CHARLOTTE, N.C. -- Steve Hmiel was cruising through Atlanta recently when another car sped through a red light and nearly hit him. A bit shaken, he muttered aloud to no one in particular that they'd nearly gotten plowed.

"What's the worst that can happen, Dad," said a chipper voice from the back. "I'd get paralyzed?"

The quip came from Hmiel's son, Shane, who indeed is paralyzed after a brutal crash during USAC qualifying at Terre Haute, Ind., on Oct. 9. Shane was initially given a 10 percent chance to live, Steve said. Doctors told the Hmiel family he would never walk again or breathe on his own. They advised the family to build ramps at their home and secure a permanent place for Shane in a nursing home.

"People pray for miracles," Steve said. "Shane just might be one. He died four times. He wasn't supposed to ever move his fingers again. He wasn't supposed to ever move his arms again. He wasn't ever supposed to move his toes or his feet again. He has done all of those things."

When Steve says Shane died, he is not using figurative speech. He flatlined four times while in intensive care in Indianapolis.

"His mother was standing there when he died one time," Steve said Monday during NASCAR's annual media tour. "That was just horrible. He had a thing called advanced respiratory distress syndrome. One in three people survive that [condition] if they're not injured. One in 10 survives when they're injured as badly as Shane. It was horrible to watch him every day."

Shane doesn't remember the accident -- he only knows what people tell him. He studied the damage to his racing helmet and, without warning, was shown video of the wreck. He wasn't prepared.

"He's amazed by the fact that he's still here," said Steve, the managing director at Earnhardt Ganassi Racing. "He looks at that as a blessing and at the same time a great challenge. He thinks God did that for a reason. He overcame a lot prior to this accident in his personal life, and he's proud of himself for that. And he hopes to overcome this, as well, and become an example to people that you can come back from life's setbacks."

If nothing else, Shane Hmiel is resilient. I consider him indomitable.

He was banned from NASCAR for life in 2006 after failing three drug tests. He got clean and humble, and went to work rebuilding his life. He had found a home in USAC and was enjoying a budding television career as a host for the racing program "Three Wide Life."

He was at peace with his mistakes and was making his way. He used the drug setback as a teaching point for others. Then the wreck happened, just as opportunities at higher racing levels began to sprout.

"There was a book someone wrote once, 'At First You Cry …' " Steve said of the toll the accident has taken on the family. "My wife has not been home since the accident. She's a really good, strong woman, stronger than I am. And Shane is just like her. Very strong. So strong."

Part of Shane's strength, Steve said, comes from the outpouring from the racing community and its staunchly loyal fan base. More than 25,000 people follow his recovery on the Shane Hmiel Road to Recovery Facebook page. He has received more than 4,500 get-well cards and more calls than he can count.

I have called him many times. His voice mail is always full.

For now, the Hmiels are in wait-and-see mode. Shane spends eight hours daily in exhausting rehab at Shepherd Center in Atlanta, "working very hard and doing a nice job," Steve said.

Shane didn't sever his spinal cord in the accident, but rather bruised it. That is good, because there is hope for recovery. But it also prompts limitless unknowns.

"If you break your spinal cord, below that area is not going to work. It's just not," Steve said. "He didn't break his spinal cord. So it's like, 'How's this going to work out?' In some ways it's harder, because you don't know what to expect.

"If you're paralyzed, you know, OK, I have to learn to get around and have to work hard to return and become a productive member of society. With Shane it's like, 'How far is this going to go?'"

Doctors have no way to predict that, Steve said. But little by little, Shane gives them reason to hope. He has passed all cognitive tests for brain function. Now it's about getting his muscles to fire. He first moved a finger. Then three fingers. Then a hand. Then an arm.

"It's amazing," Steve said. "But you always wonder, is this going to work tomorrow? Will he be as good as he was when he went to sleep? You have to wonder."

Sometimes, Steve struggles to cope with his son's plight -- a father weeping for his son -- and Shane will ease over with words of encouragement.

"He's like, 'Look man, I'm fine with it, I've raced my whole life. I did everything I wanted to do. I raced against your cars. I won the Hoosier Hundred. I'll still be involved in racing even if I'm in a wheelchair. I'm fine with it,'" Steve said. "He's disarmingly straight up sometimes."

Marty Smith/ESPN.comTony Stewart was impressed with Parker Flack when the two finally met at Charlotte Motor Speedway.

Generally, we sports fans place sizable emotional investments in our respective teams and the individuals who play for them. Entirely too much at times. The cliché says we "live and die" by the blue-and-white or the black-and-gold or the pinstripes.

But truth told, when we face real, life-altering crises with tangible ramifications, we realize how frivolous our sporting obsessions can be. Suddenly it seems ridiculous that grown adults get all worked up over one burly man barbarically slamming another burly man to the ground.

Or does it? On paper, it's easy to analyze sports fanaticism as frivolous. But that's contextually inaccurate.

It doesn't account for inspiration or diversion.

This is a NASCAR era when we fans are quick to question all that's wrong with the sport and rarely celebrate what's right. That's natural, given that the NASCAR many folks grew up with packed up 10 years ago and moved uptown.

To be fair, that, too, is natural. Businesses exist to make money. For a decade-plus, NASCAR made money outside its core demographic and exploded in the mainstream. Those times, however, have changed. As a result, so, too, must NASCAR. That's an entirely different story.

This Christmas season, we'll focus on what's right, about how a sport and its stars can inspire a young man so deeply it could forever rewrite his future.

It is an uncharacteristically balmy mid-October afternoon at Charlotte Motor Speedway. It is Friday on a key Chase weekend. Tomorrow, the boys will fire 'em up for an old-fashioned backyard brawl. The garage area rings with the clinks and clangs of tossed tools and the beehive buzz back-and-forth of pre-happy hour adjustments.

But at points adjacent, CMS is mostly quiet.

Standing just outside the parking lot that houses the driving corps' fleet of sparkling motorhomes stands young Parker Flack. He is shy, unassuming and slightly overwhelmed. But at present he stares easily into a camera and details a dream.

He says he's always wanted to attend a NASCAR race, and here he is. He can't believe it. He ponders whether his favorite driver, Tony Stewart, will win for him tomorrow.

His mother, Vadessa, fights back tears as he speaks.

That he is speaking at all is a miracle.

Parker has thyroid disease, which inhibits his growth. He is 7 years old and weighs less than 50 pounds. He was basically mute for the first several years of his life. Vadessa says he was always a happy child, but was reserved and tended to isolate himself. Like any parent, she was worried.

Parker was about 4 years old when Vadessa took him to see Disney's "Cars." It was opening night, and the theater was packed. When the Flacks took their seats, Parker was so small that the folding theater seat kept snapping shut on him, so he climbed up in Momma's lap.

The movie began with a racing scene. Immediately, Parker began to yell. Initially Vadessa thought he was yelling, "'No!' In fact, he was yelling, 'Go!'" she said.

Parker was cheering for Lightning McQueen, the cartoon race car in the movie.

Vadessa and her husband beamed. It was a breakthrough.

With each passing scene and each cheer from Parker, Vadessa's concerns for her son's development slowly washed away.

