While strolling down pit road Saturday evening at Richmond, I was approached by a group of guys my parents' age.

"Where'd The Six go?" one said, referring to the original half-dozen or so readers whose e-mails were featured in the Q&A portion of my column.

After a hefty ration of razzing, they expressed disappointment in its hiatus, said they used to debate it over beers every Friday night and that I need to get off my keister and get back after it.

If that's not a reason to be more consistent with it, nothing is.

Have at it, Six …

Marty,

If you had to pick a different Chase driver every race, what order would you go in?

-- Presumed facetious nickname I can't print, Minnesota

These types of fantasy leagues are extremely difficult, because you have to be quite strategic and well-versed on who's consistently good where. Nostradamus I'm not, but I'll try. Full disclosure: 95 percent of this is based on hunch, with minimal study of average finishes at each track.

• Loudon: Jeff Burton
• Dover: Jimmie Johnson
• Kansas: Carl Edwards
• California: Kyle Busch
• Charlotte: Tony Stewart
• Martinsville: Denny Hamlin
• Talladega: Kevin Harvick
• Texas: Clint Bowyer
• Phoenix: Jeff Gordon
• Homestead: Greg Biffle

Now, based on this, it's probably time to go put your money on Kurt Busch to win Loudon.

Marty,

With such an even field heading into the Chase, why do anything to change it? Is competition so bad?

-- Bernadette Vielhaber, Cleveland

Not even. Competition is better than it's ever been, Bernadette. I repeat: Better. Than. Ever. But fan interest has waned, and therefore so have ticket sales and television ratings. That's what's driving that decision. Which segues well to this …

Marty,

Is NASCAR considering shortening the season? Could the dropping TV ratings and lagging attendance be due to oversaturation?

-- Shannon, The Gooch, Virginia

No. They aren't considering shortening the season at this time. Should they? Absolutely. I've said it forever -- 30 races is perfect. Start in February. End on Labor Day. Stop fighting football for fans and ratings. Problem is it's far more convoluted than merely saying, "OK, we're going to cut some races."

There are countless political variables involved in shortening the season -- and for that matter, even shortening races.

To name a couple, teams sell sponsorship based on a 36-race schedule and television partners sell advertising based on length of races from previous years. All manner of things are impacted by that decision.

Marty,

Who's your pick to win the Chase? Give me a dark horse, too, please. I need the help. Office pool.

-- Dan Helton, North Dakota

Come on, Dan, you don't need me. Just get brother Mike on the phone. Champion: Johnson. Until someone beats him, I'd be an idiot to presume otherwise.

Dark horse: Bowyer. Just have a feeling he's going to make some noise.

Marty,

What are your thoughts on Gordon being able to win the championship based on consistency and no wins?

-- Jeremy Smith, Lancaster, Pa., via Twitter

In contrast to years past, I feel like a driver can win the 2010 championship without winning a race, and I base that on a point Jeff Burton made to me Saturday night at Richmond. Matt Kenseth notwithstanding, each driver has pieced together four- and five-race blocks of excellence. Maybe not wins, but top-5s and top-10s. Winning the Chase is about avoiding disaster. Awful finishes hurt far worse than excellent finishes help.

To that end, I view the Chase somewhat like the BCS in college football. Don't screw up early, because it's awfully hard to rally when you have to jump so many good teams to do so.

Starting strong is critical. The drivers who can start the Chase consistently strong will have an excellent opportunity, because from there it's all maintenance. Gordon can do that. In fact, they all can. Kenseth hasn't shown much this year, but his teammates Greg Biffle and Carl Edwards came out of nowhere once they implemented cars built like those Kenny Francis and Kasey Kahne run. So maybe Kenseth will show up just in time.

Marty,

What will NASCAR do if someone wins the championship without winning a race?

-- No name, Marshall, Texas

Hand them the trophy and the check, I figure.

Song of the week: Josh Thompson, "I've Always Been Me." My buddies and I can relate well. Shout out to BF: "I've been called everything from bad news to a crazy SOB, but I've always been me."

