Personalities, not cars, the driving force behind NASCAR’s popularity
NASCAR used to be a foreign concept to me. Growing up as a stick-and-ball sports fan, watching cars drive around in circles never made much sense.
What was the appeal in that?
It started to click when I attended my first race, as I was fascinated by the power of the cars and the noise and the pure spectacle of the event.
But that didn’t seal the deal for me until I heard something that has stuck with me ever since:
NASCAR isn’t about the cars – it’s about the people in the cars.
That notion might make gearheads want to spurt oil from their noses, but it’s true if you think about it.
While there is an undeniable appeal in the dynamics of racing, there’s much more appeal in the dynamics of people: How do teammates interact? Which drivers don’t like each other? Will brothers cut each other some slack on the track? How will drivers deal with defeat?
When I talk with race fans, the questions they ask are often about the drivers’ personalities. They want to know about the people they cheer for (or root against) – if Jeff Gordon is really that nice (yes), if Mark Martin is a phony (no), if Tony Stewart is as difficult as he seems (yes).
The majority of fans pick their favorites not based purely on driving ability but on whether they can relate to someone; there’s a high value in being able to identify with the same characteristics you see in yourself.
That’s why Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s popularity continues to soar despite his recent lack of on-track success – people see themselves in Junior, they see his humble nature, his insecurity and vulnerability. Earnhardt Jr.’s emotions – both high and low – are on display for everyone, so fans view him as a “normal guy” despite his superstar status.
And it’s the same reason why fans continue to shun Kyle Busch. When he storms away or throws a temper tantrum after losing, fans cannot bring themselves to embrace that type of behavior. Why? Because they can’t see themselves reacting that way.
Along the same lines, other fans have a hard time rooting for drivers they perceive to be “perfect.” A fan may dislike Jimmie Johnson for the same reason an NFL supporter dislikes Tom Brady – they’re too good, with seemingly no flaws.
The personal aspect of NASCAR is why fans call drivers by their first names. It’s why they’re moved to buy merchandise and come to races and sit for hours in traffic – they feel a connection to their driver that’s often more powerful than can be felt by fans cheering a stick-and-ball team.
Fans feel that by patronizing their driver’s sponsor, they’re doing them a personal favor. That’s a strong commitment to someone they’ve often never met – and in most cases, never will.
Within the sport, not enough people seem to understand this concept. Some get it, but the culture still seems to be one of avoiding controversy and keeping personalities under wraps instead of letting the drivers be human.
But don’t think for a second that the racing itself doesn’t matter. Of course it does. It’s the reason all these personalities gather, and it’s the time when fans can sit back and watch them interact in one of the world’s most competitive arenas.
Yet by the same token, if the personalities weren’t such a vital part of NASCAR, the racing would be no more popular than a Saturday night short-track race with a field of anonymous drivers.
Because NASCAR revolves around the racing product is precisely why the sport could sorely use a true rivalry, the kind of bitter relationship that makes you scoot to the edge of your seat when drivers are racing around one another.
Controversy between two drivers forces fans to take sides. They think, “What would I do if I was in that situation?”
But they don’t think, “Would I have gone up two rounds on the track bar on that last pit stop?”
Such is NASCAR, the most personality-based professional sport.
With the addition of double-file restarts, this season has likely been NASCAR’s all-time best season in terms of racing. It’s more competitive than ever, but yet the ratings are still dropping. Why?
Perhaps it’s because whether we want to admit it or not, a lot of fans would rather read a story about Carl Edwards’ impending fatherhood than one about the size of the restrictor plates changing at Talladega.
The old-school gearheads may gripe, but this is today’s NASCAR. The sport should give the people what they want.