It was the happiest the Flacks had ever seen their son. And it was only the beginning.

It was customary for Parker to accompany his grandfather on boys' trips to The Home Depot, and over time the family began to notice how often the boy mentioned the man who drove a race car painted like granddad's favorite store.

This was odd, because no one in the Flack family watched NASCAR. Ever.

"Who watches NASCAR anyways?" Vadessa says, laughing. "I encouraged him to just stick to the 'Cars' movie."

That changed one day soon after. While at a playdate, Parker drove up to his mom on a tricycle. She was chatting up a friend and paid little attention to her son's pleas. Parker was agitated. When she turned to address him, he informed her he needed four tires and a can of gas.

"That was when I realized this NASCAR thing was a true passion," she said.

Courtesy of the Flack FamilyParker Flack wasn't even sure he should look at his racing idol, Tony Stewart, but Flack got more comfortable as things progressed.

Around this time, Vadessa tried teaching Parker numbers. He wasn't receptive and basically sat and blankly stared at her. He seemed to have no desire to learn, and Vadessa couldn't help but wonder whether he had a learning disability. She was upset and concerned until one Sunday afternoon in January 2007.

The family was at home relaxing after church. Vadessa was reading, and the kids were playing. Suddenly, Parker hopped up and ran to the television, hollering, "That's the Lowe's car! His number is 4-8!" It was a promo for the Daytona 500. And it was another breakthrough for Parker.

Vadessa grabbed a piece of paper and wrote 48. She asked Parker to repeat Jimmie Johnson's number. He did. She now knew exactly how to get through to her son. She asked whether he would learn his numbers if NASCAR provided the platform. His excitement was all she needed to see.

She ran out and immediately bought a NASCAR preview magazine, and the family spent January learning the drivers' names, sponsors and car numbers in just two weeks. They made flash cards to review during dinner. It became a family project, and come race day for the 2007 Daytona 500, they rushed home from church to watch their first race.

"We had never actually seen any of the racers, so when they walked across the TV, we giggled and yelled out their name, number and sponsor," she said. "It was such a special moment for our family."

NASCAR was the platform that Parker used to learn to count. Thanks to Carl Edwards, whose car number, of course, is 99, Parker was motivated to count all the way to 100.

"Thank goodness for Carl Edwards," Vadessa said that day at Charlotte, eyes now full of tears.

It wasn't long before the Flacks threw the alphabet into the routine, too. They used sponsor logos to teach Parker A through Z. He wasn't learning-disabled at all. In fact, he was quite intelligent.

NASCAR also helped Parker with speech and diet. He had been in speech therapy for years with marginal progress. But when NASCAR was instituted into the program, he flourished.

"Now he's completely out of speech [therapy]," Vadessa said. "It's amazing how far he's come."

Same with food. Parker wouldn't eat spaghetti, but when he found out spaghetti was Stewart's favorite childhood meal, he began eating noodles.

The Flacks decided the Charlotte fall event would be their first race as a family. When NASCAR learned of their plan, they provided garage passes and a tour.

Part of that tour is where this story begins, outside the gates of the driver motorhome lot where Parker details his dream to come to a NASCAR race. When he finishes, he is shuttled off through the gates to a row of buses, outside which he stands for some 15 minutes. He is asked a few more questions by the camera crew, and as he answers the last one, a door behind him opens.

Down the stairs walks Stewart. He kneels behind Parker and grins. Parker has no idea he's there until he turns and looks over his right shoulder -- square into the eyes of his hero.

He just giggles. It's one of those deer-in-the-headlights-where-do-I-look-what-do-I-do-what-in-the-world-is-happening-right-now giggles.

It is wonderful.

"You any good at this yet?" Stewart asks Parker of his reporting skills. "Bet you're better than that guy in the blue shirt."

The guy in the blue shirt, incidentally, is me.

Stewart was quite impressed.

"It was fun to watch him through the window, look into the camera and talk," Stewart said. "There's no way, at his age, I could have done that. I was way too shy. It's just so cool to meet kids like him.

You realize in their smiles how tough they are. The best thing about children is there are no hidden agendas -- every emotion is an honest emotion."

As Parker listens and grins, Stewart chats away and loads the youngster down with autographed hats, die-cast cars, shirts and backpacks. They take several photographs, even hug, and the family urges Parker to chat with Stewart.

Meanwhile, Parker isn't sure he should even look at Stewart.

"It's OK," the two-time champion says. "At that age, if I saw my favorite driver, you better believe I wouldn't have said anything, either. He's doing very well."

Finally, young Parker musters a quick comment.

"My dream was to come to a NASCAR race," he said. "This is better than a dream."

And that is worth celebrating.

HOMESTEAD, Fla. -- A couple weeks back I got a phone call from Connecticut, during which I was charged with the task of climbing inside Denny Hamlin's noggin, knocking around and seeing if I could determine what drives him. He's a unique guy, unafraid to profess his excellence and predict his dominance in a sport where athletes traditionally take a deferential approach. He also doesn't hide his appreciation for the many benefits that come with success -- fame, wealth, the like.

As we sat together in his living room we took a broad-stroke view of his life, and he was, as usual, shockingly honest. The one prevailing theme that weaved throughout our conversation was the impact Hamlin's full-circle transformation -- from a simple, unassuming kid just trying to make it to a Cup Series winner who admittedly forgot who he was and alienated those who got him there, and back again -- has had on him, his family and those dear to him.

He is confident, and he is shy. That combination leads many folks, he says, to misconstrue him as arrogant.

He is supremely talented, and this season his maturation as a competitor caught up to his ability behind the wheel. Here is an excerpt of our hour-long discussion:

Marty Smith: You've come a long way in a hurry. Describe your path to here.

Denny Hamlin: It was a rocky road, for sure. The way I can think of it is it's almost like a rollercoaster ride. There were so many points in my career that [we asked] how much are we going to sacrifice for me to get to the Cup Series? What was it going to take? Was it going to take second-mortgaging the house? Selling every vehicle we had? Everything that it took to buy tires on a weekly basis to keep me going.

And so, it was a tough ride getting here and it really pulled on our family emotionally. Really. But I always say to people that say "I want to use your success story as motivation" … I hate to tell people to go that route because it was such a hard time for our family when we didn't know if we were going to make it or not.

MS: What was rock bottom?

DH: Rock bottom is probably when we blew a motor in my Late Model car. We just barely had enough. We had cleared out the savings account to build a brand new Late Model for our team. It was a self-funded team. We sold trailers to put tires on a racecar each week, and we blew an engine. Engines were about $8,000, and a guy named Robin Roberts came up to us, he was a great friend of ours, and gave us the money to put a new engine in the car.

That was probably one of those points where, it was it. That was it for us. And we weren't going to make it. There's so many stories I can tell you, weeks after weeks of "this is the end" moments, and it just never got to the end.

MS: Knowing that, how long a shot are you to be that guy, only a handful of years ago, and now this close to winning a championship?

DH: It's surreal for me, for sure. There's times when I wake up in my motor home in the morning and I see my suit hanging there by the bed, and I look at it, and it has a Sprint Cup Series patch on it and it's like … 'Really? I'm to that level?' I don't even remember "making it," I don't … everything just happened so fast that I just woke up one day with the Sprint Cup Series patch on my suit. And next thing you know, I'm racing guys that I've been idolizing for so many years.

