Turn 3

Do unto others...

By DAVID GREEN

Maybe my patience is a little used up with more than three fourths of the school year in the grade book and some of my tenth-graders acting like 10-month-olds. Maybe, after the tragedy at Homestead-Miami Speedway this morning, I just wasn't in the mood. For whatever reason, I was sorely aggravated by the business-as-usual antics at Bristol today.

I know I will never win the argument over the bump-and-run. I still think it's a cheap-shot tactic and an example of what people of lesser character do to fellow competitors when they can't pass them cleanly, and I will always think that. But I have accepted that it is part of the culture now, and it's not going to get any better -- it's going to get worse.

Worse, in that more and more drivers will be doing it to each other more and more often, and in that more and more of them will be proving just what a cheap shot it truly is by expressing their anger when they've been victimized.

Because, come on, now. Nobody -- not even bad-tempered sorts like Tony Stewart or A.J. Foyt -- ever went after a fellow competitor who executed a clean pass on him. You may be disappointed, you may be severely cheesed off, you may (as the late Davey Allison once did) bust your own hand pounding the wall of your team's tractor-trailer rig in frustration.

But you just can't go headhunting after a guy who is guilty only of passing you cleanly. That would be even less cool than getting beat.

Go ahead. Remind me of one single instance in which a driver punched out a fellow competitor, or even screamed epithets at him, because he got honestly, fairly and squarely passed by that dastardly fellow.

I'm tired of fans, commentators and others defending the tactic, and then hypocritically chastising the offended parties who go ballistic after being dumped. I'm tired of people such as Jeff Gordon, who helped elevate the bump-and-run to an art form, showing his rage toward somebody like Matt Kenseth, whose bump of Gordon at Bristol today may have been the only example all day of Kenseth hitting somebody by accident instead of by design.

Before you bother writing to tell me, yes -- I know racing can be, usually is, a contact sport when you put 43 full-sized stock cars on a half-mile oval track. Yes, some of that contact is legitimately part of the game and a lot of it is unintentional and at least that much of it is inconsequential.

I like it that way, and I don't want race drivers to start being mild-mannered and using their turn signals and taking turns letting the other guys go in milquetoast "battles" for position.

I like it when a driver tries to stick the nose of his car into a hole and holds his ground when the competitor tries -- too late -- to slam the door on him.

I like it when the sparks fly from two cars battling side by side in a fair fight for a piece of territory on the track and a position.

I do not like it when somebody executes a pass by knocking a fellow driver out of the way with a deliberate tap or slam from behind. I don't care if there are 499 laps to go or if the white flag is in the air.

You wouldn't like it, either, if you were the driver getting tapped or slammed. And don't try to tell me you would.

Intrepid maneuvering

By DAVID GREEN

To this observer, one of the biggest surprises of this young racing season has been the use by some Dodge teams of the Intrepid body style instead of the Charger -- not so much that they did it, but that they ever had the option to do so.

How can it possibly serve the marketing purposes of DaimlerChrysler for race teams they support to choose an outdated model as their racing vehicle of choice? And how can DaimlerChrysler leadership sit back and allow them to make that choice?

Maybe it's merely an acknowledgement at an all-new level that manufacturer participation in auto racing nowadays is strictly a brand-name image thing. After all, surely every race fan now realizes there's practically nothing that a production model and its NASCAR cousin have in common except the manufacturer and model name.

It's a throwback to four decades ago, when Ford and Chrysler were both deeply involved in NASCAR racing with multiple brands. Team owner Bud Moore fielded Mercury Maurader race cars with Ford backing in 1964, but when the '65 models were released, it was felt that the Mercury models were just too big and boxy, so Moore -- with Ford's blessing -- continued to race his '64 models. The No. 15 and 16, driven by Earl Balmer and Darel Dieringer, were referred to as "used cars" by fans and journalists alike during the '65 season.

For sure, the nature of relationships between manufacturers and race teams is changing. No one knows how it will continue to change in the coming years. Dodge is a traditional American brand name, but the company's fortunes are directed from Germany. Next year, a Japanese carmaker -- Toyota -- will enter the Nextel Cup fray. Meanwhile, the difficulties of General Motors and Ford have led some less-optimistic observers to wonder whether these iconic companies will survive, never mind whether they will continue to support NASCAR endeavors.

But as long as any company's leadership elects to spend money on a marketing program, it seems they ought to make sure they get their money's worth.

In 1998, when Ford debuted the new Taurus racecar, many Blue Oval teams wanted to run the proven Thunderbird, at least in the season opener at Daytona, because it was a known and successful quantity. Ford officials said, flatly, no.

The T-Bird was no longer in the company's product line. Ford was racing the Taurus and wanted to maximize the promotional benefits of the car's performance in NASCAR racing. Nobody who was getting any factory support from Dearborn was going to keep getting it unless they converted to Taurus bodies.

That decision made perfect sense -- just as DaimlerChrysler's willingness to allow teams to race an obsolete model makes no sense at all.

