From the WSJ Opinion Archives
LEISURE & ARTS
Nascar: Engine of Change
Southern culture is driving back into the American idea.
BRISTOL, Tenn.--Last Saturday night, in the sparsely populated eastern hill country of Tennessee, more than 160,000 people gathered in this small town to watch cars race around a tiny oval. It was another sold-out event for Nascar, a sports juggernaut that now rivals the NFL in popular appeal.
It's a curious thing, Nascar's massive success. In an age of watered-down appeals to the lowest common denominator and concern about offending tender sensibilities, Nascar revels in its throwback authenticity. Races showcase muscular patriotism, grease-filled masculinity, fast cars and the unembarrassed invocation of God. All that goes down very well in the Bible Belt, where Nascar has its roots. But the remarkable growth of the sport has taken Nascar to places that squirm when too many American flags are flown. Even the green-minded Pacific Northwest is a strong television market for this gas-guzzling spectacle.
Nascar's growth has created challenges as the heirs of moonshiners start to mingle with urban wine sippers. While the good-ol'-boy concept has worked so far, Nascar frets about its image. One official says there's pressure to make the annual banquet--held in foreign territory (Manhattan)--"hipper." In addition, Nascar has shed smaller, Southeastern venues in favor of races in places like Chicago, Las Vegas and California. It's even talking about building a track near New York City.
"For me, leaving some of the smaller tracks, where the fans were closer to the action and there's more history, is a loss," says Robert Johnson, dean of the Lee College of Engineering at UNC-Charlotte, home to a motor-sports engineering program that attracts students from around the nation. "But at the same time, this is a sport, despite its incredible growth, that still provides access to the stars. It's hard to meet a pro football player, but these drivers are accessible, and they'll talk to you."
Still, it's not just the intimate aura of the sport. Nascar's growth coincides with a larger trend: The reincorporation of the South into the broader American idea. And to that end, Nascar finds itself rubbing off on the broader culture as much as it is trying to adapt to its broader fan base.
Rhys Williams, a professor of sociology at the University of Cincinnati, sees Nascar's growth mirroring the movement of Southerners to other parts of the country over the past few decades. For example, as Southerners moved to California in great numbers in the 1960s and 1970s, the Southern Baptist Church was close behind. And the spread of Southern Baptists to California and elsewhere has contributed to a more conservative national religious culture, with a growing number of Americans describing themselves as evangelical. But, interestingly, the evangelical moniker has become more complex as groups have competed for congregants. Unlike the traditionally socially conservative version of Southern Baptists, self-described evangelicals sometimes drink, dance, smoke or even vote the liberal line.
"These kinds of cultural interactions are never a one-way process," says Mr. Williams. "The reincorporation of the South into mainstream American culture is making us a bit more Southern. But at the same time, Southern traditions are having to adjust. For instance, while more people invoke God in terms of politics and policy, you see evangelicals and conservative Protestants spending less time focused on personal vices. In many places, including across the Bible Belt, it's a bigger sin to raise taxes than it is to put in a casino."
Unlike most sports, the culture of Nascar, perhaps even more than the racing itself, is elemental to its success. God and family values permeate. A calendar chock full of weekend races from February to November takes Mother's Day off. The race weekend is an event with the liturgical flavor of a tent revival meeting, with fans coming from great distances and many camping out in RVs.
Ahead of the main event at Bristol, a parachutist lands on the track trailing an enormous American flag. A prayer of invocation is said to reverent silence. Kids from the Motor Racing Outreach ministry youth group sing the national anthem. And Naval fighter jets cap the pre-race festivities with a tight-formation flyover. Flag, God, Military, Racing. It's a Red-State recipe that plays well in post-9/11 America.
While Nascar rubs off on its new fans, the sport itself has changed. Rough-edged, colorful drivers like Cale Yarborough used to dominate the sport. Today Nascar boasts drivers like Jimmy Johnson and Jeff Gordon, complete with Hollywood good looks and perfect TV demeanor. Matt Kenseth, the current series leader, could be confused with an accountant. Fisticuffs and other altercations, once chuckled at, now receive surprisingly stern treatment. Last week, Nascar suspended driver Jimmy Spencer for slugging fellow driver Kurt Busch, the latest installment in a ferocious rivalry between the two. Last year, Tony Stewart, on the way to Nascar's prestigious Winston Cup title, had to go through anger-management counseling after punching a photographer. The kinder, gentler Mr. Stewart is having a terrible year defending his title.
"We know our fans love authentic, emotional, real drivers, and we want to maintain a lot of those aspects," says Roger VanDerSnick, Nascar's managing director of brand and consumer marketing. "But in today's society we have to draw the line, and that line may be drawn differently than it was in the past."
For Nascar, managing its integration into the country presents serious challenges. Regional sponsors have dwindled to a handful, and national and even global sponsors now dominate. They don't like messy authenticity very much. And Nascar, in the end, does what its sponsors want.
Wooing global sponsors can be tricky in the current climate. The French head of a multinational company visited one track early this year to hear a PA announcer ask the crowd what it thought of the French on the eve of war with Iraq. Lusty boos ensued. Winning over the Bordeaux Belt may take some time.
Mr. Kansas is an editor of the Journal's Money & Investing section in New York.