MS: When did you make it?

DH: For me, at the point I felt like I made it was in Phoenix in 2005. We got the pole in my third-ever start in the Cup Series, and it was like, from that point forward I knew that I could do it, I could compete with these guys on a weekly basis. So from that point, it just seemed like the confidence went through the roof.

MS: Describe your personality.

DH: I'm quiet. A lot of people mistake shyness with cockiness, but I really feel like I'm just a quiet person in general. I don't usually say a lot, especially around people I don't know that well. You always see me at the track, and I look at every picture they post on the Internet when it has something to do with the media, and it looks like I have a frown on my face, that I'm not happy. But I'm just thinking. I'm always thinking, constantly, when I'm at a racetrack of how I can be better.

MS: You discussed how you're quiet, and some people may misconstrue that as cockiness. How do you define confidence?

DH: Confidence, for me, is knowing what I have around me. I know that I have all the parts and pieces around me to be successful. And that's why when I go to a racetrack and I say "I expect to win this weekend," I'm not telling everyone that I'm better than them. I'm saying that with my ability, with my race team, with the people around me, there's no reason why I shouldn't win. If we didn't win, it's because I didn't give the best information that weekend, or I made a mistake, or we just missed a setup. But I know the potential for my race team and that's to finish first every week.

MS: It's interesting, though, because this is a sport where drivers who are aspiring and getting so close to being a champion typically defer that confidence to the guy who's The Man. You don't necessarily take that approach. You don't have any qualms saying "I'm gonna go beat that guy …"

DH: I feel like I can beat him [Jimmie Johnson]. I feel like I have beat him. Over the last two or three seasons, I've been able to race with him toe-to-toe. Now, we've made more mistakes than he has, and it's shown worse in the points, wins columns, all that, but I feel like I've had what it takes to race the 48 toe-to-toe.

And last year, you know, I could very well be going for two in a row this year if just a few blown motors and a crash away from really having a chance. And sure everyone can say that and even the 48, but we really feel like we've had a lot of potential over the last few years and just have not capitalized on it.

And I said a couple years ago going into this season, I was sick of being the driver where they always say "the potential is this … but here's really what's gonna happen." And so I wanted to be from a championship contender to a champion.

MS: You've evolved a lot as a driver over the last five years. How has your confidence evolved with your experience?

DH: Well, I've just come to realize that I can do it and I can do it at every single racetrack. What I didn't have over the last few years was the ability to go to every racetrack I went to, whether it be Texas, Watkins Glen or Bristol, and walk into that racetrack and say "I can win this week."

I used to have the mentality of, "OK, I can go to the short tracks and win this week, and we'll go to Texas next week -- I can run top-5." -- and that's not championship-caliber. That's not where our sport was based off of. It was based off of winning and winning everywhere. And that's why we have all these different racetracks. This year is the first year I feel like we've put all that together and I've walked into every racetrack thinking that I can win. And not faking it. Not just saying it to the media, "Yeah, I have all the confidence in the world, we should run good, we have a chance to win." A lot of people say that, but I don't think everyone believes that.

MS: That's the norm. That's what I'm saying -- everybody goes into the weekend saying the same thing, "oh man, I'm pretty confident here, I think we got a chance …" No. You look in the camera and say "I'm gonna do this. I know I can and if I don't, it's on me."

DH: I feel like I need to take responsibility. I'm the reason that we've had success in the past and I'm the reason we've had failures in the past. And I put it on my shoulders. It's no different than a quarterback on a football team. We win as a team and lose as a team, but, ultimately, I'm the guy that's out there leading the team and if we don't succeed, it's on me.

MS: OK. That said, why, then, are you the guy to end Jimmie Johnson's dominance?

DH: I feel like the reason that I'm the best at this point is because I've put it all together. I've figured out what it takes to be successful on and off the racetrack. And I say off, because I think some of that boils over onto the racetrack. I figured out how to be better at bigger tracks, done a lot of research, asked a lot of questions to teammates -- I feel like I've done all the hard work and the homework that it takes to be the best at this particular sport.

And if my effort this year is not good enough, I guarantee you when I go next year in 2011, I'm gonna be a better driver than I was in 2010. And that's one thing I set out for myself four, five years ago -- I said when I start, every year I will be better than I was the previous year. I will not be stagnant.

MS: You said you put it all together and you figured it out. What is "it?"

DH: Worry about me. I've had, I've had a couple quotes on my dash saying "just do you" a couple times during this Chase. Especially I put those on the dash of the race cars in the races I know that may not be my best races, and it's easy for me to hit the panic button at those tracks. So I just worry about myself, get the best finish I can for myself, and I'm not gonna change how anyone else runs during that weekend. So just worry about myself and don't worry about anyone else and I'll always be successful no matter what.

MS: You made a declaration when you won Homestead last year in Victory Lane to me. Do you remember what it was?

DH: I do. And I can remember it like it was yesterday. And I was, I was so confident. I remember stepping out of that car at Homestead because that was my first mile-and-a-half win and immediately a light bulb went off. It was like, "you know what? I figured this out. I know how to win a Championship now."

And I said in Victory Lane, I said, "within the next two years, I'll be a champ." And I still stick by that. No matter what. If it's not this year, it'll be next year. But I just feel like I was championship-caliber, talent-wise, last year. But I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle together like I did this year. And next year -- no matter what, championship or not, if I win it this year -- I'm gonna be better. And so, you know, I see my expectations just going higher.

MS: You have all that confidence when you leave Homestead last November. And then in January, you suffer the knee injury. What type of emotional setback was that for you?

DH: It was big. I didn't, I didn't realize how big of an injury this was or how it was going to affect me in the car as much until I had to experience it and go through it. You hear about it all the time and constantly see on TV the ACL injuries on this type of player, out for the season, and you think, "Oh, it's just like a broken bone? Once it's healed, it's done and you're ready to go." And it's not. It's the most painful thing I ever had to go through. Phoenix was hell. I, there's no way I should have been in that racecar. And it was just an immediate letdown that, OK, we started our season like crap -- we ran terrible, we were 20th in points or something -- and we make a decision to go ahead and get the surgery done and basically throw away our season.

For me that was tough. I remember having to walk into Martinsville's media center knowing I was about to tell all you guys that we were going to have this surgery and thinking, "This is it. I can see this on every news [station], you know, that I'm going to break down and say I'm sacrificing my season and we're going to move on to the next one." But, you know, just something went off. When I got out of that hospital and came home and started working on therapy it was like, it was almost like rebuilding myself. It really was. Through physical therapy I just had to think about it like racing -- trying to improve, get better than I was at the beginning. And so I just used it as motivation and two weeks later we're in Victory Lane at Texas.

MS: Let's go back to Phoenix before we get to Texas. By all means you could have got out of that thing and nobody would have said a word. What did you learn about yourself that night?

