In an earlier post the question was posed ‘Why Does NASCAR Hate Racing?’ (spoiler alert: the post does not in fact provide the answer to that question). But there are plenty of other questions about NASCAR, its motivations and the consequences of those motivations.
Beyond eliminating wide swaths of actual racing , NASCAR seems on an equally-inevitable quest to smite innovation, competition and actually interesting characteristics among the teams and the product. I am a longtime NASCAR fan, so this is not an idle gripe, but all of the color, uniqueness and danged cleverness that once defined the sport has been systematically rendered extinct by the sanctioning body’s relentless press toward sameness and control.
To expand on this, let’s look at the much-touted NextGen car currently undergoing testing for use in 2022. All the teams must get their chassis from NASCAR, which has them built to spec by an outside supplier. The shocks are all supplied by a NASCAR-specified vendor, built to spec. The transmission will be built to spec and provided by a single NASCAR-specified supplier. The rear suspension will be have dampeners built to spec (albeit with some token adjustability) and provided by a single NASCAR-specified supplier. All of this taste- and fat-free substance will sit on 18-inch aluminum wheels built to spec and provided by a single NASCAR-specified supplier. They will be fastened by a single center nut, similar to Formula 1 cars, and fueled from an overhead apparatus like that used in IMSA. And every little bit of the assembly will be inspected by laser-based instruments to ensure absolute conformity with the spec.
Right there is a textbook definition of vanilla, and compared to all the possible flavors out there, vanilla is pretty boring. Gone are the clever, team-built chassis. Gone too are the fine-tuned transmissions, the tested and retested shocks, and so many of the innovations that have in part defined competition in NASCAR over the years. Tossed overboard are all the hours of training for tire changers, and the combination of brute strength and finesse needed all these years to manhandle a heavy fuel can and dispense it with accuracy and style. Gone are the Junior Johnsons, the Smokey Yunicks, the Jake Elders, and all the clever people whose innovations made everybody else up their game. And gone too are all the possible future versions of these smart, hard-working people, replaced by folks who can make sure that the purchased part bolts on precisely, according to spec.
And NASCAR wonders why so many fans have headed to the exits, never to return. Smokey must be rolling in his grave.
In no particular order 