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Ricky Craven
What we witnessed on the final lap at Chicagoland is a cure-all for NASCAR.
The paint-swapping, empty-the-tank battle between Kyle Busch and Kyle Larson exemplifies why fans watch races, buy tickets, designate a specific week of vacation, plan their travel and book hotels. It’s all in the hope they will witness an epic battle; a “save the ticket moment,” an “I was there when they went at it” artifact of their favorite sport.
It’s critical that NASCAR has these types of finishes often enough to generate enough intrigue for the sport to move forward. NASCAR is, after all, a business predicated on entertainment. Never in the history of NASCAR has the team of employees worked so hard to generate interest, create curiosity and balance the field.
For the last several years, it’s been all hands on deck, including expressions that didn’t exist a decade ago, such as collaborations, industry partners, driver councils and a charter system.
Millions of dollars have been spent to get into the core of NASCAR DNA, and to study, evaluate and deliver a better product. As fundamental as all these things are to a successful business, the return on the investment can be discouraging without the existence of the intangibles.
The most valuable intangible comes in the form of desire — like two drivers entering the closing stage of a race, with both employing an “I will win at any cost” attitude. You would think being put in that position would be a formality for any competitor, but it’s not.
In fact, drivers in that position often saddle themselves with the burden of overthinking the final laps, along with allowing elements such as friendships, teammates and points to enter the equation.
Few would admit to it, but it happens. I lived it.
I was also fortunate enough to experience one of those days where I thought only about myself — where I dismissed driver etiquette, and I surrendered to all risk associated with winning a race. It was, of course, at Darlington in 2003. Thank God I did. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.
Moments after my body-slamming, door-to-door battle with Kurt Busch that I won by a couple inches, I stood in Victory Lane describing the last couple of laps as the equivalent of a walk-off home run in the bottom of the ninth inning or a three-point shot to win the game as time expired. As a youngster, that’s what we all dream of.
So when I say the battle between the two Kyles was an example of a “rising tide lifts all boats” adage, it’s because it was more then just TV ratings, or enhancing future ticket sales. Equally important, it inspired hundreds and perhaps thousands of the younger generation — those who compete in go-karts, legends cars, Bandoleros or late models — to continue their pursuit of being a big-time NASCAR driver one day.
It’s fascinating to think of the amount of money spent promoting our events, and the idea that it cannot come close to the value created for free from the result of the last 45 seconds at Chicagoland.
Almost immediately after the checkered flag dropped in front of a battered M&Ms No. 18, Twitter began erupting with comparisons to other great finishes.
It led me down the pathway of my childhood, to a final lap that’s etched in my brain forever. No, it wasn’t the memory of my experience at the track too tough to tame.
It was the day I cried my eyes out, a heartbroken 10-year-old watching his favorite driver conduct what can only be described as a heavyweight battle. My hero Richard Petty stalled a few hundred feet from the finish line after colliding with his greatest adversary, David Pearson, on the final turn of the 1976 Daytona 500.
It is, in my mind, the greatest finish in the history of our sport, because it was our version of Muhammad Ali vs. Joe Frazier.
But not everyone buys into the idea that a last-lap battle needs to include two elite drivers.
I was not an elite driver, but many consider that race in 2003 to be the most exciting finish ever.
Donnie Allison wouldn’t be considered at the same level as Cale Yarborough, but there’s a large contingent that considers the last lap of the 1979 Daytona 500 the most valuable in our history.
What we got from both of those competitors on that day was a complete disregard for anything other than being the first to reach the checkered flag. It was the definition of “competing.”
Last weekend’s race was very special for me to watch for a few reasons.
First, I identified with the drivers of each car. In the moments of the final couple of laps, Kyle Busch and Kyle Larson demonstrated the very highest level of concentration. How those drivers finished first and second defies logic when you consider the way they treated one another.
It wasn’t until I watched the finish a second and third time that I was taken back and able to relive the experience. The level of control each driver had over his automobile was paramount. In that moment, everything around you slows down, a byproduct of being in the moment. Other athletes refer to it as being “in the zone.” You have the capacity of not only driving your car to the very limit, but also visualizing how you need the next 30 seconds to unfold. You forecast and prepare for it mentally. You incorporate and act on it seconds later.
It’s moments like these when a driver can say, “I found another level.” It’s rewarding, even for a second-place finisher.
Just as Kurt Busch made it his mission to find me in Victory Lane at Darlington and embrace and celebrate the moment, Kyle Larson exited his car and navigated to Victory Lane, endorsing the moment with the winner. It was the perfect conclusion to an amazing finish. It was two drivers emptying the tank, taking one another to the limit and then showing a display of sportsmanship that resonates like nothing else can.
It was spectacular to watch — almost as spectacular as it was to experience.