THEY RACE AND WRECK, BUT SOMEHOW IT'S THE FANS' FAULT

            TALLADEGA, Ala. – Race drivers are actually tired of talking about Talladega Superspeedway. Twenty minutes after the race is over, already they’re “sick and tired,” just like Mama when Junior wouldn’t make up his bed.

            What they’d prefer is to climb out of their smoking, burning, twisted automobiles, whistle a happy tune and text the pilot to prime the jet engine. Oh, darn, they’ve got these silly press conferences to attend. And the championship is only worth $9 million or so.

But mention the topic of Bizarro World – racing here and at Daytona – and they react as if they’ve been asked to rule on a point of parliamentary procedure.

            They don’t like it, but they’re resigned to it. They’ve grown accustomed to martyrdom. Maybe they like it a little.

            “We go through this every year,” said Jimmie Johnson, who ought to have been a bit more congenial, given his record point lead and sixth-place finish in the Meth Amp Energy 500. “You guys try to find new ways to have us answer the same question about the restrictor-plate racing.”

            Gee, Jimmie, this probably wouldn’t be quite so pertinent if not for the traditional All Hell Breaks Loose Within Sight of the Finish Festival at Talladega and that annoying insistence that we describe what, like, happened.

Johnson, sounding very much like he’s been hanging out with Chad Knaus a lot more lately, provided a handy discussion of fundamentals for those of us who had never seen a race before.

            “Yeah, we have the steering wheel, gas pedal, brake pedal and all that kind of thing,” he offered. “But until somebody really has a chance to sit in these cars and understand how tough it is, it’s easier to say these things things from the outside. Inside the car, we’re racing. We’re doing our thing. We mind our manners during the race, single-file, and everybody was probably disappointed in that.

            “Then we get racing in the end, and you have the big wrecks. … There isn’t a new angle. The only way we avoid these big wrecks and this type of racing is eliminate the need for restrictor plates. That means get the tractors out and knock down the banking. We have to let off in order to avoid this. At the end of the day, the restrictor plate is still here because it’s a good show for the fans. So, at some point, when the fans dislike it, I guess we’ll make a change and we won’t have this stuff. But until then, we’re a product of what the fans want to see.”

            Whoa. Remember what Johnson said about “things from the inside.” Somehow it’s proper for those who actually drive the cars to slough off blame for what happens to those who don’t drive the cars.

            They risk life, limb, domestic tranquility, common defense, etc., and it seems only fair that they try to form a more perfect union. Establishing justice might be a start.

            Johnson and his mates do it “for the fans.” They’re scared. It’s unfair. You’d think they were coal miners. You’d think NASCAR asked them to defend the Alamo (oops, that’s next week).

            And those fans who love it? The grandstands had about 35,000 empty seats that weren’t there five years ago.

You may contact Monte Dutton at mdutton@gastongazette.com.