It's an endorsement of the opinion of some Dodge race team personnel that the Charger, even with the radical alterations that are evident in the NASCAR version's nose, is inferior. All that looks especially embarrassing in the aftermath of Kasey Kahne's victory at Atlanta on Monday in one of those supposedly inferior Chargers.

Sometimes, the dynamic of the manufacturer-race team relationship is clear-cut. There is no relationship between Dodge and Bill Davis Racing anymore, not since DaimlerChrysler learned that Davis was cultivating a relationship with Toyota. Michael Waltrip doesn't even bother to identify his No. 55 as a Dodge, never mind whether it's a Charger or an Intrepid. To Waltrip, it's merely the "NAPA hot rod." Dodge officials are probably satisfied that Waltrip isn't calling it a Toyota-to-be or something like that.

All this may be moot now that a Charger, not an Intrepid, has gotten the Dodge brand into victory lane for the first time in 2006. But I can't help wondering how DaimlerChrysler PR folks would be able to exploit that victory if Kahne had been driving a "used car" model.

Remembering Casey Elliott

By DAVID GREEN

It wasn't rain that put the biggest damper on Atlanta Motor Speedway this weekend. It was Bobby Hamilton's announcement that he's taking time off from racing to undergo treatment for cancer.

Hamilton won't be pleased that anybody saw it that way. He never sought sympathy, wouldn't have wanted anyone to be sad or alarmed, merely offered an explanation for his impending absence from the Craftsman Truck Series. He emphasized the positive in announcing his plans. Don't call me a cancer victim, he said; call me a cancer survivor.

Not that there is any direct correlation, but I couldn't help but be reminded of another driver who battled cancer. He lost his struggle a little more than 10 years ago. He was only 21 years old. His name was Casey Elliott.

Casey was born into a racing family. He was the nephew of one of NASCAR's all-time greats, Bill Elliott. His father, Ernie, made a name for himself in his own right as a top-notch engine builder.

Casey began racing late models in 1991 at Lanier National Speedway in Gainesville, Ga., at age 17. He won his first feature June 6, 1992. From all appearances, he was headed for stardom. He honed his skills on the short tracks and made two starts in the Busch Series in 1993, at Michigan and Charlotte. He qualified in the top 10 both times and finished 20th at Michigan, one lap off the pace.

On a cold, rainy night in the Elliott family racing shops in Dawsonville, Casey talked about a recent test session in which he had gotten the opportunity to take the wheel of one of his uncle's Winston Cup Thunderbirds at Daytona International Speedway. His eyes glowed with the excitement of that ride, and with anticipation of what was to come.

It was not to be. Doctors discovered a malignant tumor in Casey's right leg in 1994. He spent the next two years in and out of hospitals, fighting the disease. He died Jan. 14, 1996.

Very likely, there are more differences than similarities between Bobby Hamilton's medical condition and Casey Elliott's. Certainly there are stark differences in their situations. Hamilton is 48, a racing veteran, a champion, a winner in all three of NASCAR's top divisions.

Here's a fond hope that Bobby whips this and returns to the cockpit, where he belongs -- and a salute to the memory of a bright, talented young man whose life and racing career were cut tragically short.

A society of criminals?

By DAVID GREEN

No wonder there's such a buzz about "cheating" in NASCAR racing. The sanctioning body itself does more to call attention to the matter than any National Enquirer smear might do.

Hardly a race goes by without the issuance from NASCAR headquarters of a "police blotter" list of the past weekend's "criminals." Every infraction, no matter how minor or insignificant, is listed -- but almost nothing is reported in any context whatsoever, except to cite a vague offense such as "actions detrimental to the sport."

How can the perception be anything other than one of a culture in which rules are blatantly disregarded?

Many fans and insiders alike can be counted on to rally to the defense of NASCAR racing in a curious manner -- that is, to suggest that "cheating" is a part of the sport and they like it that way.

I'm not ingnorant of or blind to the rich history of the sport and I've heard about just about all the examples that are trotted out every time there's a controversy. But, just about every time, I tend to think of most of the violations as technological gamesmanship, not "cheating" in the same sense as someone filing a fradulent tax return or embezzling from his employer.

If a baseball player gets a putout after a phantom pivot at second base, does that mean the player has an overall disregard for the rules of the game? Does that mean he's going to demand a fourth strike in his next at-bat?

If a basketball player gets away with a push in a battle for a rebound, does that make him an anarchist who thinks that fouls ought never be called?

There's plenty of that sort of activity that goes on in auto racing, most all of it related to how drivers race against each other. But in racing, there's the technological aspect that adds a whole new dimension. It goes way beyond traditional sports' technical issues such as corked bats or foreign substances on baseballs.

It's all but impossible to completely and fairly enforce complex technical rules on mechanical gadgets, and quite often, the effects of the "cheating" are negligible. For example, Jimmie Johnson's Daytona 500-winning car was subjected to the most exacting scrutiny and was found legal. Certainly, it did not make use of the device for which crew chief Chad Knaus was suspended for four races. The only conclusion is that Johnson did not really need the controversial device.

Makes you wonder whether NASCAR wants to stir up its fan base with these "controversies" or if it is sincere in its efforts to sanitize the sport.

Perhaps the answer is "yes" -- it wants to do both.