Now the real personal drama within McLaren begins. He remains the last of the pedigreed, hell-fire, southern stock car drivers around which the rich traditions of the sport has been built. Yes, Winston Cup has sought out the bigger markets beyond the Mason-Dixon line, and legions of marketing experts and public relations suits with cell phones and briefcases have spent millions to sanitize and civilize the good ol boys who formed the essence of stock car racing. I am sure they are wonderful fellows and worthy competitors, but I don t know and don t care about the Greens, David, Jeff and Mark, and the Burtons and the Bodines or, God forbid, the Jarretts or the Gordons, none of whom possess the charisma that elevates a person toward legend. Some day the marketing geniuses who run the sport will discover that this drive toward homogenization and androgyny will ultimately produce a pallid and forgettable sport occupied by drivers serving as ventriloquists dummies mouthing platitudes for breakfast cereals and assorted domestic home products.
Motor racing is an ongoing soap opera played out by a constantly shifting cast of characters.
At the core of this drama is conflict. Let s see who the real racers are. I can surely think of a few. One of them will be driving a black No. 3 Chevrolet. A difficult situation involves a new motorsports book that recently arrived on the market.