Donovan McNabb and the Ignorance of the Race Driver Detractor

"There are only three sports: bullfighting, motor racing, and mountaineering; all the rest are merely games." - unknown, though generally attributed to Ernest Hemingway.

Make no mistake, those "mere games" -particularly North America's "Big Four" - are great forms of entertainment. I myself love the game of baseball - so long as it is played under National League rules - and type these words while wearing a t-shirt with the name and logo of my beloved Atlanta Braves. Some folks love the NBA and the heroes of the hardwood. Others yet clamor to watch the NHL and its two-for-one of top-flight professional hockey and the ultimate illegitimate fighting body. Last but certainly not least in terms of viewership comes the NFL, which has reigned as America's undisputed sporting king ever since the Major League Baseball strike of 1994. 

Compared to the rigors faced by stock car drivers, especially prior to the safety revolution over the past 12 years and counting, they are indeed merely games.

Fans of the Big Four - especially the football fans it seems, though that perception could be skewed simply by the gargantuan fanbase the NFL enjoys compared to the other three - often deride professional racing, particularly NASCAR and its fans, by claiming it is not a sport. The most recent critic to throw his two cents into the discussion is former NFL quarterback Donovan McNabb, who stated Friday on a Fox Sports 1 talk show that our five-time (and likely, soon to be six-time) champ Jimmie Johnson is not an athlete because he drives a car. 

To say that about just about any race driver is silly, but to say it about Johnson - a man who competes in triathlons - is downright idiotic.

I'm going to give Mr. McNabb, a man whom I have zero knowledge of aside from seeing him on soup commercials (actually making him one of my better-known football players), the benefit of the doubt and say that he is just plain ignorant. Like most motorsports detractors, he apparently thinks the racing edition Chevy SS that Johnson will use as he seeks that sixth crown in Sunday's Ford 400 is the same as the street model bearing the same name and - thanks to the Generation 6 platform - a strong aesthetic resemblance. 

Racing fans know better, that Johnson's car and the other 42 like it in Sunday's race feature none of the creature comforts we mere mortals are accustomed to. And we know better than to think that racing is just a matter of taking left turns for three and a half hours. I won't rehash the same arguments about the g-forces and intense heat a driver must withstand for that amount of time with no scheduled break; they have been well chronicled elsewhere. Nor will I delve deep into the argument that race drivers do those things at nearly triple the speeds most folks run on the interstate, which many folks seem to have an issue staying out of trouble with while going in a largely straight line.

The fact of the matter is that it takes either a very athletic individual - like Johnson or Carl Edwards - or someone with the great upper-body strength needed to manhandle a race car (a la Tony Stewart) to be successful in the marathon Sprint Cup Series races. It also takes immense mental strength and focus. One momentary lapse and you are heading into the wall with an impact that makes an NFL linebacker's tackle (that's the guy that does most of the heavy hitting, right?) feel like that of a small puppy.

In a perfect world, we could take the naysayers, the Donovan McNabbs of the world, and stick them into a simulator that subjected them to the same factors that race drivers deal with, only stopping at the point of potential injury. Unfortunately, we can't, and so the generosity will continue. That is to say that those aforementioned naysayers will continue to give away their ignorance every time they opine on racing and race drivers.

Perhaps the time has come to quit worrying about what these idiots say about racing. They don't understand it and they never will, so what is the point of trying to hammer it into their ten-inch-thick skulls? Naysayers will always be naysayers, whatever the subject. 

And who knows? Perhaps McNabb and company are right. Perhaps race drivers really aren't athletes.

Perhaps "athlete" is just too sissy a term to slap upon them.

Farewell, Miss Marcy

"Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone...I walked out this morning, and I wrote down this song. I just can't remember who to send it to." - James Taylor

Countless hearts collectively broke Friday morning, November 1, with the news that Atlanta Motor Speedway Promotion and Marketing Director Marcy Scott had passed away following a second bout with cancer. Though we knew the news, delivered by track president Ed Clark, was likely coming - probably sooner rather than later - it was still a blindside and a punch in the gut for those of us that held out hope and prayed nightly for a miraculous recovery until the very end.

I never met Miss Marcy in person, but she became a huge influence on me in the all-too-brief time I worked with her through my writing as SB Nation Atlanta's NASCAR writer. It didn't take very long for me to find out that if you were a writer in Georgia with the Atlanta Motor Speedway as a focal point of your work, a friendship with her was a huge asset. I found out that a friendship with her was a huge asset in life, as well.

After SBN eliminated their regional positions in early January, it was Marcy with whom I corresponded about the creation of this blog. She seemed intrigued by the idea of a site by an AMS lover for AMS lovers, and she asked me to pass along any comments from fans. Alas, as you see, the blog has been heavily neglected to this point. That will change now. Marcy believed in me as a writer even when I didn't, and fulfilling my plans for this site at its genesis will be my tribute to her.

My story is far, far from unique. The tributes that poured in after the news had set in Friday indicate as much. It is comforting to know that, in a way, Marcy will continue to live on through all the lives she touched.

It is even more comforting to know that, after the long, hard road she traveled, she'll never feel an ounce of pain again. She has raced under the Good Lord's checkered flag into the ultimate victory lane.

Still, as humans, one can't help but lament that she no longer walks among us. I deeply regret - and will as long as I live - that I never got to meet her and thank her in person for everything she did for me. The opportunity was there, for sure. See, I've never once mistaken myself for a media member, because frankly I am not. I'm just a huge, huge NASCAR fan who loves putting his thoughts on the sport into words and had a great opportunity to spend two seasons bringing the sport to fans in my beloved state. And yet, Marcy treated me as though I were a nationally-known scribe, with invitations to a variety of events surrounding the Speedway. I never went, as I feel strongly that people like myself don't belong among the actual media folks who worked through the ranks to become a respected reporter and made it their livelihood. Still, I wish I had let ego get the best of me just once, though, so that I could have met probably my greatest advocate as a writer outside of my mom.

It's so hard to balance being thankful that Marcy's ordeal is finally over and that she is in the Lord's company as I type these words with the selfish pity of wishing she were still with us. It shouldn't be, but it is. Ultimately, I guess we just have to look beyond our grief and realize that one's life isn't quantified by money or possessions but by love and the impact one has on others. By that score, Marcy lived one heck of a full life.

Farewell, Miss Marcy.