CONCORD, N.C. -- Oh, how they blew it.
He was right there, racing in their capital city, and they never gave him a chance. The marketable, photogenic, media-savvy, star American driver that open-wheel racing so desperately needs grew up almost in the shadow of Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and somehow they let him get away. It's a mistake they should regret each time he slides behind the wheel of a stock car, and another chapter is added to Jeff Gordon's indelible legacy in NASCAR.
In the long history of auto racing in the United States, there's never been a more egregious oversight or a more conspicuous example of narrow-mindedness. Gordon, the Northern California kid whose stepfather moved the family to Indiana to further his stepson's racing career, was born and bred to compete in the Indianapolis 500. That he never will serves as yet another example of why NASCAR has resigned Indy-car racing to a struggling, parochial afterthought.
The open-wheelers are supposed to be the sophisticated ones, the technological savants, the motorsport elite looking down their noses at stockers toiling with carburetors and push-rod engines. But when it comes to developing American drivers, they're idling in the Stone Age. Gordon won three U.S. Auto Club championships before he could legally drive on the street, was the youngest driver ever to win midget and silver crown titles, was a terror on Midwest short tracks before he finished high school. And he was ignored.
That seems impossible to believe today, as Gordon charges toward his fifth championship on NASCAR's premier circuit, climbs up the series list in all-time victories, counts his $83 million in career winnings, and remains the most bankable driver in America not named Earnhardt. He's had plenty of offers to drive open-wheeled cars, both at home and abroad, and turned them all down. But in the early 1990s, team owners in Championship Auto Racing Teams -- CART, which has since morphed into Champ Car -- decided he didn't fit the mold.
No, they didn't want oval-track drivers, even open-wheeled ones like Gordon who dreamed of racing in the Indianapolis 500. This was before the 1996 split, before the advent of the Indy Racing League, when most open-wheel races in North America were on road and street courses. They wanted drivers who climbed up a developmental ladder comprised of obscure road-course circuits like Toyota Atlantic and Super Vee. And much like today, they wanted drivers who could also bring a sponsor or a boatload of cash along with them.
Gordon was never offered so much as a test run. So it was off to the Buck Baker Driving School in Rockingham, N.C., to learn how to pilot stock cars, and one of NASCAR's most prolific careers was born. That Gordon emerged as the preeminent NASCAR road racer of his era, winning a combined nine times at Infineon Raceway and Watkins Glen, should gnaw at every Champ Car owner who allowed short-sightedness to obscure sheer talent.
The open-wheelers are supposed to be the sophisticated ones ... but when it comes to developing American drivers, they're idling in the Stone Age.They're still paying for it today. Gordon's success in NASCAR prompted stock-car team owners to scour the Midwest for similar talent, a search that unearthed the likes of Tony Stewart, Ryan Newman and Kasey Kahne. Open-wheel drivers like J.J. Yeley, Casey Mears and A.J. Allmendinger saw the big money and solid sponsorship in NASCAR, and traded their nose cones and side pods for front grilles and fenders. The domestic proving grounds of Champ Car and the IRL dried up, producing Indy 500s like Sunday's, where international drivers comprise nearly half the field.
Had there been an IRL, an open-wheel series with an emphasis on oval tracks, Gordon might never have gotten away. But he did, because owners in CART adhered to such a strict ladder system that they ignored the most obvious talent in their own backyard. Those who played key roles in Gordon's development believe he would have been successful regardless of the discipline he eventually chose, a theory backed up by his prowess on different types of tracks. For so long, open-wheel racing has needed an American face who can win races, sell tickets, and galvanize a fan base. They had him. And they missed him.
So another Memorial Day weekend arrives, and over in Indianapolis they'll unleash balloons and try to relive the glory days and likely watch a Brazilian guzzle a jug of milk. And the best active racecar driver to come out of the state of Indiana will compete hundreds of miles away in North Carolina, all because a few team owners in NASCAR were willing to take a risk.