Marty,

Did you see where Jimmy Johnson is on Survivor? How do you think he'll do? And how would NASCAR's Jimmie Johnson do?

-- Samuel Peters, Tallulah, La.

Indeed I did, Samuel. For anyone who watched football on Sunday it was impossible to miss. I can't help but wonder if the former Dallas Cowboys coach and current Extenze pitchman brought some product to "Survivor." Back in January, during the Charlotte Motor Speedway media tour, there was a Ford news conference with Kevin Conway at the track. The centerpieces on the luncheon's tables were … that's right … packets of Extenze. We were all giggly at my table, waiting for someone to mistake them for sugar packets.

In a related note, I can't wait until Johnson's team wins a challenge and he screams: "How 'bout them geriatrics!"

As for NASCAR's JJ, he'd do well. He's plenty fit, gets along well with others and is diplomatic. He's also built several houses for Habitat For Humanity, so I figure he'd conjure up a mean lean-to. Plus, he already looks the part, given that thicket on his face.

Marty,

How small do you feel beside Brad D [Daugherty]?

-- Ben Vance, Mississippi

Like a gnat on the tarmac.

May be weird, but every time I'm in an airplane restroom, I wonder how Brad folds himself into that coat closet with wings. I can't fit and I'm a foot shorter than him. He doesn't have a prayer.

That's my time, team. Thanks for yours.

NASCAR is methodically informing Sprint Cup teams that it is strongly, legitimately considering an elimination Chase format, backing up what chairman Brian France said at Indianapolis -- that he and his team would discuss the topic with race teams, weigh the pros and cons of making this type of change and implement it for 2011 if they deem fit.

Sources from multiple organizations tell me the current thought is an expanded Chase field comprised of 15 drivers, with two rounds of eliminations that culminate with a five-driver, winner-take-all season finale.

The decision hasn't been finalized, I'm told. I repeat: This is still in the planning/banter/what-do-you-guys-think-of stage.

But for the sake of a pre-2010 Chase argument, can you imagine the electricity a 5-Alive format would generate for the last race of the season? (5-Alive. I may even have just branded it.)

Holy smokes. It would be amazing.

But would it be fair?

Say, hypothetically, Driver X wins eight of the first nine races leading up to the finale. It's a stretch, certainly, but it could happen. So he and four others would spend 400 epic miles battling for a title … until 50 laps in, when another driver runs out of talent and takes him out.

Game over -- and through no fault of his own.

In turn, many folks offer the stick-and-ball argument that star players get injured and favored teams fall. In an earlier life, I probably used that same logic. If I did, my opinion has changed some.

I like the Chase. If nothing else, it breaks up the monotony of a season that is entirely too long. And despite what many feel, I think, to date, it has produced viable, deserving champions.

But in a sport where others' mistakes have far greater impact on determining another's fate than any other, I think some brand of consistency should be rewarded.

I don't necessarily equate a blown engine to a blown knee ligament. Here's why: If Drew Bledsoe gets hurt, there is a Tom Brady on the sideline, prepared and ready to execute.

And even if the backup stinks, the team still has the chance to continue playing. The team doesn't stop playing because a comrade is injured.

In racing, a blown engine means you load it up on the truck and go home. There's not even a chance to overcome the setback. None.

The 5-Alive concept would make for one heck of a show. One by which I'm certain I'd be captivated.

I'm just not sold that it would be genuine.

Thoughts?

Brian Vickers leaned forward on folded arms toward a microphone in the center of a table, detailing his three-month absence from the Sprint Cup series. It was 2:15 p.m. on a blazing Bristol, Tenn., Saturday. He spoke of the surgery he'd undergone recently to close a hole in his heart -- and bluntly conceded that had a certain small clot gone up his left arm and into his brain, rather than down his arm and into his little finger, he'd be handicapped or dead.

If anything, Vickers is no-nonsense. He doesn't trivialize the clotting condition that stripped him of his identity in May. Race car drivers are race car drivers. When they're not in a race car they're lost. But Vickers said his medically forced hiatus was a gift and that he didn't plan to change a whole lot come January when he returns.

But he did admit: "I have a new appreciation for life."