DH: I almost kind of didn't believe what went through my mind when, OK, when I got out of the racecar and we were done, I thought to myself, "Two years ago, I would have got out of this car without a doubt. Last year, I probably would have got out of the car without a doubt." But I just felt like I didn't have to force it, but the team leader in me just stepped up right there and said that no matter what, I don't care if I'm going to finish 30th -- I'm going to stay in this car and fight for y'all.

Because I guarantee you any one of those pit crew guys, anyone of the guys that work in the shop that work on my car, would have gave their knee for me that day. And so I was willing to do it for them. And it didn't matter what I had to go through, because I'm the one who put us in that situation and I had to be held responsible.

MS: What did Joe Gibbs Racing learn about you that night?

DH: I think, immediately, my commitment to the race team, and my commitment to the sport and everything, just immediately people didn't question, you know, was my heart in it? Because there were times throughout my career and we would have a bad race and I just would be south for two weeks, I'd be pissed off. And immediately I think people realized that I was in it. I was in deep with this race team and I wasn't going to go anywhere. You know, I can't tell you how many team guys that said how much they appreciated me staying in that car, because the easy way out was to hit the escape button.

MS: How hard is it to say what you really think in this sport?

DH: It's tough. I always joke around that when my career is over and it's long over, I'm going to write a book about everything that goes on outside of racing. I doubt it'd be a good idea and I'm not going to be Jose Canseco by any means, but for me, there's so much that goes on inside and outside this sport that people don't know about and it's so tough at times to hold your tongue and know that some things are not right. But you got to just bite your lip.

MS: I interviewed Tony Stewart in a very similar fashion last year and he's grown up a lot, too, being a team owner and whatnot, and he said "you know what? I don't really say what I think that much anymore, because the two weeks of mess that I have to clean up isn't worth the two minutes of satisfaction of saying what I think." Respond.

DH: Absolutely true. Without a doubt. Tony has been the first one to grab me and say, "Just shut the hell up sometimes! I said these same things and it ain't worth the mess when you gotta clean it up. I know this is screwed up, and I know that's screwed up, but you ain't gotta tell everyone!" And I just laugh and I think about that and it's like, Tony has probably been my father figure throughout my racing career and been closer to me as non-teammates as we were teammates. So if there's anyone I can learn example by, it's Tony. It's funny because immediately after I say something about NASCAR, he's the first to invite me over to the bus and say "Listen man, I've been through this. You're not gonna win, just shut up!" He's a good person to not always follow by example, but he's pretty wise.

MS: Especially with that diet you're trying to keep yourself on. Don't follow his.

DH: No. There was Burger King sitting on the counter so …

MS: How much do you care what your peers think of you?

DH: A lot. Honestly, I'm not one of those guys that just goes out there and worries about myself and doesn't care about the respect of everyone else. Because I firmly believe and I found out my rookie season that any one of these guys can make your job hell if they want to. Any of them, if you piss them off. And for me, I don't want to have to go through that. So I race everyone with a lot of respect, I feel like, and on the racetrack I feel like I've been good to everyone and off the racetrack same thing.

You look at guys that maybe haven't accomplished as much as others, probably have as much or more respect than Jimmie Johnson does and he's won four straight. That's the balance in our sport and it's tough for people to always see what people's characters are like away from the racetrack, but there's a lot of good people in our sport and it's unfortunate that people kind of characterize people that get a bad rap at times.

MS: Let's talk Twitter. You had endeared yourself as this "man of the people" through Twitter. People loved it. NASCAR swoops in and slaps you on the wrist and your wallet -- what did you learn about how this thing works in that particular instance?

DH: It took a lot of meetings for me to understand how the public views NASCAR and what they think about our sport. I've really come to realize the negative comments, trying to critique NASCAR in certain ways, it didn't help. You see it in ratings, you see it in interest level and things like that, it really does affect our sport when drivers who are part of it are the first ones to go and bash it.

You don't see any other sport where the players are hacking off at the NFL. But it's like every week we continue to question their authority. That's their job. It's a judgment call because they're the experts, they make the best decision they can each and every week. And for me, I always looked at it like "How did it benefit me or how did it hurt me?" Not "how did it benefit or hurt the sport?" and that's something I didn't realize until this year.

MS: So, you've discussed how you've learned your lesson and that you have to be a little bit more tactful in your approach. But the one question that any fan would want to ask is, if you are passionate about something NASCAR has done, are you still willing to say it?

DH: It's not different than when I said weeks and months and years ago, that when someone asks me a question, I'm gonna give a 100 percent honest answer. It makes no difference if a fan asks me something at an autograph line -- "what do I think about this?" -- I'm going to say the truth. Now, am I gonna be a little bit more careful with how I'm gonna bring it across? For sure. Without a doubt. Because I know there's a bigger picture than just myself. I'm always gonna speak my mind, but it's just gonna be a little bit more tactful.

MS: Last week, you said something that really intrigued me. That Jimmie Johnson has influenced your career as much as anyone. Why?

DH: The way he's become champion has been the best I've ever seen. Without a doubt, he has respect from everyone on the racetrack -- sure he gets in scuffles here and there with guys, very minor stuff -- but he's always good at deflecting when he is faced with adversity or with a tough question that he's gotta come up with an honest answer, he does a good job of deflecting.

On the racetrack, I feel like he's one of the cleanest racers out there. And he wins more than anyone else. That's tough to do. It's tough to be a winner and be clean all in the same sentence. He manages to do that. And on top of that, he never makes his job harder because, you know, he said the wrong thing. And I think that other than probably Jeff Gordon of many years ago, that just hasn't been seen in our sport in a long time.

MS: Drivers grow up dreaming of racing cars. All that comes with it, you're not necessarily ready for. Fame, money, women. Most guys are really uncomfortable with that and would rather shun it. You seem OK with fame. What's it like with all the perks that come with it?

DH: I think I handle it well now. I don't necessarily think I handled it well the first couple of years. I think that the first two years it cost me a lot. It cost me relationships. There's a lot of things that I had to change over the last couple of years that I didn't like about myself. So, it all looks good now and anyone that meets me now thinks, "Oh, you're pretty grounded for being in the position you are …" well, I had to get knocked back down to be the person I am today.

MS: What did you have to change and how did you get knocked back down?

DH: A lot of it is some personal stuff, but I feel like I at times alienated family, I feel like there were times when all I cared about was myself and I only looked out for myself, and nowadays I feel like that's not the case. I'm the total opposite of that now. I feel like I am the same person now than I was when I was 15, 16 years old. I just have a little bit more money.

DH: How easy is it to lose yourself, forget, when that fame come so quickly?

DH: It's extremely easy. And the only excuse that I can give myself for kind of the way I was early in my career, is that -- I challenge anyone to go from racing Late Models, working 50 hours a week to put tires on a race car; to the Cup Series in one year, nonetheless, and see how they take it. See how they react. And I guarantee you it's a tough job. That's why you see in other sports, they have counseling for rookies in every other sport of how are you going to handle the fame now that you've got it. NASCAR doesn't have that, but I definitely could have used it.

MS: Should they?

