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Nearly every Sunday from February through November, 40-some drivers climb into their cars and drive just like those cabbies for 500 miles, stopping only for major accidents or if the engine spits out a part. In 33 races last year, Gordon won 13 times, tying a record set by Richard Petty, who retired in 1992 but is still known as "the King." They keep standings from race to race, and Gordon has won driver of the year three of the past four years, the youngest ever to win three times. His earnings last year from race winnings, sponsorship deals and the sale of everything from hats to toy cars were $14 million.
For this, he is appropriately loved and hated, as are all the rich and famous. We'll get to the hate part. As for the love, it means this: from the moment he arrives at a track on Thursday until the moment he leaves on Sunday, he cannot take two steps without drawing Billy Graham-style crowds. People want to touch him, be photographed with him, have him sign their hats, their shirts, their children.
The amazing thing about this scene is that fans can get so close. It's the equivalent of walking on the field at Yankee Stadium during batting practice and asking Derek Jeter if he wouldn't mind posing for a photo with your three kids. DuPont might invite a few hundred car dealers, body-shop owners and other clients to a race, and they'll all get special access. Yet Gordon will climb out of his car after a practice run, and a growing swarm will be waiting to walk him to his trailer. Some of them will tug at him and shove things under his nose for autographs. In my first brief chat with Gordon, I ask if he's ever tempted to flick backhands at the jackals. "No," he says politely. "It's just part of the job."
Not that there isn't some grumbling among drivers. "These are the best of times and the worst of times," says Darrell Waltrip, a former champion who's hanging on at age 52 because the popularity and the money make it too hard to leave. "But it used to be just you and the race car. Now it's too big a business, and everybody wants a bigger piece of your time." In the old days, says Waltrip, "Richard Petty used to be able to win a race and sit up on the wall for an hour, sign all the autographs and go home. You sit up on that wall now, you'll get killed." Bill France, whose father started NASCAR 51 years ago, puts it this way: "We have the world's largest locker room."
Accessibility has always been part of the marketing plan, and you can begin to see the simple genius of it. These are souped-up replicas of real Pontiacs, Fords and Chevys--not open-wheel, Indy-type cars--and nearly everyone in America has a car. Nearly everyone has driven too fast too. At a NASCAR race, you can meet someone who gets paid stupid money to drive too fast. And chances are, he won't cry about his multimillion-dollar contract or go on strike, both of which have turned off fans of other sports. If a NASCAR driver doesn't keep his public happy, no sponsor will back him. And if he doesn't have big-time backing (it costs up to $10 million a year to keep a racing team going), he isn't going to win.