He was right there, racing in their capital city, and they never gave him a chance. The marketable, photogenic, media-savvy, star American driver that open-wheel racing so desperately needs grew up almost in the shadow of Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and somehow they let him get away. It's a mistake they should regret each time he slides behind the wheel of a stock car, and another chapter is added to Jeff Gordon's indelible legacy in NASCAR.
In the long history of auto racing in the United States, there's never been a more egregious oversight or a more conspicuous example of narrow-mindedness. Gordon, the Northern California kid whose stepfather moved the family to Indiana to further his stepson's racing career, was born and bred to compete in the Indianapolis 500. That he never will serves as yet another example of why NASCAR has resigned Indy-car racing to a struggling, parochial afterthought.
The open-wheelers are supposed to be the sophisticated ones, the technological savants, the motorsport elite looking down their noses at stockers toiling with carburetors and push-rod engines. But when it comes to developing American drivers, they're idling in the Stone Age. Gordon won three U.S. Auto Club championships before he could legally drive on the street, was the youngest driver ever to win midget and silver crown titles, was a terror on Midwest short tracks before he finished high school. And he was ignored.
That seems impossible to believe today, as Gordon charges toward his fifth championship on NASCAR's premier circuit, climbs up the series list in all-time victories, counts his $83 million in career winnings, and remains the most bankable driver in America not named Earnhardt. He's had plenty of offers to drive open-wheeled cars, both at home and abroad, and turned them all down. But in the early 1990s, team owners in Championship Auto Racing Teams -- CART, which has since morphed into Champ Car -- decided he didn't fit the mold.
No, they didn't want oval-track drivers, even open-wheeled ones like Gordon who dreamed of racing in the Indianapolis 500. This was before the 1996 split, before the advent of the Indy Racing League, when most open-wheel races in North America were on road and street courses. They wanted drivers who climbed up a developmental ladder comprised of obscure road-course circuits like Toyota Atlantic and Super Vee. And much like today, they wanted drivers who could also bring a sponsor or a boatload of cash along with them.
Gordon was never offered so much as a test run. So it was off to the Buck Baker Driving School in Rockingham, N.C., to learn how to pilot stock cars, and one of NASCAR's most prolific careers was born. That Gordon emerged as the preeminent NASCAR road racer of his era, winning a combined nine times at Infineon Raceway and Watkins Glen, should gnaw at every Champ Car owner who allowed short-sightedness to obscure sheer talent.
The open-wheelers are supposed to be the sophisticated ones ... but when it comes to developing American drivers, they're idling in the Stone Age.They're still paying for it today. Gordon's success in NASCAR prompted stock-car team owners to scour the Midwest for similar talent, a search that unearthed the likes of Tony Stewart, Ryan Newman and Kasey Kahne. Open-wheel drivers like J.J. Yeley, Casey Mears and A.J. Allmendinger saw the big money and solid sponsorship in NASCAR, and traded their nose cones and side pods for front grilles and fenders. The domestic proving grounds of Champ Car and the IRL dried up, producing Indy 500s like Sunday's, where international drivers comprise nearly half the field.
Had there been an IRL, an open-wheel series with an emphasis on oval tracks, Gordon might never have gotten away. But he did, because owners in CART adhered to such a strict ladder system that they ignored the most obvious talent in their own backyard. Those who played key roles in Gordon's development believe he would have been successful regardless of the discipline he eventually chose, a theory backed up by his prowess on different types of tracks. For so long, open-wheel racing has needed an American face who can win races, sell tickets, and galvanize a fan base. They had him. And they missed him.
So another Memorial Day weekend arrives, and over in Indianapolis they'll unleash balloons and try to relive the glory days and likely watch a Brazilian guzzle a jug of milk. And the best active racecar driver to come out of the state of Indiana will compete hundreds of miles away in North Carolina, all because a few team owners in NASCAR were willing to take a risk.