DH: I don't know. I look at the young guys nowadays and I think that they are more grounded than probably what I was. But it was tough. I can't express that I got thrown into this situation so fast. I literally had no time to run the Nationwide Series for a couple years to get used to a few appearances here and there, sponsor obligations -- it was like the first couple of years, "Hell no, I don't want to do this, I don't want to do that, I don't want to do this interview, I don't want to do this sponsor stuff. Why do I gotta take care of them? Isn't my job just to go out there and win races?" And you realize that there's such a bigger picture to being successful in our sport other than winning races.

MS: It's kind of like that Dire Straits song "Money for Nothing."

DH: (Laughs) Very similar.

MS: If you listen to the words in that song, it's guys moving refrigerators in the kitchen, looking at MTV at these guys playing guitars saying, "Man, they got it made …" There's a whole lot of guys racing Late Model cars that don't have a damn bit of remorse for you …

DH: Or, yeah …you think about P. Diddy …"More Money More Problems"

MS: I find it tremendous to be at a charity event with you where you have to raise money in a hurry, and you can pull out your phone and say, "Hum, Michael Jordan. Hey, Adam Sandler." That can't suck!

DH: No! There's times when I pull out my phone and I'm going through and I'm looking for someone in my contact list and it's like "Damn, I can't believe I have his number!" There's many times where I scroll by Jeff Gordon's and I'm like "Damn, I can't believe I have Jeff Gordon's phone number!" You know? And because he's just been someone I've always looked up to throughout my whole racing career. He was the guy that revolutionized racing as we all know it. So it's amazing to me the people I've been able to meet and the friends I've been able to establish, simply because I am a NASCAR driver.

MS: The Jeff Gordon part intrigues me. You've told me before that there'll be times when you're in his presence and you're still sort of like … it's Jeff Gordon!?

DH: It's pretty amazing. And a lot of it goes on when we're doing pace laps. For me, the more surreal moments, honestly, are right before a green flag and I got Jeff Gordon in the row right in front of me, Dale Jr. is the guy right beside me, and it's just, Jeff Burton is right there. It's just guys that I've grown up watching and watched them race thousands of laps. I've been studying these guys for 10-15 years -- I know their every move -- are right here in front of me and I'm gonna race them for 500 miles. That's the more surreal moment that I have each and every week.

MS: Don't ever lose that.

DH: I never will and it's still amazing to me. And hopefully, one rookie that comes in in 2015 will think that when he sees me.

FORT WORTH, Texas -- Texas Rangers starting pitcher C.J. Wilson stood comfortably in the Texas Motor Speedway media center, describing to a few reporters the mental tug-of-war between the euphoria of his team's first World Series run, and the subsequent heartbreak of squandering it.

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Tom Pennington/Getty ImagesC.J. Wilson got to drive the pace car for Sunday's Sprint Cup race at Texas Motor Speedway.

Minutes prior, outside, he had a close encounter with the track's retaining wall as a passenger of Sprint Cup pace car driver Brett Bodine.

"Being a passenger 6 to 10 inches from a concrete barrier isn't the most calm moment," said Wilson, who later that day would take the pace car wheel from Bodine and lead the field to the green flag. "It was a high-heart-rate moment. [Bodine] was like, 'Don't worry, I'm a professional.'

"Tommy Hunter [fellow Ranger] was in the backseat [screaming] 'Faster! Faster! I was bracing myself and getting a feel for what it looks like going that fast through the banking. It's very different from what you see on TV."

Just a bit. But Wilson is good with that. He has the racing bug, and he said if baseball didn't get in the way, he'd slam gears and mash the gas full time. Then he stopped, smiled, and offered a verbal self-reminder of how ridiculous that thought is: Without baseball he wouldn't have the bank account to race.

Baseball has never been better for the left-hander, who will celebrate his 30th birthday on Nov. 18. He won 15 games in 2010 and threw three complete games. His previous career high in wins was five. He'd never before gone the distance. If baseball is Wilson's first love, racing is his mistress. He loves speed, and said he once did 315 kilometers per hour (196 mph) on the Autobahn.

"In somebody else's car," he grinned. "That's over 185 mph. Maybe 190. I don't know the exact calculation."

I asked how he thinks Rangers' GM Nolan Ryan will feel when he reads that.

"It was years ago!" he laughed. "No, I take calculated risks. Life's too short to deprive myself of that pleasure. It's something I take very seriously, in terms of safety. I'm not cavalier at all. It's a level of pleasure I don't get doing anything else."

Wilson races as much as possible, some 19 times last year alone. The highlight of his 2009 racing schedule came last November, when he debuted in the NASA 25 Hours of Thunderhill, a sports car endurance race held in California. The next big jump would be the Rolex 24 at Daytona, which he said he'd love to try and figures he could perform every bit as well as Patrick Dempsey does.

All said, he has competed in more than 30 races.

When he said that, my interest was piqued. If he's raced that much, he has an opinion on whether drivers are athletes.

So I asked.

"There's a lot of race car drivers that have the hand-eye coordination to go hit a baseball or throw a football, but there's not a lot of baseball players that have the mental fortitude to drive a race car," Wilson explained.

"Racing is much more mentally taxing than anybody has a clue until they do it. Especially for NASCAR."

Why NASCAR?

"The ability for those guys to go in there and hang in there for three and a half hours -- and without the whole day to be alone and go grind it out. They have to do press interviews and sign stuff and interact with fans," Wilson said.

"People don't understand how hard that is. For us, we show up at 2 o'clock and don't play until 7. We're all by ourselves pretty much, other than some interviews here and there. You get used to the focus of turning it on.

"Physically, baseball is harder, over the course of a season in terms of having more aches and pains or whatever, but being a race car driver in NASCAR, and driving 36 races or whatever, that's a grind. I don't think anybody realizes how long that season really is. I think race car drivers are definitely athletes."

Amen, sir.

So does his post-MLB plan include racing?

"If I had a nice bank account and was done with baseball, I'd be doing it every weekend," he said. "I take it very seriously. I prepare. I read books. I have a simulator at home and I train. During the offseason it's really my main focus. I'd love to keep doing it. It's a matter of the finances and skill level getting to a point where it makes sense. Because I have to get sponsorship at some point to compete professionally."

FORT WORTH, Texas -- Nov. 7, 2010, was a good day for NASCAR. It may well have been a landmark day.

In a time when we hear incessant complaints about boring races and vanilla drivers and runaway points championships, the Sprint Cup Series put on a show for the ages at Texas Motor Speedway.

There was anger. There were fisticuffs. There was divorce. There was bravado.

And the sport needed it. Every bit.

The drama began when Kyle Busch was cited for speeding off pit lane to beat the pace car and assessed a penalty. While serving the penalty in his pit stall, idling, Busch fired off a pair of single-digit salutes, double-barrel, Texas-style, at a NASCAR official.

It's not OK. NASCAR said its men and women work hard and fair, and deserve respect. That is unequivocally true. But right, wrong or indifference aside, many NASCAR fans understand and appreciate emotion in the moment. Just because it's childish doesn't mean we don't understand it. Many of us have been there.

It's real. NASCAR needs real.

The day ended with a furious dash to the checkers by Denny Hamlin that culminated in a gutsy (PC description) crossover move to win it, when he easily could have coasted to the points lead with a second-place effort. It was a man hell-bent to grab his title shot by the throat and squeeze. It was an offensive approach in a moment where better judgment may have suggested otherwise.