As he plowed through the intricacies of his condition and emotions, facial expressions throughout the media center at Bristol Motor Speedway were that of shock and disbelief and bewilderment, both at the message and its delivery.

But seated just before me, closer to Vickers toward the front of the room, there was a head nodding at most every comment pertaining to the bigger picture. It was covered in a black and white knit hat, thick black hair peeking from beneath it.

It was Marcy Scott, the Atlanta Motor Speedway public relations director whom I wrote about in this space in March. She is battling breast cancer, and she is winning. On Dec. 1, 2009, her oncologist gave her a clean bill of health. She is cancer-free. All that remains for her is reconstructive surgery.

On Sept. 16, doctors will cut part of her latissimus dorsi -- the large muscle that runs the length of the outside of the back, from the shoulder to the waist -- and tunnel it under her arm to her chest. That muscle will support her implants. Marcy is told it will be extremely painful. Nobody suggests otherwise. She dreads it but knows it's another large step toward ending the battle.

"Basically, it's all boobies now," she said Friday, laughing.

The laughter tells all. Scott's friends are inquiring about her birthday, which is approaching. She wants to celebrate on Dec. 1 -- her one-year cancer-free anniversary. She plans to volunteer in programs that offer emotional assistance to those facing what she faced.

She recently spoke publicly at a Red Cross function and has a blog detailing her battle. Both, she said, triggered unforeseen response from the audience.

"Sometimes when you say things honestly, people are surprised at what you say," she said.

Vickers' words resonated with her, applied directly to her life. She may as well have been saying them. What used to weigh heavily on her -- deadlines and traffic and sour attitudes and the like -- now hold proper rank.

"I was nodding my head because what Brian experienced and what I experienced absolutely changes your perspective on life," Scott said. "You realize nothing is guaranteed. You realize every day is new opportunity. You have more patience for some people and less patience for others. When he said that, I was like, 'Yep.' Life's bottom line flip-flops."

In May, minutes after Vickers announced his condition to the world along with news that his racing future was uncertain, Scott approached him at Charlotte Motor Speedway. She had experienced blood clots when doctors implanted the port that would administer her chemotherapy. They couldn't get her medication levels right, either. She had some idea what he was going through.

"It was interesting to talk to him about it," she said. "Sometimes it helps to have someone know what you're going through. Mine was only for a few months of my life. I didn't miss much work. Bless his heart, he can't do his job."

So when Vickers confirmed that he'd been cleared, that he would, indeed, return in 2011 and got a second chance to fully appreciate his passion, millions were thrilled. No one more than Vickers. But this time it will be different. Scott knows.

"Prior to getting sick, I think most of us are just concerned about our world," she said. "Every day you wake up thinking about what you need to do, what you need to get accomplished today. It's me, me, me.

"Now, I tolerate more, in that I'm more forgiving of people. But you also realize, I only get one shot at this life, and I'm not going to mess around with it. There's things I want to get done. Because you realize how fragile life is, there's things you don't tolerate as much. I'm not going to miss out on opportunities. There may not be another day.

"That's what Brian was saying, in so many words."

Those words are important to people. Vickers' candor as a public figure inspires others.

Many times athletes try to mask the true depth of their personal obstacles, as if telling the full truth shows weakness or compromises their future.

Vickers doesn't, and countless folks appreciate it.

A man can tell himself that an uncertain future has no impact on the present. And even if he genuinely believes that in the moment, he's lying to himself. Distractions don't often reveal themselves as especially distracting until they're resolved.

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Jason Smith/Getty Images for NASCARFan favorite Marcos Ambrose will drive the No. 9 car for Richard Petty Motorsports beginning in 2011.

Take, for example, Kasey Kahne and Mark Martin. Neither thought he was distracted by the unrelenting "will Mark get out of the 5 so Kasey can get in or will Kasey race elsewhere for a year" soap opera. But they were. They readily acknowledge that now. They didn't compete any differently, mind you, and didn't drive any less passionately. But they were preoccupied.

And preoccupation ultimately permeates other facets of life.

Just ask Marcos Ambrose.

