There's more to this racing business than fast driving

            DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. - NASCAR drivers aren't like football players. They don't lie around on wrestling mats, waiting for the training room to open so that they can have their ankles taped. They don't recite cliché-ridden phrases like "hit and don't be hit" to each other. They don't even tune the world out with iPods and earphones.

            They "do hospitality." Musicians have them after concerts and call them "meet and greets." The driver climbs into a gigantic SUV and leaves an artificial home - the one where his motorcoach is parked in the infield - so that he can function in an artificial neighborhood.

            Daytona International Speedway's artificial neighborhood is a small village of tents - "chalets," they're called, even though they bear little resemblance to Alpine villas - and Jeff Gordon's destination on the morning of the Daytona 500 was called the Green Flag Club. A band from nearby St. Augustine, Those Guys, played live music before and after Gordon's visit. Food and beverage was available for the "premium fans" invited - mainly because they paid extra - to see the four-time champion sans helmet and uniform.

            Such visits require organization and bad guys. Bad guys have to tell people they can't get autographs unless they signed up in advance, won a lottery or passed some test (like having an uncle on the board of trustees of something). Behind the tent, where some opportunists managed to show up, one of the professional bad guys was on hand to warn everyone that Gordon would sign no autographs behind the tent. Bad guys have to be there so that the star can be a good guy.

            When a bad guy told two kids that Gordon couldn't sign their postcard, they created an opportunity for good guy Gordon to shrug and say, "sorry, he won't let me," but Gordon shook their hands anyway.

            Then Gordon took the stage, looked around at Those Guys' guitars resting on stands, and made a few jokes about how he couldn't play any of them but loved to play "Guitar Hero." He assured everyone present that it was a new year and that his car for the 500 was, if not specifically a rocket ship, at least its closest four-wheel approximation. He was affable and prepared. He's been "doing hospitality" longer than some of the youthful fans in the audience have been alive.

            The master of ceremonies invited a fan from Laredo, Texas, up to ask Gordon a question. The middle-aged man carried his question in his hand, but he got to ask it right into a microphone onstage with Gordon.

            The questions had been screened and chosen ahead of time. This gave Gordon a chance to prepare a snappy reply. The guy from Laredo didn't ask if Gordon was worried about the tires. He asked Gordon if he had become adept at changing diapers since the birth of the driver's daughter, Ella.

            Gordon compared changing diapers to a NASCAR pit stop and guaranteed the crowd, amid widespread chuckling, that he had shaved 10-15 seconds after little Ella's diaper stops.

            After a few more yuk-yuk questions, Gordon signed his autographs and mingled with his fans with the same level of professionalism he would later bring to roaring around the 2.5-mile speedway at 190 mph.

            Gordon breezed through hospitality like political candidates and used many of the same mannerisms. It's second nature to him after lo, these many years.

            He left in much the same way he arrived, off to provide more "hospitality" elsewhere before dedicating himself to the task of winning the Daytona 500.

            You can reach Monte Dutton at mdutton@gastongazette.com.