Zen and the Art of Stock Car Racing

Any observant American knows that there are actually two Americas. No, I don't mean North America and South America, smartass. What I mean is that in this vast and great country, there exist two separate mindsets. I hesitate to pigeonhole these two groups into Red States and Blue States, though that works so well for my comparison that I can't resist.

Before I go any further, I want to acknowledge that these are stereotypes I refer to, and in no way representative of all people in either of these categories. Ok, with the disclaimer out of the way, let's start offending people!

A year ago, I was deeply ensconced in the world of Academia. I was a college student, getting a pretentious degree in English. I was surrounded by liberal minded people, listing to indie rock and hip hop. Classroom debates wrestled with the effects of post-colonialism, gender roles, and psychoanalysis. This was a world of secular humanism, elitism, and European beer. Discussions of Fellini and Freud. This was the stronghold of Blue State philosophy.

I would scoff at the plebeian pursuits of the Red States, such as country music, professorial wrestling, and NASCAR racing. These are the kind of people who actually said "freedom fries" a few years back, and meant it. I thought it was clear to anyone with a half a brain that country music sucked, professional wrestling was fake, and NASCAR was boring. I still maintain country music sucks, as does pro wrestling. However, this past Sunday I was sitting at home when my friends called me, asking to come watch the Daytona 500 with them.

Naturally, I was skeptical. I'd never even attempted to sit through a NASCAR race. I barely knew any drivers, I don't own a pickup truck, and to make matters worse I don't even have a mullet. However, the alternative was a Law & Order marathon with my parents. I knew I had no choice.

As I drove to my friend's house to watch the race, I suddenly wondered if I was overdressed. I was, after all, wearing a shirt. I decided it was too late to change into a bare chest and trucker hat, so I continued onward, fully dressed.

I arrived at my destination and met my friends huddled in the basement, surrounded by two TVs blaring the race broadcast. Many were wearing hats with the sponsor of their favorite driver. Surprisingly they all had shirts on, and presumably socks on both feet. I began to rethink my preconceived notions of racing fans when I noticed no one was missing any teeth.

"Grab yourself a beer," they commanded. I reached down into the cooler. Normally, I'd prefer a Stella Artois, Guinness, or some other beer containing "flavor". They had Budweiser. Bud Heavy. In a can. The official beer of the Red States.

The race was already underway. My friends all had a personal favorite driver to root for, adding a critical element of personal involvement. I arbitrarily chose my own driver: Greg Biffle. I tried hard to become emotionally invested in the race.

A few Buds and 20 laps later, I found myself seeing things I hadn't noticed before. The subtlety of drafting; using the car ahead to break up the airflow and gain a valuable few more mphs. My boy Biffle was cruising in 2nd place.

I was getting more into it, though I found the yokel commentators were mildly obnoxious at best. I was growing tired of their overexcited banter when they announced they were going to "crank it up". The race commentary went silent, the screen became uncluttered with displays, and the track microphones were turned up. The only sounds were the roar of the engines and the shriek of the cars flying past. This is how the entire race should have been broadcast. When it ended a few laps later, the announcers returned and my awe faded, but for a precious few moments I think I started to understand the appeal of the sport that dominates the majority of America.

I think in retrospect the race itself is secondary to the experience of watching NASCAR. The main event is drinking cheap domestic beer with friends. It's about laughing in your friend's face when his driver gets slammed into the wall with 10 laps to go, knocking him out of contention. NASCAR itself is a lot like Budweiser beer. It's certainly not the best, and there are many beers I'd much rather be drinking. However, it is easy to drink, cheap, social, and undeniably American.

I don't love NASCAR, and I doubt I'll watch another race until perhaps the next Daytona 500. However, I can now honestly say I at least tried something new and gained a valuable perspective on my native country.

As for country music and pro wrestling...thats a whole 'nother post.