Recalling Earnhardt's desire to win the Daytona 500

By Jim Huber, Turner Sports Interactive
February 19, 2001
12:04 AM EST (0504 GMT)

Commentary

It was early in January, 1998. Super Bowl 33 had only been history for a few hours and Dale Earnhardt was still reveling in the memory.

Jim Huber

"There was Elway," he laughed at the time, "finally getting to celebrate winning the big one. The Big One. Boy, could I identify with that! I figure, if he can finally break the jinx and win the Super Bowl, I can, too."

We were sitting outside the small brick home that was his office next to the new Earnhardt complex. His horses were corralled nearby and they hung their heads over the fence.

Carloads of fans would occasionally pull into the driveway. The look on their faces, both the horses and the fans, had the same sense of adoration and care.

He was a few weeks away from yet another Daytona 500. Earnhardt and Elway had battled the same demons over the years, always able to win the small ones, even some of the nearly-large ones, never The Big One.

And now, with the memory of Elway's win ringing merrily in his ears, he was about to head South with newfound determination.

He was an interesting study. I had never spent much time around the man, never one-on-one like this. I had read the stories, heard the tales, a nasty fellow with a penchant for intimidation. See that black number 3 in your rear-view mirror and you knew it was history. He knew, too.

"Maybe," he laughed at the thought, "maybe that works, who knows? But until it doesn't, I'll keep tappin' their bumpers and showin' up on their tails."

I liked the man, enjoyed my time with him, grew to appreciate his talent and understand a bit of his alure to the crowds.

He sat, patiently, and handled the naïve questions of an outsider. The interview lasted at least an hour and then we walked the back fence, rubbed the horses' muzzles and talked racing.

Two weeks later, he followed John Elway's lead and finally won his own Super Bowl after so many years trying. Finally made it to the winner's circle. He'd won seven championships but they never were complete, never full, until that February three years ago after our time together.

So many thoughts raced crazily through my mind as I heard the news Sunday. Not even 50, he was gone. Watching his son protect his newest comrade win Daytona just a few feet in front of him, he was gone. You have your thoughts of him, whatever they might be, and they will be with you forever, whether you liked the man or hated him (and those camps seem rather silly now, in retrospect, don't they?)

It will be a long, black-patched season, full of the angst of yet another tragic loss in the rear-view mirror of grandness. But that is my thought. Of Elway setting the stage, proving it could finally be done. And Earnhardt taking the challenge just a month later. And of the horses, who cared only for his touch.