Friday, Sept. 26, 2003 | 9:45 a.m.
Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4088.
The first NASCAR Craftsman Truck Series race was Feb. 5, 1995, in Phoenix. I can confirm that without the media guide because I was there.
On my list of in-person sports highlights, I'd place the inaugural NASCAR truck race somewhere between watching Norm Duke roll a perfect "300" game at Sam's Town and Carl Yastrzemski throwing everything that wasn't nailed down in the Red Sox dugout onto the field, after being ejected in the first game of a doubleheader at County Stadium.
In other words, I don't envision one day bouncing somebody's grandson on my knee and telling him how I watched Mike Skinner, who grew up in California, beat a bunch of good ol' wanna-be boys at the Phoenix Mile.
But I do recall that a huge crowd was on hand to watch the trucks, which really aren't trucks at all.
You can't haul lumber in them. Or use them to cart off tree limbs. And I have yet to see a German shepherd pacing in the bed of a Craftsman Truck when I run down to the 7-Eleven for a quart of milk.
The reason the racing trucks are fitted with sheet metal and decals that make them look like Chevy Silverados, Ford F-150s and Dodge Rams is that the thin disguise helps move real ones off showroom floors. It's the same business blueprint that works so well for NASCAR Winston Cup.
But from a fan's standpoint, the reason the truck series is going semi-strong is the quality and diversity of its drivers.
The Craftsman Truck Series is NASCAR's fondue crock. It's a melting pot of drivers featuring young turks (Brendan Gaughan, Travis Kvapel, Carl Edwards) on the way up and old buzzards (Morgan Shepherd, Robert Pressley, Ted Musgrave) on the way down.
In the middle are talented guys who lack that little something that separates late model champions from their Winston Cup role models. For them, the truck series is a way to race professionally at a fraction of the cost and/or commitment.
With its origin on the West Coast, the trucks also have provided new opportunities for drivers who pronounce the "I" in "Oil." Bill Lester, the series' only black driver, and female drivers Shawna Robinson, Tina Gordon and Kelly Sutton, who will attempt to qualify for Saturday's Las Vegas 350, have helped NASCAR broaden its fan base.
The truck series has enabled famous racing fathers to bond with their sons, as Barry Bodine, Rodney Combs Jr., Bobby Hamilton Jr., Steadman Marlin, Ronnie Hornaday III, Jay Sauter, Adam Petty, Jamie Skinner and Kenny Hendrick have cut their racing teeth in trucks.
And you just never know who might keep on truckin' during an off-Winston Cup weekend. This year alone, Kevin Harvick, Ken Schrader, Jimmy Spencer, Darrell Waltrip, Tony Stewart and Jeremy Mayfield have climbed behind the wheel.
A former NFL coach (Jerry Glanville) and kicker (Mike Cofer) have joined the trucking business. So have veterans of the Indy 500 (Pancho Carter, Stan Fox, Roger Mears), Formula One (Eliseo Salazar), sports car racing (Davy Jones, Boris Said, Ron Fellows) and the World of Outlaws (Sammy Swindell). And with an all-time lineup that includes Bill Elliott, Harry Gant, Robby Gordon, Ernie Irvan, Bobby Labonte, Terry Labonte, Michael Waltrip, Dave Marcis, Derrike Cope, Rusty Wallace and A.J. Foyt himself, autograph collectors are constantly adding to their collection.
The birth of the truck series also has benefitted NASCAR track owners, whose sprawling bazillion-dollar superspeedways would probably be hosting flea markets and Brooks & Dunn concerts if not for feeder series like the trucks.
There are 25 truck stops, with 17 events on speedways and eight races on short tracks. It's serious racing, by serious race teams for serious money, with this year's prize fund expected to top $11.3 million. In nine seasons, attendance has grown from 400,000 to more than 1 million annually. And next year, interest should be even more keen, with Toyota testing the NASCAR waters in preparation for taking the Winston, er, Nextel Cup plunge.
But yet, every time I catch myself watching a truck race on Saturday afternoon, I can't help but feel a kinship with comedian Jeff Foxworthy.
After all, you might be a redneck if you know that the John Boy & Billy 250 at (Very) South Boston is just a week away.
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