I'm Just Sayin'...
By Matthew Scott

Bristol Stomp... NOT!
Tuesday, March 18th, 2008

This is not your grandfather's Bristol Motor Speedway.

It's not your father's, it's not your older brother's; heck, it's not even that dude's in your senior class who had a moustache when he was ten, and you found out later he was a couple years older than everyone else.

But let's leave Weird Willie out of this.

I can remember a time not long ago when race day at Bristol meant clearing your schedule so you could sit in front of the television and watch 500 laps of beating and banging, tempers flaring, and, inevitably, a little helmet / glove / (insert article of clothing here) tossing. Bristol was short-track, edge-of-your-seat excitement, baby! A time to crank it up, mash it down, and wait for the fighting to begin. Now? It's more like, “while they're in commercial, let's surf over to TBS and see if “The Office” is on,” or “Police Academy 6? That's my favorite,” or even, “Hey, check out that paint drying. Cool!” In short, the Bull Ring has become Bo-Ring.

I'm not sure to what this decline can be attributed. It could be the new car. I'm not an engineer nor an aero specialist, so I can't really speak to that. Maybe it's the new pavement. Maybe Mike Helton and his gang are slipping something into everyone's Gatorade. Whatever it is, the fact remains the days of Big E rattling Terry Labonte's cage or Jeff “Spaceman” Gordon giving a little post-race push to Matt Kenseth seem to be long gone. Heck, even Tony Stewart, tongue somewhat in cheek, I'm sure, apologized for “getting in his way” after getting slammed by Kevin Harvick. In the name of Robby Gordon, what the hell is going on here?

There is an element to our society that is only interested in racing for the wrecks. Or in hockey for the fights. No real racing fan would admit to that, because no real racing fan watches a race hoping to see an accident (one would hope no semi-fan, casual fan, or even remotely-interested fan does either). But tempers flaring, a little finger pointing, and, yes, maybe even a little helmet tossing, is part of the spectacle of racing. Let's not forget, the genesis of the explosion of Nascar in the late 20th century is often traced back to Cale Yarborough vs. the Brothers Allison at the '78 Daytona 500. This is especially true on a short track like Bristol, where the action is non-stop, and everyone spends the entire race about an inch and a half away from everyone else. But if the last two races there are any indication, the BullRing's reputation as perhaps the second greatest event on the Cup schedule could be in serious jeopardy.

Now, I'm not saying this can't be fixed. Nascar has, over the years, proven quite adept at manufacturing excitement; witness the mysterious “debris caution,” The Chase, and green-white-checkered finishes, which led to what will invariably be referred to as a “great finish” on Sunday. But it's one thing to manufacture closer finishes. It's something altogether different to manufacture emotion. With the open-wheel community realigned under one roof, the continued rise in popularity of Formula One on this side of the pond, and attendance and ratings continuing to fall, someone better think of something. And soon.

Paging Jimmy Spencer. Paging Mr. Jimmy Spencer?

Just a thought.

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