Fans appreciate that. That's what they paid 50 bucks to see.

There was a pair of soap operas to boot, one of which involved Jimmie Johnson's pit crew. They were benched on the big stage, right there in prime time for the world to see, in favor of Jeff Gordon's bunch. The 48 crew faltered one too many times, and Chad Knaus sat them. He didn't like doing it, but he's not here to run second.

"Everything's on the table," Knaus said. "If Steve Letarte can call a better race than me, I'm going to put him on my pit box."

There are two races remaining and the four-time defending champions are broken.

Johnson had no remorse, saying they're there to win a title and if anyone's feelings are hurt, too bad.

That may not have happened had Gordon not been dumped by Jeff Burton. Straight-up wrecked. Burton admitted fault, but Gordon wasn't much into hearing apologies. Gordon was so livid he exited his car, walked down the backstretch and shoved Burton. He then went for the headlock before the two were separated by NASCAR officials.

The grandstand went completely bonkers. If you didn't know better, you'd swear Junior just took the lead.

Gordon and Burton hollered at each other a little bit longer -- officials separating them all the while -- then climbed into the same ambulance for a ride to the infield hospital. Gordon said Burton did a lot of talking on that ride. He also said he didn't do much listening.

I've never seen Gordon come unglued like that. To me, he was much madder this go-round than he was at Matt Kenseth in Bristol a couple of years back.

And if you'd told me Sunday morning that two NASCAR drivers would get in a fight, those are the last two I'd expect.

It was awesome. Gordon said he was glad he had that long walk down the backstretch. Had Burton been closer, Gordon said he'd have done something he regretted. Gordon said he wanted to "do more" but thought better of it. He wasn't the least bit ashamed for anything he did.

He shouldn't be. It was raw, real emotion, uninhibited by the corporate conscience.

Back in 1979, a fight between Cale Yarborough and the Alabama Allisons helped catapult NASCAR into mainstream relevance.

Who knows? Maybe we'll look back someday at this brisk night in Texas and think Gordon and Burton helped keep it there.

This is an account of a month-long rambling thought process. I love NASCAR racing and I want it to flourish. But right now it's not. Here's why I believe one racer with unparalleled commercial appeal can help.

NASCAR needs Travis Pastrana.

It was a sunny Saturday morning at Auto Club Speedway last month. The obnoxious hum of Sprint Cup Happy Hour practice was wailing in the background, and I was walking from the garage to the media room on the suite level, head buried in my Blackberry when a familiar voice hollered my name.

I looked down to ground-level and saw a longtime NASCAR industry friend of mine, obviously frustrated. We'd been in the sport together for at least a decade, and witnessed the gradual decline in interest before our very eyes.

Like me this person is eternally optimistic, and has long reminded me to remain so. But on this morning, she was not. She had called my name to voice concern and pose a question: What's wrong? And how are we going to fix it?

I was surprised. She finally caved.

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Christian Pondella/Getty ImagesTravis Pastrana would help get a major demographic instantly interested in NASCAR.

That's the biggest question facing NASCAR as we speed towards season's end. It is a simple question with a very complex answer. There is no single alteration that can fix what ails us.

What's wrong? And how are we going to fix it?

Years of evolution have stacked up to construct the current predicament.

To me, NASCAR competition is at an all-time high. The races -- the on-track product on Sunday afternoons -- are great. But -- humor me as I continue to beat this drum -- races need to be shorter. Three hundred miles of I-cant-sit-and-ride-and-wait-for-the-next-pitstop-adjustment-so-I-best -get-my-butt-to-the-front-right-now competition is the first big fix. The next one is a 26-to-28-race schedule.

We don't need to fight football. It is a losing proposition. Every. Time.

During the last decade some old-school fans became disenchanted and bailed out. But we still have millions of folks willing to hang on. We need to be as loyal to them as they are to us, and do whatever it takes to retain them as fans.

We need to lower ticket prices and we sure as heck need to get hotel prices under control. It's asinine in most towns. If ESPN didn't pay for my room, I wouldn't have a room. I couldn't afford it, and even if I could, principle would tell me to stay home.

But the biggest void is the old-school rivalry and the old-school hero. These days corporate American influence disallows our boys from being outspoken and unwilling to take any mess. Speak out? Get slapped. Punch a guy in the nose? Sit and watch for a while.

NASCAR can do whatever it pleases, and what pleases NASCAR is money.

Anything that jeopardizes the show will pay its own price. I understand that philosophy. The property and those that foot its bill are too important to tolerate riff raff.

But I'll be danged if riff raff didn't build the property.

That, then, got me to thinking about the new, polished NASCAR driver. These boys didn't grow up dreaming of mainstream fame and all that comes with it -- piles of money, lavish toys, gorgeous women, the like. They grew up dreaming of winning 500-mile symphonies in Daytona Beach or Indianapolis. They grew up simple with huge dreams of slingin' steel and rubber sideways at 190 mph.

They didn't grow up dreaming of peddling razors or wrenches or deodorant or energy drinks. They didn't grow up honing a likable personality that resonates in living rooms all over this country.

But truth told, the success of NASCAR racing all goes back to the drivers. As the drivers go, so goes NASCAR. Again, NASCAR owns the game and they can adjust it however they deem fit. But without stars it's hard to sell the sport. And the sport's foundation is green paper.

That rambling mess is what went through my mind that Saturday morning in California.

And that's when I began thinking about Pastrana.

Pastrana is a walking (flipping, flying, parachuting, jumping, sliding, crashing) tow-ball, to which NASCAR should find a way to hitch up its wagon. He is an international icon, revered for his daring and willingness to redefine "The limit."

As a result, his mainstream appeal is larger than any personality currently in the sport, including Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Danica Patrick. And if he came, the flat-billed X-Games crowd would instantly give NASCAR a look. Pastrana is authentic and charismatic, with a preexisting fan base that is ardently loyal. Few celebrities rival his cult following.

It is fascinating to see drivers from other racing disciplines flock to him. Even the craziest SOBs on Earth marvel at his calculated insanity.

Granted, he has said before he wasn't overly interested in stock cars. But he's pretty busted up from years of yard sales. He is passionate about rally car racing, not to mention quite good at it.

But Pastrana and his merry band of misfits are marketing geniuses, so for them the immense NASCAR platform would be magical: Nitro Circus meets the NASCAR circus.

I believe it will eventually happen, and I hope it happens soon, while Pastrana is young and vibrant and in his prime. I hope he hops to NASCAR and strives for excellence on and off the racetrack. I hope he does it, because like Danica, NASCAR would benefit greatly from his success in their arena.

I hope he aligns with a team owner and sponsor that allow him to be him -- possibly even start his own team. Not only is Pastrana the real deal. He is … well … real.

Why do hardcore NASCAR fans love Dale Jr. and loathe Jimmie Johnson? Because -- accurate or not -- they view Junior as real and Johnson as vanilla.

NASCAR could use more real right now.

NASCAR's fans yearn for it.

For all that ails us, one import would provide only a small boost. But it's a boost. And NASCAR needs to move the needle any way possible.

It's time to lure the 199.

