in South Texas, summer and February, but that particular October day there was a definite chill in the air.
Cedar Creek golf course is one of the more challenging municipal courses in the San Antonio area. The regulars know to rent a cart because the hilly terrain can be physically draining, especially if your walking.
Me and three business associates had agreed to play eighteen holes on that Saturday morning, so I had secured a tee time and two carts the day before.
We met at the clubhouse around noon, which would give us ample time to visit the driving range as our tee time was not until 1:18.
Now, what I am about to relate to you, much to my embarrassment, actually happened.
None of our foursome are any threat to the PGA, although my friend Billy did attend Texas State (Southwest Texas State as it was known then) on a golf scholarship. Billy is a great guy, quite simply goodness personified. In fact I’ve only seen him mad once, and that was at himself on a golf course, for hitting what he considered a bad shot, but one the other three of us would have gladly claimed as our own.
Cedar Creek’s number nine is a par five, 515 yards from the whites, and features several small bunkers and a slightly elevated tee box. About 90-100 yards from the green the hole crosses a small babbling brook, about 2-3 feet wide.
Number eight had seen me reach the green and hole out ahead of my buddies so the number 9 honors were mine. I calmly eyed the hole from the back of the tee box. Walked up to my teed Spalding ball, took my stance, and after a practice swing, pulled my driver back slowly.
Now, every round of golf, as far as I’m concerned, features at least one, sometimes two shots that, when you strike the ball, it just feels right. You know before you lift your head that Tiger Woods himself would be glad to put his name on that stroke. My number 9 tee shot was just that way. The club hitting the ball made a sharp cracking sound that resonated off the adjacent canyon walls like a rifle shot. I lifted my head slowly to find my ball in mid-flight at the apex of a trajectory that dropped in the absolute middle of the fairway about 230 yards down hole. After a heavy sigh that I’m sure must have seemed thick with arrogance, I stated after compliments from the other three, “I’ll take it”.
After the other three players hit their tee shots we each found our golf balls, and agreed on the hitting order for the second shots. My drive was farthest, so my second shot would be made after the other three attempted theirs.
My second shot would not be quite as impressive as my first. I chose my fairway wood, a black Spalding #3 (I would later describe this over the after round beers as ‘Flying too close to the sun’) for this shot. When I brought the 3 wood down to meet the ball it sounded like a melon being smashed by a claw hammer. I had topped the ball, causing it to travel about 15 yards to the right and land with a thud in one of the small bunkers to the right of the fairway. Here’s the mother of all humbling moments for any golfer. My third shot. Still with my 3 wood in hand (I know, the WRONG club), I stood proudly over my ball in that bunker and took my third swing. I topped the ball again and it trickled out just over the lip of the bunker and came to an abrupt halt. The ball seemed to look back at me and laugh. Totally disgusted with myself by this point, I threw my hands up. Now remember, this is October, and the trees had very few leaves on them. After I threw my hands up, I heard a distinct clack, clackity, clack sound. I looked up to see my 3 wood perched across the limbs of a small post oak tree that stood sentry over the bunker I had tried to hit from.
My buddies are rolling with laughter. This is not the worst part yet. Like I had good sense, I took my putter and tried to knock the 3 wood out of the tree. You guessed it. I now have 2 golf clubs treed.
I don’t get to play a lot of golf, what with family responsibilities, work, and other things, not to mention the cost involved. So I play golf more like Tony or even Martha Stewart than Payne Stewart. More like Ickey Woods than Tiger Woods. But that won’t stop me from playing.
I don't remember what my score was that day, or which of us "won", but they say the goal in golf is to shoot your age. If that’s true I’ll be hell on wheels when I’m 106.
The Super Bowl is one week from tonight. The Patriots and Giants will do business in the Arizona desert for the NFL’s top prize, the Vince Lombardi trophy. That’s a whole week away and with the conference championship games last weekend, there is no football this weekend.
The NBA is in the last stages of games leading up to the All Star game next month, and NASCAR gets cranked up in February too.
Fortunately, the Major League Baseball season is about to begin, as pitchers and catchers report for spring training in about two weeks. Last month, December 13th specifically, the Mitchell Report was released. This report, compiled by former US senator George Mitchell, apparently details the extent of steroid and PED (performance enhancing drugs) usage, and it’s impact, on the Major Leagues. One name mentioned in the report (82 times) is Roger Clemens.
William Roger Clemens was born August 4th, 1962, in Dayton Ohio, and moved to Houston Texas in 1977. I have never been a fan of Roger Clemens. From the first interview I ever saw with him in college at the University of Texas, he seemed to me aloof and arrogant. There’s no denying Clemens’ accomplishments on the baseball diamond. He was 25-7 at UT, was an All American both seasons, and was on the mound when Texas clinched the 1983 College World Series, and was the first Longhorn baseball player to have his number retired. In 2004, the Rotary Smith award, given to the nation’s best baseball player, was renamed the Roger Clemens award, and is given to the nation’s best collegiate pitcher. Clemens’ career as a professional is even more impressive. Roger Clemens has won seven Cy Young awards, two more than any other MLB pitcher, in 1997 and 1998, as a member of the Toronto Blue Jays, Clemens won baseball’s triple crown (leading the league in wins, ERA, and strikeouts). He recorded his 300th win and 4000th strikeout in the same game in 2003. Clemens is one of only four pitchers (the others being Nolan Ryan, Randy Johnson and Steve Carlton) to have at least 4000 strikeouts in their career. In 1986, Clemens became the first pitcher in Major League history to strike out 20 batters in a regulation 9 inning game. There’s no doubt in my mind that Roger Clemens will be a first ballot Hall of Fame inductee.
Two incidents come to mind about Clemens that have formed my negative opinion of him, both happened in 2000. In a game against the Seattle Mariners, Clemens came dangerously close to hitting Alex Rodriguez, who would be his teammate several years later in New York. After the game Lou Pinella, then the Seattle manager, referred to Clemens as a “headhunter”. That same year the Yankees played the Mets in the World Series. Most people know by now of the broken bat incident with Met catcher Mike Piazza. A shard from the broken bat bounced to the mound and Clemens picked it up and tossed it at the knees of Piazza as he ran towards first base. Clemens later stated that he thought it was the ball. What? Come on, Roger, the ball? The only thing in my opinion more asinine than that explanation is the fact that Clemens offers no apologies for his actions toward Piazza.
Clemens has also been known to complain for having to carry his own luggage through airports, he’s referred to Fenway Park as a subpar facility, and his on-again-off-again retirement just bothers me. Every year for the past few seasons Clemens has dangled a carrot in front of several MLB general managers about whether or not he intends to play or not, and invariably about June or July (probably when he decides which teams are going to contend for the league pennants) he gives his answer.
I honestly don’t know Roger Clemens from Adam, but as I’ve often said, you need to know less about someone to dislike them than you do to like them. When it comes to baseball, Roger Clemens is an icon. In real life, he may be a great guy to hang out with, go fishing, or drink a beer, although I doubt it. I’d much rather meet Samuel Clemens than Roger Clemens. The title of this piece doesn’t refer to the passage from the national anthem, but rather the red glare in Clemens eye when his name was mentioned in the Mitchell report. Has Roger Clemens ever used HGH or any other PED? I really don’t care. Is he going to pitch this season or not? I certainly hope not.
To me Roger Clemens is the Bret Favre of MLB, with one exception- I like Bret Favre. As for Roger? Please retire, and this time stay retired.
Thanks for reading.
OSL
All statistical information gathered from Wikipedia.
