Sunday, June 18, 2000
NASCAR grows on you
Fans spill secrets of racing's massive popularity
SPARTA, Ky. — Round and round the track they go, boring the heck out of me. I don't get it. Besides giving grown men the chance to wear garish T-shirts and still look macho, what's the point of a day at a NASCAR track?
You can't see the drivers. Their engines make an awful racket. At the Kentucky Speedway, you're not even allowed to bring your own cheap beer into the stands, beer being one thing that makes boredom bearable.
Of course, I could be wrong.
This weekend I asked people to explain the appeal.
Along the way, I learned a few facts about NASCAR culture.
• Fans are divided into two camps: Those who love racing because they root for certain drivers, and those who love racing because they know cars so well. These are the types who live for long afternoons in grease-soaked garages. The other types wear T-shirts emblazoned with their heroes' cars.
• NASCAR is no longer just for good ol' boys from the South, thanks to televised races, corporate sponsorships and merchandising. But the sport still appeals mostly to white people, including some who shun sunscreen at the track and end up with, literally, red necks.
• When Yankees want to appreciate NASCAR's redneck roots, they eat beef jerky.
• You won't find many “credit-card billionaires” from Cincinnati's east side at the Speedway. This from west-sider Paul Rebsch, who says NASCAR fans have blue-collar sensibilities. They pay cash. They like American-made cars.
This weekend, Mr. Rebsch and three buddies were in deep guy mode, blissfully drinking beer and eating pretzels in a camper at the Speedway. No heavy conversations were taking place. Occasionally one man would pick on another for liking a particular driver.
That's the point, says Jeff Stenger, who was there with brother Steve, dad Doug and Mr. Rebsch. The drivers' personality quirks are adopted by their fans, whose T-shirts proclaim their loyalties. This leads to fun in the stands: When somebody wrecks, his nonfans can look at his fans and smirk.
“Some guys have bad tempers. They wreck other people on purpose. I like them,” says Jeff Stenger, grinning.
All this trash-talking and T-shirt-wearing is such fun that the foursome has season tickets to the Speedway. Mr. Rebsch recently purchased property in Gallatin County, which he will use as a staging area on racing weekends.
For more insight, I consulted Bob Wilder of Butler, Ky., Ken Patrick of Cincinnati and Steve Trentman of Hamilton. They work together in the fire-sprinkler business.
“I didn't get it at all until my first race last year,” Mr. Patrick says. “When all the cars start at one time, you can just feel them unleash power. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck.”
OK. I can buy that. But what about the attack on your ears? People tell me that's part of the fun.
Then there are those who love the smell of racing fuel.
Brandy Davis, 25, was working a concession cart at the Speedway this weekend. When she arrived, she took a deep, appreciative breath.
She's from Silver Grove, Ky. As a kid, she played with Hot Wheels, went to races with her family and hung out with her dad while he worked on cars.
“I like the smell of a garage ... an old, smelly, oily, dirty garage,” Ms. Davis says.
Recently, she had to sell her beloved '81 Malibu for a quick $300. At least her uncle was the buyer. He's fixing it up for drag races, and she intends to be first behind the wheel.
Isn't she afraid of wrecking?
“If I have a good crew, they'll take care of me,” she says.
Cool — a woman in the driver's seat. Maybe I could like this after all.
Karen Samples can be reached at 578-5584 or ksamples@enquirer.com.
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