"Of course -- there's no doubt," Ambrose said this week. "We race our hardest every weekend. That doesn't change. But whenever you have instability at home, whether it be a choice you have to make on the business side or with your family life, your personal life, it has to have an impact on your thinking and on your attitude."

The hope is to quell the distraction. It's not easy.

"As professionals, you try hard to not let that get in the way, but it's only natural that it does," Ambrose said. "I had to work really hard to stay focused on the job of racing cars, and I look back at the results and there are some moments there where I lost my cool, and it may have impacted my performance.

"It's just hard to keep everything in balance like you need to. To be a race car driver you've got to be very balanced. You can't let emotions get away from you. It's a challenge. But it has to play a part in your psyche."

Now that his future with Richard Petty Motorsports and Ford is solidified -- he'll replace Kasey Kahne in the 9 car beginning in 2011 -- Ambrose is more relaxed. My discussion with him was jovial, full of insight and stark candor. His swagger is back. He appreciates his time with JTG Daugherty Racing, certainly. Without JTG, he's not a NASCAR driver in the first place. But there are unanswered questions, and Ambrose needs answers. They eat at him.

"Change is always good, and I felt like to get the most out of myself I just had to put myself back out there, wrap myself around another group of people and get a fresh start and try to get to a point where I can answer my questions," he said.

He didn't specify what those questions are. But the general vibe was simple: Just how good am I?

"That's part of the reason I've done what I've done this year," he said of the decision to change teams. "I'm not in racing for the fame. I'm not in racing for the money or the prestige. I'm in racing because I like to win races. And it's driving me crazy that I can run so well and so consistently on the road course and not on ovals."

Ambrose has no answers for his road course prowess. He doesn't know why he's so good at it. Throw out statistics and look at sheer ability, and no one in NASCAR is better -- possibly ever. When asked about it, he's not so interested. He quickly shifts to his intrigue with ovals.

"Oval racing is very technical. It takes a lot of science to get the cars to run the speeds we do around these big tracks," he said. "And sometimes, no matter how much talent Kasey Kahne's got or Jimmie Johnson's got or Jeff Gordon, if they have a bad day, they get lapped.

"Are they any less of a driver than what they were the week before, when they won the race? Absolutely not."

Ambrose is good for NASCAR. We need his perspective. And he needs those answers.

"There's a lot of pieces to the puzzle when you go oval racing that need to be right, and joined together the right way," he said. "And I'm searching for those answers, too. I'm putting myself in the position to help find out.

"We've had a rough year, no doubt. And I haven't quite delivered on the ovals like I want to. I want to be in contention every week on the ovals. I can run top 15 or top 10, but we haven't consistently. And rarely have we challenged for wins on ovals. I don't know why that is, and I'm looking for answers."

BROOKLYN, Mich. -- Brad Keselowski is a Michigan man. He bleeds maize and blue. On Thursday he even attended the Wolverines' football practice, part of the perks of being a native son in the big time.

No moment in his life was as big time as an August Saturday one year ago. For as long as he could remember, he had dreamed of victory on the home asphalt, Michigan International Speedway.

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Geoff Burke/Getty ImagesBrad Keselowski, the pole-sitter for Saturday's Carfax 250 at Michigan International Speedway, leads the Nationwide Series standings by 327 points.

On Aug. 15, 2009, it happened, in a wild Nationwide Series race during which he fended off a charge from Brian Vickers.

"It was the culmination of a dream, through a lot of hard work," Keselowski said, just before scooting off to UM to take in football practice. "Not just mine but my family, friends and my team.

"It seems like a long time ago now, but it's a moment I will always remember, and just so special that I just want to live that day over and over."

And he will. Forever. But, fact is, Keselowski is on the precipice of much bigger things.

His points lead in the Nationwide Series is substantial, 327 points, placing him in position with 13 races remaining to earn team owner Roger Penske his first NASCAR championship -- at any level.

"It would mean so much [getting] Roger's first championship," said Keselowski, who won the pole for Saturday's Carfax 250. "When I came here, I told him, 'Roger, I want to give you your first championship.'