Few folks influenced me quite like Jim Hunter did. He invested in me fully, defended me when the Daytona brass wanted a chunk out of my hide, belly-laughed with me when I did something stupid.

He recognized and appreciated folks with a passion for life that equaled his. He celebrated that, and taught us to celebrate it, too.

[+] Enlarge
AP Photo/Paul SancyaJuan Pablo Montoya, left, was a frequent golfing companion with Jim Hunter. Hunter's trademark track attire made his love of golf obvious.

Sometimes, I'd come home to snail mail from Hunter. He'd print out something I wrote, and scribble notes in the margins. "This is great, BD! (But don't tell Mike [Helton] I said so!)" or "BD, this is crazy talk!" He'd always sign off with a little "Hunter smiley face." He'd draw a smiley with a mustache, just like his.

Hunter was a master craftsman, among the very best spin doctors the NASCAR industry ever saw. He would grab a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a pack of matches, light a Salem and draw a puff, adjust the trademark "NASCAR 1948" hat atop his head, and in a matter of minutes churn NASCAR's biggest messes into steaming casseroles of stretched truths and hilarity.

Recipients often knew he was feeding them a line of mess. But it was Hunter. So for whatever reason, it was OK. With Hunter came an unquestioned acceptance of his genius -- deflection. Nobody else had a chance to get away with his approach.

But he was old school. And for me, somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I knew he was Bill France Jr.'s best friend and had run with the old guard from town to town, building my path to right here, right now.

He'd held every position from reporter to track president to sanctioning body vice president. He was a revolutionary promoter, a hands-on guy who took out the trash and stapled fliers to telephone poles.

He loved NASCAR. He lived NASCAR.

So I listened intently always, scribbled some notes and laughed a lot.

No matter how heated any reporter got during a conversation with him, that reporter left with a grin.

He was one of those folks you just never wanted to disappoint.

At heart, Hunter was a gunslinger. That's why he and I were tight; thick as thieves for my entire career. Before I transitioned from print-only to television -- and therefore had to look something that resembled presentable -- I'd stumble into media centers from coast to coast with a scruffy face and red eyes in search of some Goody's Headache Powder. He'd sidle up beside me, grab a chair and chuckle out loud, then grill me for details about the previous night's escapades.

He loved it. And I did, too, because invariably my idiocy opened the door to a priceless account of his; of days gone by, back when Hunter covered the NASCAR tour for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and ran hard with the drivers of the day. Nobody knew David Pearson like Hunter did. Pearson is the greatest driver ever, and his legend goes far beyond the cockpit of a race car. Hunter's accounts were classic.

I would always take Hunter's stories, log them away and immediately call my daddy to retell them. Daddy would howl -- he loved tales of men who manhandled steel and rubber for 500 miles and tossed back Old Milwaukee in the hotel lobby with the mortals afterward -- and Hunter would laugh just as hard when I told him about Daddy's reaction.

Hunter loved golf and slot machines almost as much as he loved racing. Possibly more, even. His attire was as sure as the sun -- golf pants, golf shirt, sleeveless golf sweater, golf shoes. Every day.

I busted his chops about it often -- so for Christmas one year he sent me a pair of golf shoes just like his: white-toed, brown golf shoes. Attached was a note, "You need these." I can see him chuckling while writing it. I don't play golf, yet. But I've been thinking about it. When I do, those shoes are ready. They're still in my closet. I'll keep them always.

Hunter had a bad back for a time, and as a result was unable to swing his clubs for a couple of years. He ultimately had surgery, and afterward returned to the links. He was reborn. He played with drivers often, guys like Jimmie Johnson and Juan Pablo Montoya. His face lit up when he discussed it. He went to Scotland to play, too. It was the time of his life.

As for the slots, when we raced at Dover and you couldn't raise him on the phone, you would just walk into the casino. In Vegas, he camped out in the Bellagio and pulled the lever for hours on end.

Nothing, though, made him smile more than his grandson, Dakota. Every time I saw him there was a new tale of Dakota's exploits. It is a wonderful blessing to see that level of pride.

To me, Hunter's legacy is transparency. Despite the way this column started -- making light of Hunter's casserole approach -- there is no question he changed the way NASCAR communicates. Today's executives are far more accessible than they were before he moved in at NASCAR HQ in Daytona. When NASCAR dialed his phone and implored him to direct its communications ship after Dale Earnhardt died, the game changed.

Prior to that, the answer was always "no." It is now, at the very least, "let me check." That is all Hunter.

He was the lynchpin between good ol' boy coverage and what we have today, with the Associated Press and USA Today and other national news outlets covering the sport daily. He was the face of the sport when adversity struck. When the Hendrick Motorsports plane crashed near Martinsville in 2004, Hunter told the world. When Jeremy Mayfield was suspended for drugs, Hunter told the world.

He was also able to tame NASCAR's fiercest lions. He'd go visit Kevin Harvick and Tony Stewart in their motor homes for a chat. And, like we reporters, they were always far better for it. He had an uncanny knack for common-sense perspective.

I'll miss him terribly. He was a wonderful mentor, with a laser-sharp wit that taught us all to have fun. He left an indelible mark on hundreds of people, and you will never find anyone with a cross word about him.

That's a pretty good run. RIP, BD.

FONTANA, Calif. -- If anyone knows United States Auto Club talent, it's Tony Stewart. He's a four-time USAC champion, and won the Triple Crown in 1995. He is indisputably one of the greatest ever in those parts.

So Sunday evening after his victory in the Pepsi Max 400 at Auto Club Speedway, I asked for Stewart's thoughts on Shane Hmiel's racing talent and progress as a dirt racer.

"When Shane started running Silver Crown cars and midgets I was like, 'oh man, this could be interesting,' because he'd never driven those types of cars," Stewart said. "He was never scared of it. He never backed down from it and said, 'I have to learn this.' And he's given 110 percent ever since Day 1.

"He's really turned into a great open-wheel driver."

Stewart offered his thoughts on the accident that left Hmiel in critical condition with head injuries and fractures to his neck and back. Hmiel, you may recall, received a lifetime ban from NASCAR in 2006 for violating the sport's substance-abuse policy for a third time.

As word of Hmiel's accident, which occurred during qualifying for the Silver Crown race in Terre Haute, Ind., began filtering through the NASCAR community Saturday, Stewart got on the phone. He called Irish Saunders, an old friend who works for Hoosier Tires.

Saunders was on his way to Indianapolis Methodist Hospital to visit Hmiel. Saunders' son, Eric, was paralyzed from the chest down, following a motocross training accident the day before his 18th birthday on Aug. 28.

When Stewart won Atlanta on Labor Day weekend, he dedicated the win to Eric.

Sunday, Stewart mentioned Hmiel in Victory Lane.

"That's actually part of the reason I had called Irish last night, was to check on Shane," Stewart said. "[His kind of accident] is something that doesn't happen a lot in open-wheel racing. It was just a freak accident that happened, and the way that he crashed, the way he hit the concrete wall, not too many guys hit like that. But it was a devastating hit, and obviously his injuries reflected that.

"But to get an update from those guys at Indianapolis this morning and hear how well he made it through the night, and hearing the optimistic thoughts from the doctors made us all, I think I breathed a sigh of relief today, knowing that he made it through that first night. That's a big step.

