Daytona Shining As Always

Most people were marinating in their love of NBA hoops yesterday; salivating as they thought of Bron Bron running down the lane slamma jammin’, while Kobe drops 40, or B.Griff grabs oops ten feet above the backboard.  Those things happened by the way.

If you’re a fan of D-How, I am truly sorry. The guy played the most uninspired game I have ever seen. He looked more like Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum than he did superman, with one bead of sweat glimmering from his reddened cheeks, as he smiled all evening at the half-clad body of Rihanna.

No I am not arguing in favor of Bieber fever to the Magic for D-How to Hollywood. The fever needs to stick to swooning fifteen year old girls with hip thrusts.  While D-How needs to go back to playing basketball with more drive than a uni-cycle. Dwight were you not the first overall pick in 2004, the guy who was supposed to help us forget about our generations great centers– Olajuwan, Ewing, Robinson, Mutumbo, and Shaq?

Yesterday you were far too much of the Afro-American Shawn Bradley. Pathetic.

Which is why Daytona– a “man” compared to the NBA’s “teenager”, shined yesterday. The tenth anniversary of the late great Dale Earnhardt’s death–Nascar’s MJ or Magic–touched me deep, as I reminisced on moments watching the great circle the track, while I hung with my ol’ man.  Those memories felt like yesterday–the flamed grill stinging the eyes with those dancing orange flames, while a beautifully seasoned tri-tip drips juicy fat onto oak wood.  Dad gurgling a Coors, with hash curling from his calloused cracked hands, while my uncles spit slurs at the fine Betty walking toward the beach in a poke-o-dot bikini. When the race began, everyone shuttup and watched. Something about the humming motors, thousands upon thousands of fans, and the various colored flags waving in the smooth wind of Daytona courted their boyhood (courting mine now) with memories of  wood race cars in Boy Scouts, skate boards, and bmx.

The glory of  yesterday reflected from a boy…literally. The victor of the 53rd Daytona 500, was  twenty year old rookie Trevor Bayne. He drove the famed Wood Bros. #21 car, leading them to their first large scale victory in ten years. As always the race was a cautiously safe ride for the first 175 laps, with your classic two by two mini races, and an occasional burst into the breakaway flat.  But it was far from boring. Jonathan Washer, from examiner.com, reported the race as ” [a] race [that] was filled with cautions and caution laps, there were too many two by two racing which made it seem boring for a 500 mile (200 lap) race.” Washer began the treatise as a lover of Nascar, which is why his opinion surprised me.

Or maybe it didn’t. The decline in Nascar’s attendance is not because the sport has become boring or awash with drivers that are “too safe”.  The decline is a derivative of pop cultures desire for athleticism–a highly relative term–considering most of us would not have the strength nor the fortitude to control the wile and torque of a car speeding around a track at 170-190 mph. Our cultures inability to see the competitive nature of Nascar is rooted in our entertainment world–the fact that we are now more of a fashion/hip hop culture that wants to see freakish, circus like movements in the air. We only want the wrecks or the dunks, not the patience of a skilled driver, taking small move after small move till the paramount of the 190th lap. A lap when no holds bar, and it becomes a dog eat dog experience on the race track.  My father’s generation looked at the resiliency of an individual, and judged them by their ability to withstand a sporting obstacle and win, win, win, on the biggest stages. We=beauty. My father=heart.

“The cool”=shoe shiner to my father as well. It did not matter what smile or swagger you had during his era, because it was more about the heart of each competitor. Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Mickey Mantle, Jerry West, Joe Joe D, The Big O, and Earnhardt Sr., were not a popular face in and of themselves, they were particles of popularity within the greater face of the sport itself. Basketball, Football, Baseball, Nascar, etc, made them who they were, not the opposite.

Which is why Nascar was where it was at yesterday. The NBA paled in comparison to a sport that still offers a freckle face twenty year old Bayne the opportunity to win on the biggest stage. A pile up on lap twenty nine, involving big names like Brian Vickers, Waltrip, Mark Martin, and Jeff Gordan, not only opened the field for youngsters like Bayne, but proved to the sporting world just how hard these guys compete. They literally risk their lives for the love of a sport, which should hit home for the people who choose to judge life by its quality not by its quantity.

Go ahead, you can have Bieber fever, and I will gladly remain steadfast in Nascar.  And when you leave, do you mind dumping Dwight “Tweedle Dee” Howard into the dumpsters out back? Thanks.

–Luke Johnson