"We are not having the season we want to have on the Cup side -- looks like Kurt's got a great shot at it. But the Nationwide championship is on Saturday and the Cup championship is on Sunday. So even if Kurt [Busch] does win it, I got the best shot at getting it first."

Penske Racing's IndyCar operation has a record 149 wins, 12 championships and an astounding 15 Indianapolis 500 wins. He is one of two car owners to win both the Indy 500 and Daytona 500. But a NASCAR championship continues to elude him. He came closest with Rusty Wallace in 1993, falling 80 points short.

"It would be really cool -- a special moment for Roger," Keselowski said. "Roger means a lot to the racing community, and the racing world outside of NASCAR. He's won an F1 race, won an IRL race, won the Indy 500. But he doesn't have that NASCAR championship.

"I want to be that first guy to do it, and I want to be able to walk into his office with that trophy and see a smile on his face."

So NASCAR told a couple of its outspoken drivers to pay up then shut up, and folks are all-to-hell about it. Why? Are you really surprised? Fundamentally it's no different than it has ever been.

The current issue is about one thing: transparency. We'll get to that in a moment.

NASCAR's philosophies on driver-management haven't changed since 1948. It goes something like this: "We welcome you to play in the sandbox, but with the sandbox comes a set of written and unwritten rules by which you must play. If you don't, take your shovel elsewhere. The sandbox was here before you and it'll be here when you're gone. There's a line of kids around the building frothing at the mouth to play. You need us way worse than we need you."

NASCAR is a family business and the France family answers to no driver. NASCAR answers to myriad corporate sponsors and partners, and on behalf of those partners it must do whatever it takes to preserve the value of the sport.

NASCAR answers to the dollar bill.

Courtesy Marty Smith There is no truth to the rumor ESPN.com is looking into fines against Marty Smith for damaging the brand with this t-shirt.

Its racetrack business, International Speedway Corp., is different. It is publicly traded and has shareholders. But NASCAR Inc. is still private -- and it devises and enforces every rule in the game. Therefore it's NASCAR's game by NASCAR's rules.

The way they see it, they offer a platform for drivers to make $15 gazillion and have three houses and a motor home and a private jet. The way they see it, without NASCAR many of those drivers would be changing oil down at the Jiffy Lube Monday through Friday and racing a Ford Escort in the mini stock series over at Hickory on Saturday night.

They've always told drivers to shut up. It used to be a stern-but-private reminder in a smoky front lounge of a Big Red Truck. But that was when interest in the sport was growing exponentially by the year, so the impact of a driver's opinion wasn't so hurtful.

Nowadays interest is waning and media coverage is far more saturated, so disparaging comments about the level of competition or the legitimacy of decisions made during races seem to have far greater impact on swaying fans' opinions.

That's why NASCAR told these guys to shut up.

Driver opinion drives fan opinion.

I'm 99 percent sure I know who both drivers are, just by looking at which ones have been critical recently. But until I ask them personally or they comment publicly, it's not fair to speculate. I think they'll both be asked at Pocono if it's them, too.

It stinks that it happened, and sure I'd like to know where secretly-paid fine dollars go. But do we have the "right" to know? The IRS does. I'm not sure we do.

NASCAR met with drivers in January and showed them video footage of disparaging comments they'd made. NASCAR told them 2010 would be the year it buckled down on protecting the industry, its partners and owners and fans. It was eye-opening to the competitors, a stark reminder of how precious the spoils are that come with NASCAR fame.

For whatever reason, when I saw the fans' uproarious response to this story I thought of Mack 'n Manco Pizza in Ocean City, N.J., my wife's hometown. There's a line out the door every time you walk in. Time of day doesn't matter. The prices are twice as high as anywhere else in the city. So is the quality of the product. Therefore so are the tips.

There is a certain prestige in working there. There is an air of excellence.

With that comes a fine company line of rules. Male employees must wear all-white, shirts tucked-in. They must be clean-shaven.

If they don't want to do that, that's fine. They don't have to. But they won't work at Mack 'n Manco.

