Flock kept Jocko a secret before the first race, slipping him into the car. Other drivers would look over as I passed them on the straightaway, and they'd see Jocko and almost hit the guard rail, Flock remembered. One couldn't imagine a monkey riding in a Winston Cup car in 2000, but the sport used to be manned by wild, fun-loving, colorful daredevils. That type exists only in memory, for the modern Cup scene has been sanitized by big money. Its drivers once were the craziest athletes of sport now they're as programmed as robots to say and do the proper things.
Sponsors pour millions into racing teams, and drivers can earn fortunes in a single season.
And there aren't hundreds of these jobs, as in pro football and baseball. Just 43 start a race. DuPont would prefer that Jeff Gordon not race with a monkey or hit Dale Jarrett upside the head with a tire iron or haul moonshine or even say anything inflammatory. So he doesn't. As for Jocko, his career ended in the eighth race.