To some traditionalists, loyalty goes only so far

Funny thing, this NASCAR. Go to Las Vegas, a desert outpost that's hosted the series for only a decade, and the place fills up quicker than a $5 blackjack table. But come back to Atlanta, the capital city of the sport's heartland, and there's hand-wringing over how many seats will still be empty come race day.

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It's a strange paradox pitting old market versus new market, played out at racetracks from coast to coast. Phoenix sells out, but Charlotte doesn't. Texas sells out, but Talladega doesn't. New Hampshire and Dover and even Kansas thrive at the turnstiles, while more traditional facilities lose spectators, lose races and die.

There are always exceptions. Short-track theatre, a rarity in an era where everyone wants a massive multi-purpose facility, keeps Bristol and Richmond viable. California, the track in NASCAR's largest television market, hasn't sold out since 2003. Venerable old North Wilkesboro, so antiquated it couldn't have lasted much longer on the Nextel Cup circuit anyway, was sold, shut down and chopped up.

But that doesn't explain why North Carolina Motor Speedway, with modern facilities and often spectacular racing, sits idle. That doesn't explain why Darlington, the NASCAR equivalent of Fenway Park, went from two races to one. That doesn't explain why promoters in Charlotte and Atlanta fight to sell tickets, why standalone Busch races in Martinsville and Myrtle Beach went belly-up, why the sport has gradually shifted its focus from south to west.

Apathy does.

NASCAR fans are among the most fervent in all of sports, willing to drive thousands of miles to see their favorite drivers compete, buying products simply because they're advertised on the hoods of certain cars. Many share a wonderful undercurrent of traditionalism, a desire for their children to see the same kind of events at the same tracks they did, and a disappointment in the direction the sport is headed today.

They rail against big money and cookie-cutter tracks and the fact that California hosts more events than Darlington. They think NASCAR has become too corporate, too vanilla, too neglectful of where it came from. But too many of them aren't doing the one thing that will ensure their voice is heard the loudest. Too many of them aren't buying tickets.

In the final analysis, Rockingham died not because of location or corporate greed or some sort of NASCAR manifest destiny, but because fans didn't show up. Even in the track's final days, when it became evident that only big turnstile numbers could save it, there were too many empty seats. Darlington lost the Southern 500 because the track didn't sell out until it was too late. Standalone Busch races are moving out of the country because they can draw 50,000 in Mexico or Montreal instead of 5,000 at Martinsville or Myrtle Beach.

And this week we have the conundrum that is Atlanta, a track that consistently produces some of the best finishes on the circuit, but doesn't fill up despite an official seating capacity nearly 20,000 less than Las Vegas. If so many fans love the sport's traditional tracks so much, why don't they buy tickets to see events there? It's almost like the old adage about politics -- if you don't vote, you don't have a right to complain about the election result.

Meanwhile, in many non-traditional markets where NASCAR has been a presence for only a decade or less, promoters can't sell tickets fast enough. Maybe there's a novelty factor at work. Maybe the cities hosting those races are more enjoyable places to be. Or just maybe those fans don't take NASCAR for granted, assuming it will always be there whether they show up or not.

The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.