It's a lot like me at ESPN. I can complain all day about wearing a suit and tie in the garage. But ultimately, if I want to work at ESPN I have to shut up and wear the suit. If I go complaining publicly about it, they have the right to pull me in and tell me to zip it. And if I don't, and they take further action, that's their prerogative [Editor's Note: They should probably fine you for the ties you choose]. They have no obligation to anyone.

Companies do it all the time.

If drivers want to talk, they should be able to. But if they trash the sport and challenge its integrity, NASCAR has the right to fine them. Other sports do it. The difference is specificity. The crux of the issue here is transparency, whether NASCAR has an obligation to the public to divulge who was fined.

This may be an opaque parallel, but let's go back in the day to how it used to be handled. The driver got his talkin'-to in the lounge of that smoky truck. Meanwhile, his team was working its tail off trying to get a car through tech.

That meant less time on the track preparing for the race.

Time is money.

Did we know about all that, then?

Nope.

Jeff Gordon is a captivating person, insightful and honest and very normal. He has the rare quality of meshing with most any crowd and making each individual feel comfortable.

Many of you hate him because he's won so much. He's OK with that. Many love him for the same reason. It amazes me that a racer with 82 wins and four championships has to answer for his lack of production. Then again, I was among those asking.

I couldn't help but wonder last year whether he'd had enough with the circus and would soon retire to that beautiful wife and family in that high-rise condo. That was naive. But it's human nature. As fans we become accustomed to seeing someone at the pinnacle, and when he's no longer there, our perceptions change. Just the way it is.

Just five men have more NASCAR victories than Gordon. Ever. Only three have as many Cups.

He's Jeff Gordon. He won 13 races in a single season and had three championships by the time he was 27 years old.

But he hasn't done much in recent years, and in competition, regardless of the genre, the general sentiment is always "show me, don't tell me." At times he wasn't overly competitive on the racetrack, and he became a father off it. His back hurt. Badly.

The whispers started, softly at first. Then got louder. Folks wondered whether he'd lost the edge. And to make it worse, his protégé just so happened to be kicking his tail in the same equipment.

But this year is different. This year, from the outset, there was an air of change, a noticeable edge to Gordon. He was less tolerant of other people's mess and was more visible in the media. (Hard to believe, but true.) He appeared on "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and did Special Forces training with the Texas National Guard and invited reporters into his Manhattan home.

And he feuded publicly with teammate Jimmie Johnson and didn't back down.

It all intrigued me (and my bosses) greatly. So we set out to get some answers. We'd done some similar interviews before, with Kyle Busch and Kevin Harvick. Gordon agreed to talk to me at Daytona. He arrived early.

We chatted for 30 minutes, and I'd gotten through only about 30 percent of my questions. He was bringing it, but time was short. He had another appointment to attend. He stayed a bit longer. He was again told it was time to go. He said "one more question." He stayed 15 minutes past the allotted time. Not all of the interview made it on broadcast television. The rest, though, is now available on ESPN.com.

I asked whether fatherhood had made him soft and whether he'd lost competitive drive. I asked whether the Johnson-Gordon rivalry was truly healthy when they're purposefully beating doors at 150 mph. And I wondered how long he'll hang around before he retires.

He addressed it all. Candidly.

He told me that he has something to prove and that the No. 24 team had lost its former swagger, but that his competitive spirit never waned. He discussed the rivalry with Johnson and how badly he initially wanted the No. 48 team to excel. When he and Rick Hendrick founded that team, Gordon was fresh off his fourth championship and dominating the sport. That decision, though, ultimately altered his place in NASCAR history. Had Johnson not been picked for the 48, there's no telling what Gordon's résumé might look like.

He mentioned purposefully not making friends with other competitors throughout his career. Why get close to someone you want to stomp on? But he and Johnson became inseparable for a time.

And he mentioned how fatherhood has only made him hungrier.

I learned a lot that day, got a new perspective on Gordon. Hopefully you guys will, too.

SPEEDWAY, Ind. -- Given that the Brickyard 400 is ESPN's first Sprint Cup Series race broadcast of each season, we studio types are asked to do many more live interviews than normal for "SportsCenter" and ESPNEWS and the like, to supplement the broadcast.

