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March 29, 2024

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If NASCAR spins out …

Dinged by economy, series rights itself by returning to basics — in writer’s fantasy

Sun Special Coverage

Mike Smith's World

Near Turn 3, Las Vegas Motor Speedway, February 2019

As I sit here on the general admission spectator mounds where a few thousand locals will watch Sunday’s Richie Clyne 400 for the bargain price of $10, it seems hard to believe that it has been 10 years since a plan to save NASCAR was formulated on this very spot.

It was a chance meeting that brought NASCAR Chairman Brian France, former star driver and broadcast analyst Darrell Waltrip and a Wall Street investment banker still known today only as “Deep Exhaust” together in the sparsely populated old Turn 3 grandstand during the 2009 Sam’s Town 300 Nationwide Series race. That led to an exchange of ideas, the best of which were scribbled onto a Spearmint Rhino cocktail napkin that one of the three had been carrying in his blazer pocket.

That cocktail napkin ultimately would serve as the blueprint for NASCAR’s highly successful Second Modern Era.

By 2009, if you recall, NASCAR had reached the beginning of the end of an unparalleled growth spurt that had seen it evolve from a weekend pastime for moonshine runners into America’s second most popular sport behind the National Football League.

That was before the economy bottomed out.

Then, TV ratings had been in steady decline and the big companies whose sponsorship dollars had provided the sport’s lifeblood began to hold onto their money, or use it as incentive to coax longtime employees into early retirements during the downward spiral that would become known as the Great Recession.

At least NASCAR saw it coming.

By 2009, some of its teams were forced to consolidate to stay in business, which ultimately led to contraction in other sports.

Using the same model as NASCAR’s Chip Ganassi Racing and Dale Earnhardt Inc. race teams, the Minnesota Twins and Kansas City Royals would merge into a single entity. The Minnecity Royals are seeking their fourth American League West title in five years, what with baseball having eliminated six teams and returned to its old 24-team, four-division setup before the 2014 season.

By then, the new NASCAR was in its fourth year.

General Motors went belly-up after 2009 when it failed to obtain another government bailout; Ford was gone by the next year. Toyota couldn’t talk Honda into competing, so it left, too, leaving only Chrysler LLC, and its Dodge brand, which wasn’t competitive to begin with, as NASCAR’s sole manufacturer.

That’s when the Las Vegas Trio, as France, Waltrip and their silent partner would come to be known, unwadded that cocktail napkin and set their plan to save NASCAR into motion.

First, the France family made Bruton Smith an offer he couldn’t refuse — with the economy in free-fall, his speedways had ceased being money-printing machines, anyway — and acquired his tracks. Eventually, $120 grandstand seats and $75 pit passes were eliminated, because that, more than the high price of gasoline, is what drove fans away in the first place.

Then NASCAR became responsible for the race cars, eliminating the need for $25 million sponsorships. The series was run like the old International Race of Champions. Each team received an identically prepared Plymouth Roadrunner or Dodge Charger with a giant wing on the back, like those cool cars of the early 1970s. Fans loved those cars.

Instead of sponsors paying the race teams, they paid NASCAR. In return, they received a hood decal on one of the cars. If there were enough sponsors, every hood had a decal. If not, they just put 426 C.I. on the hoods, like in the old days.

There still were race teams, but they were much smaller. To further reduce costs, NASCAR instituted a salary cap and limited the number of teams to 24. They were all single-car teams, which ultimately led Jack Roush to leave for the Indy 500, which is all that remained of the Indy-car circuit.

At first, fans didn’t like the small fields. But with the rules limiting the amount of money a team could spend, the racing became more competitive. Then the fans didn’t mind the smaller fields and the Wood Brothers became a force all over again — especially after they signed five-time series champion Kyle Busch to drive the No. 21 Superbird.

With smaller teams, drivers who knew how to work on their cars became a precious commodity. These days, it’s not unusual to see Tony Stewart banging on his Dodge with a mallet, which explains why the 47-year-old veteran has remained so popular with fans, if not with fenders.

Surprisingly, the NASCAR faithful also became enamored of a new soccer-inspired relegation rule.

With the top three drivers in the Cale Yarborough Cup — which is what the Nationwide Series was renamed — automatically replacing the bottom three in the Richard Petty League — the old Sprint Cup division — there are now two points races to follow. It’s why Danica Patrick, once billed as NASCAR’s savior, has spent the past five seasons spinning her wheels in professional stock car racing’s lower division, although her T-shirts remain big sellers.

To keep new blood flowing into the sport, the bottom three drivers in the Yarborough Cup are banished to “Driver’s Ed,” NASCAR’s equivalent of PGA tour qualifying school. This is where Randy Moss, now in his second season in the Petty League, got his start after his NFL career, his “Cornrow Gang” pit crew having not only become one of NASCAR’s most popular race day attractions but also providing it with much-needed diversity.

To further contain costs, the truck series was mothballed and the season was shortened to 24 races. With the exception of Daytona, Talladega, Darlington and Bristol, NASCAR tracks were limited to one race each.

Daytona, Talladega and Darlington received an additional 500-mile race that together became known as stock car racing’s Triple Crown. With a separate point fund financed by Budweiser and Mark Cuban, the Triple Crown replaced the Chase for the Championship, which nobody watched anyway, because it fell during the NFL season.

Those silly road races were eliminated. Bristol got to keep its second date, because tradin’ paint on a half-mile bullring is as good as it gets in NASCAR. Rockingham and North Wilkesboro were returned to the schedule. The only track built in the past decade, a 70,000-seat bullring on the outskirts of Denver known as “Bristol West,” made it 24 races, which fit nicely in a schedule running from February to Labor Day, so as not to conflict with the NFL.

There still is an all-star race, only it’s held on the beach at Daytona.

NASCAR became fan-friendly again. Drivers came out of those motor homes when they became a frivolous expense and ceased to exist. With more free time on their hands, they signed autographs again.

Like that old Ray Stevens song or Jimmie Johnson’s wife, everything was beautiful. It still is.

“I know Waltrip and them guys sounded kinda silly on TV, with that ‘boogity, boogity, boogity’ stuff and what not,” said Dale Earnhardt Jr., closing in on the end of a career that has seen him finish anywhere from sixth to 12th since the advent of stock car racing’s Second Modern Era.

“But you gotta admit they had some pretty good ideas.”

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