"To hear the doctors say they don't think there's going to be any paralysis with a broken neck and broken back, that's why we mentioned it in Victory Lane. Definitely our thoughts are with him right now."

FONTANA, Calif. -- David Reutimann is generally the docile, self-deprecating type. He doesn't say much unless asked, and isn't inclined to get overly worked up about on-track skirmishes. Wrecking, he figures, is just part of racing.

But last weekend in Kansas, Kyle Busch pushed him too far, and their disdain for one another boiled over into unabashed hell-bent payback.

It's akin to Ralphy's Revenge in the "Christmas Story" movie. That redheaded boy picked on Ralphy one time too many, and the only way to end the torment was to wear him out like Rocky Balboa on a cow carcass.

When it came to fights, my old man used to stress to me: Don't start any of them, but finish them all. Otherwise the picking will never stop.

"Bottom line is nothing would have happened if he hadn't wrecked me. It's the bottom line -- it really is that simple," Reutimann said Friday. "It's not complicated. It's not rocket science. It's just all about respect. And the fact of the matter is he went down there he wrecked me 50 laps into the race backed my car into the fence and he never said anything about it, so he didn't care."

Several drivers -- including garage voice-of-reason Jeff Burton -- came to Busch's defense. From their perspective Busch didn't intentionally dump Reutimann. That doesn't necessarily matter, because the feud wasn't born at Kansas. I'm told it goes back years, and hit the rev-chip at Kansas following a summer full of verbal jabs at one another.

"I heard him get out of the throttle, but if you are David Reutimann and you've been wrecked over the last several weeks and you have had an issue with someone in the past, and now you are having an issue with him again, what recourse do you have?" Burton said. "There are two ways of doing it. You can take something they've got or you have to put fear in them. It can't be idle words. If you tell somebody what you are going to do and then if you don't do it, then it is worse than not ever saying anything."

Both drivers said Friday they'll gladly continue the drama if the other so desires. Certainly, both know it's best to move on. But it's never that easy when emotion is involved.

"I didn't cut him any slack, and you know, I got into him which was my fault, not meaning to, but why would I apologize to a guy that races me like an a------ every week? No point," Busch said.

Busch said Reutimann's banzai run to the fence was intentional, and done with "malicious intent." I asked Reutimann for a response. He didn't disagree.

The fallout from this is wide-reaching. Busch's title hopes took a serious hit, and many were left pondering playoff racing etiquette. Should non-Chasers defer to Chasers?

Negative. The consensus is to go like hell, just make sure you race me like you've always raced me. If you gave me room at Martinsville in April, give me room now.

"Every driver should race every driver the same way they race the entire year," said Ryan Newman, a non-Chaser known for his aggressive nature. "No matter Chase or no Chase.

"There are drivers that are in the Chase that maybe got in the Chase because of the way they raced before the Chase. Sometimes they got to get paid back for that, if you want to call it a payback. I don't think that there is anything different from a Chase racer to a non-Chase racer."

Kevin Harvick agreed.

"I think everybody needs to race as hard as they can," Harvick said. "You know everybody will race everybody with respect, and obviously if you feel like you've been done wrong, you are going to handle it how you think it needs to be handled."

It's the same Golden Rule my momma pounded into my brain until the day she died: Treat people like you want to be treated.

It's a simple principle with dynamic repercussions, both good and bad.

"You know, you have all of these past moments throughout the year that could rear their ugly head again if they haven't been settled," Harvick said. "And [Busch-Reutimann], to me, looked like something that hadn't been settled, hadn't been talked about off the racetrack. So there was just too much emotion involved in that whole situation."

"You have to drive people with respect all the time," Burton said. "You can't pick and choose when you want somebody to respect, and you can't pick and choose when you want to respect them. It has to be all the time or none of the time.

"As a Chase guy, and as a guy trying to win the championship, I don't want anybody messing with me. The guy that is second in points, and [the guy that] is 20th in points, I want them to race me the same way today as they did three months ago. And I don't have a problem with that, because I figure I race people with respect and I'm going to get that back."

Racer's have eternally long memories, no matter what they may say publicly.

The debate is rather fundamental, and centers on just one thing.

Qeue Aretha …

A couple summers ago, I was standing in Victory Lane at Bristol Motor Speedway on an August Saturday, staring into a camera positioned just in front of a packed Turn 3 grandstand. "SportsCenter" was on the other end, licking its chops for all the juicy details of NASCAR's soap opera du jour: Dale Jr. versus Teresa.

Dusk loomed. It was a gorgeous evening, an hour before the green flag in Thunder Valley. Around the track swirled a fleet of pickup trucks carrying in its beds the Sprint Cup starting field, two-by-two.

In one of those trucks rode Earnhardt Jr., who, not surprisingly, was all the talk after publicly defending his stepmother, Teresa Earnhardt, to a loyal, unapologetic fan base who had teed off on her on message boards and radio call-in shows after Junior's lifelong feud with her had gone nastily public.

I didn't know exactly what the anchor would ask me just then, but I had a good idea. I was prepared to discuss the feud, its history and how a decades-long relationship, always cold, had completely frozen. And when the red light came on and the question was posed, I suddenly changed course. The foundation of the feud's aftermath was simple, and age-old:

I can say whatever I want about my family. I can call them out. I can criticize them.
But you can't. No matter how close you and I are.
And if you try on my behalf, you won't get the response you desired.
I'll have my brother's back.

I thought about that story last Saturday, when Kevin Harvick sent a message to Denny Hamlin at Dover -- first on the racetrack then off it. Harvick's message was one of the coolest things I'd seen in a NASCAR garage in quite some time. It was loud. It was clear. It was forthright and honest, and there was no mistaking it.

And, fundamentally, it was no different than Junior's message to his fans about Teresa.

Harvick can be very hard on his guys. He expects excellence in all facets of competition at all times. And if they're not excellent, he rips them to shreds -- sometimes mercilessly. But they're his guys. And even if they hate the tongue-lashings (I would), they know why Harvick doles them out.

And when another driver (Hamlin) took it upon himself to criticize the entire Richard Childress Racing organization, to publicly label it a cheater, Harvick instantly made it his personal mission to retaliate.

I love that loyalty.

But it wasn't until I spoke with Hamlin this week that I got a true sense of the story. Hamlin was defending his guys, too. He felt Clint Bowyer had slighted the No. 11 team during his media session, and at that point Hamlin went into defense mode.

He knew there would be repercussions for his comments -- and my, there were -- but he felt it more important to make sure his team was given due credit than to concern himself with any repercussions.

Hamlin went too far. He readily admits that. His crew chief said it was stupid. His owner reminded him that not everyone needs to hear his opinion on everything.

That is true. And while Joe Gibbs probably wanted to pull his hair out, I bet deep down he admired Hamlin's loyalty, too, once the driver explained himself. The most intriguing revelation was Hamlin's close friendship with Harvick. In fact, he said Harvick is among his best friends on the racetrack -- if not the very best.

That in itself speaks volumes about how these men feel about their teams.

You may be my best friend. But don't go trashing my family.