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Bryn Lennon/Getty ImagesBrian Vickers is still hanging around the track as he recovers from blood clots. Question is, does he get mistaken for Marty Smith?

I did one such interview Friday at 12:30 p.m., way atop the track on the suite level of the Pagoda. As we finished a live shot, I handed the microphone to the production guys and walked off the platform. Directly adjacent to my position was the Red Bull Racing suite, which basically has been transformed into a New York City club, complete with chic red couches, flat-screen televisions and, yes, a disc jockey.

That's my kind of joint, so I was going over there to check it out, maybe grab some food. As I made my way there, two gentlemen, mid-40s or so, approached me.

Them: "Can we get a picture?"

Me: "Absolutely. How're you guys doing today? Hot enough for you?"

The small talk continued as one of the guys sat his drink on the table and fumbled around a bit for his camera. We prepared for the shot, and …

Them: "So when are you going to get back in a car?"

Me: "Aw fellas … I'm not Brian Vickers. I'm sorry."

I have decided it's high time I dress up like The Sheriff Brian L. Vickers for Halloween.

CARMEL, Ind. -- Go back with me to the first day of school. Remember the infinite newness? Every year, everything was new. Even if the kids were the same, you still got butterflies. It even smelled new, all those fresh backpacks and notebooks and sneakers, not yet scarred by the pen stroke of math-class boredom.

And nothing was cooler than unveiling a new Trapper Keeper emblazoned with "Transformers" or "G.I. Joe" or, my favorite, the "Dukes of Hazzard."

There's substantial dignity in that new gear.

Imagine not being able to afford it. Imagine how it makes a child feel when his or her peers have the tools to thrive, and they don't. It's a social thing as much as a functional one.

That's reality for thousands of kids around the country. And it breaks my heart. And seeing someone do something about it nearly brought me to tears this week.

I was standing in the Carmel Office Depot store behind a throng of people staring a hole through Tony Stewart, who was there to help the Office Depot Foundation dole out 5,000 backpacks to area kids in need. He had on a red shirt and looked a bit like ol' Saint Nick.

One by one, local dignitaries and activists took the microphone to offer thanks for the initiative, which, incidentally, is in its 10th year and has donated more than 2 million backpacks. First up was Mary Wong, president of the foundation and quick-trigger crier.

"This is very special, because it allows children to go back to school with dignity …" Wong said.

Then she choked up, looked over at Stewart and said, "If you say a word …"

He giggled. She did, too.

As she spoke, I was truly moved. Her words were pointed and poignant. You don't think about the impact of a backpack. Unless you don't have one.

"The best part about this is seeing the kids' smiles, knowing that this gives them dignity," Stewart said. "They don't have to start behind. They're right where they need to be. To me, it's a feeling just like winning a race, especially giving back at home. It's very special to me."

That word -- dignity -- was reiterated by several people.

Take, for example, Jacquelyn Clency, who spoke on behalf of Indiana Public Schools, which took home 1,000 packs.

"These backpacks make the kids feel good about themselves," Clency said. "These are hard times, so to be able to supply kids with what they need is tremendous. I love fast cars. I love racing. And when I read about what Tony Stewart does for Backpack Attack … I love Tony Stewart."

On Friday evening, Dale Earnhardt Jr. will slide his body through the window and into the seat of the No. 3 Wrangler Chevrolet for 300 miles of Nationwide Series racing at Daytona International Speedway.

Until that moment, he cannot know how that car number on his door, and that blue and yellow paint before him on the hood, and memories of his father's win-at-all-costs attitude while driving them may impact him. Especially at that track.

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AP Photo/Matt SlocumDale Earnhardt Jr. on the pressure of driving the 3 car: "For the fans that feel a connection to the car, for the fans that have any emotion about this, anything less than a win is a disappointment."

But he is fairly certain about one thing: July 2, 2010, will be the last time he drives a race car with the No. 3 on the door.

"I just want to go to the racetrack and run it once before I retire, and this will probably be it," he said, leaning slightly forward in a folding metal chair. "After this I'll probably never drive a car with a 3 on it again. I can pretty much say I'm 99 percent sure that will never happen again."

