The USA 3000

I watched the Indianapolis 500 yesterday as my Dad was down for the Memorial Day holiday and has a tradition of watching the annual event from start to finish. I've never been a real race fan, but I watched it with him and found myself eventually enthralled. From an advertising perspective, it was fascinating. ABC never broke from the race even during commercial breaks, opting instead for what they call "side-by-side," whereby the commercials play in the right half of the frame while the race coverage continues in the left. As well, the on-car cameras provided an interesting perspective, and you could see the thought that went into sponsor logo placement on the vehicles as well as on the drivers' helmets. There was an inordinate amount of GoDaddy sponsorship, from the aerials provided by the GoDaddy helicopter, to the endless focus on Danica Patrick, darling of the race-circuit and spokesperson for GoDaddy. And there were multiple placements of GoDaddy ads featuring Ms. Patrick. (Patrick had a made for TV moment when her car was disabled by another driver in the pit lane, prompting the Race Queen to stalk down the track to apparently give the errant fool a piece of her very-pissed mind. She was sidelined by security.)

Anyway, the whole thing got me to thinking of an even bigger race that needs to get underway. A country-uniter. An event that would make Indy look like a soap-box derby. The race to end all races. The Mother of all Races. The USA 3,000.

Here's the plan:

Using our very nice Interstate system, 50 cars race coast to coast in a day-long focus on our nation's unique diversity and utter coolness. We'll use Formula One some fast cars, so we can get it done quickly and at speeds of 200+ MPH. The inconvenience to travelers needing the roads would be minimal. Let's say you live in Ohio. The Interstate and its on-ramps would only need to be closed for half an hour as the cars would be through there in no time. We start early on the East Coast and end in the West in the evening, taking advantage of the three-hour time difference. Mandatory pit-stops would be scheduled at predetermined locations on the route. Cities vying for pit-stop status would shell out major bucks for the honor.

Other sponsorship opportunities would be endless, as they already are in racing, but even more so for this event. Every state that was included on the route would want a tourism spot or two in the broadcast. The Department of Transportation could likely get in on the act. Naturally, the American Dairy Association would want to thrust a bottle of milk into the winner's hand. (If the winner drinks it at Indy, the ADA pays him/her $10,000.) I can see production and camera coordination being a tough one, but you know the networks would compete like starved jackals for the rights to broadcast the race.

This thing would be bigger than American Idol, bigger than Lost, bigger than a Presidential election.

Here are some proposed routes. Miami to Seattle, New York to Seattle, New York To Los Angeles, or my favorite, Orlando to Seattle.

And I thought of it, you bastard network dogs, and its documented and dated here for all to see. We'll fight over it in court should you decide to do this without me. You'll lose. And I 'll be that crazy guy who chooses to represent himself.

Welcome Race Fans

I have to go to Jacksonville this weekend. Have to. Can’t not go. This weekend also happens to be Daytona 500 weekend. The 50th anniversary of the Daytona 500 weekend. “The most anticipated event in race history,” according to the website.

Which means I will be sitting in traffic with a bunch of NASCAR fans, both ways, driving through Daytona this Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning.

NASCAR fans have a reputation for being…how shall I put this politely…less than cultured. I don’t think that stereotype is exactly accurate, but it persists. They’re considered Bubbas. Beer-swilling, beer-bellied, truck-driving, Marlboro-puffing, Confederate flag-waving, Skynyrd-listening, Jack Daniels-shooting, Bush-voting, mullet-sporting, Skoal-dipping, gun-toting, Wrangler-wearing, Wal-Mart-shopping, inbred, redneck, rocks-for-brains sumsabitches all living on dirt roads in broke-ass, single-wide mobile-homes. One of their four basic food groups is Deep Fried, which they eat when they aren’t having sex with their sisters and lynching people.

Though I’ve never seen a race, I’m sure you can find a fair share of those types in a NASCAR crowd. But I know there are other people attending. And so do the sponsors. Have a look at this roster of companies sponsoring the cars of NASCAR. Apparently, there’s some money in that big audience. And that is a list of primary sponsors, which doesn't include the dozens of smaller sponsor decals every car displays, nor does it include the sponsors running commercials during the broadcasts.

I've been trying to understand the appeal of NASCAR for a while. But really, it’s actually pretty easy to get caught up in any kind of race. Whether it’s a marathon on city streets, a bicycle race through the French countryside, skiers on a mountainside, a horserace in Kentucky or even a down-to-the-wire political battle, racing - in all its forms - includes strategy, skill, drama and a bit of luck. There are heroes, villains, unexpected turns-of-events and of course, speed. Then there’s the byproduct of all those ingredients, adrenaline. I’m almost sure that if you took a couple of the most city-dwelling, theatre-visiting, martini-sipping, toy-dog-owning, massage-getting, loft-renting, art-gallery patronizing, NPR-giving, aroma-therapy-sniffing, Hillary-loving, Starbucks-drinking, tree-hugging, nose-in-the-air, fashion-conscious, intellectual urbanites and made them sit down at the Daytona 500, they’d end up having a good time. It would be the noise, the extremely high speeds and the tightly packed cars jostling for position that enthralled them. If that didn’t interest them, the people-watching opportunities would.

I was channel-surfing the other day and stopped on something I never watch - motocross racing. I didn’t know any of the riders, but I found myself mesmerized, eventually hoping one particular rider would win. He rode in second place for the longest time, trying to get around the leader who was playing a skillful defense, cutting off any chance at passing. The second-place guy finally made his move in the last lap. I was like, “Cool! My guy won!” Then I said to myself, “You just watched a motocross race on TV and you were into it. Dude, you should be embarrassed.”

So until I actually attend a NASCAR event, I’m going to stop stereotyping these people. I can imagine the scene, with me walking in all smug and above this stupid redneck sport, looking for people who will prove me right; that this is just a collection of idiots watching cars go really fast around an oval track for a drunken afternoon.

I take my seat. The noise is deafening and it’s only the pace lap. There’s a smell of oil, grease and gas mixed with something deep-fried and maybe a hint of beer. It’s not a bad smell. The pace car leaves the track and the green flag is waved. The gunning engines of 60 high-performance cars combined with the spontaneous roar of 168,000 NASCAR fanatics instantly washes away my skepticism. I’ve just become a race fan. Don’t know what car I want to cheer for, but that one with the giant Tide logo on the hood looks cool.

Man, I hope we get to see some gnarly crashes today.

Previously in NASCAR