This is a stark revelation, especially for long-suffering Earnhardt fans who dreamed Junior would close out his career in a black No. 3.

Junior, too, once thought that was his destiny. No more.

"It's not [my number] to take and use whenever I feel like using it," he said through a sheepish grin. "You just don't grab the car keys off the counter and go run out the door and haul down the road with your dad's car. I didn't do it when he was alive, and I won't do it now.

"I'm borrowing it once, and then maybe sometime down the road some kid will come up, and he'll have a connection to the 3 -- whether it's through my father or whether it's what his number's been since he was playing T-ball. Whatever, you know, that will be his. It will be someone else's."

To understand this philosophy you must first understand Earnhardt's respect for NASCAR history. He doesn't take it lightly. From his perspective, car numbers and paint schemes are vital relics that served as building blocks to today's billion-dollar industry, and are to be treated as precious antiques. NASCAR numbers are fundamental pieces of competitors' and fans' rooting souls. In NASCAR, cars and teams and people are referred to by number, not name.

It's not "Dale Earnhardt's car." It's "The 3."

The current Wrangler program is a dual initiative -- partly to honor Big E, partly out of necessity. Junior's sister, Kelley Earnhardt, Sprint Cup team owner and owner of the No. 3 trademark Richard Childress, and Teresa Earnhardt all played a role in putting the deal together, and wanted to tie it into Dale Earnhardt's Hall of Fame induction.

Junior just thought the car looked cool.

"It's a simple as that, for me," he said. "I'm proud of my dad and I'm honored by him going into the Hall of Fame, and I'm happy for him, but this in no way, for me, the connection really isn't there on the Hall of Fame. This race it's just about -- the car is cool, I just want to go to the racetrack and run it once before I retire."

The team Earnhardt owns, JR Motorsports, had sponsorship gaps throughout the season, including Daytona. And the idea was to take a business plan used several years ago and implement it again. He has a personal services agreement with Wrangler, and they would take a portion of that money and shift it over to the race team, as they did several years back when Martin Truex Jr. was gunning for the Nationwide Series championship in Junior's No. 8 car.

"We did a bunch of stuff with Truex and that team with old modified drivers and all kinds of people, just trying to honor people, and have an appreciation for the history of the sport," Junior said. "That's all [this] is for me. It's just as simple as, I think the car is cool, I want to put it on the racetrack, I want to drive it once in a race and then that's it."

So when Junior and Kelley began discussing Daytona, he told her he'd always wanted to compete in that paint scheme. In his mind it was that the blue and yellow paint and the No. 88. A month later, as he put it, "the stars aligned" and it was the No. 3. He was thrilled and humbled.

"It's a double-edge sword for me," he said. "When you're a little kid growing up, and you're young and you're little and going to the racetrack with your dad, you always want to drive his car, and wondering what it's like and all those things, and it's an honor for me to do it.

"But at the same time it touches a lot of emotions that you don't ever really bring up on a daily basis. These are emotions that are put away and never bothered at all throughout the year, and then they kind of come back to the surface."

Earnhardt appreciates Childress letting him compete in the number, and admits this project was an important, positive reconnection in the oft-cold relationship with Teresa Earnhardt, his stepmother. But the 3 on the track, with Junior behind the wheel, has a wide-ranging, deep emotional impact on millions of people.

"There's a lot of different emotions it brings up in that car, when people say, 'Hey the 3 is coming back,' and 'I'm driving the 3' and all those things, and there's a lot of emotion to that, and a lot of pros and cons, and people not happy and happy, so it's just something I want to do and that will be that," he said.

Junior drove a No. 3 Chevrolet for Childress in 2002, and won. It couldn't have gone better. But that was an Oreo car. This is the One Tough Customer car, made iconic by a roughneck scrapper revered by fans.

Winning is the only acceptable outcome.

"For the fans that feel a connection to the car, for the fans that have any emotion about this, anything less than a win is a disappointment," Junior said. "If the 3 is coming back, they don't want it to run second, you know, so I feel that pressure. I feel a lot of pressure to put this car up front and lead laps with it."