When drivers complain, just shut up and listen

Greg Biffle gathered a few car parts under his arm and drove literally across the street, from the headquarters of Roush Fenway Racing to the NASCAR Research and Development Center in Concord, N.C. He walked in without an appointment and asked to see Robin Pemberton, the circuit's vice president for competition.

Soon the Nextel Cup driver found himself in a meeting room with not only Pemberton, but officials from all three of NASCAR's national series. He was there to try to find out why his No. 16 car had been found too low in inspection following the race at Bristol the preceding Sunday. And he wanted to know what was being done about the protective foam in the Car of Tomorrow, which was showing an alarming tendency to melt.

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The surprise visit paid dividends. Soon NASCAR technical director Steve Peterson was at the Roush shop, inspecting the damage to the right side of Biffle's car. It was one of the first signs of a wider problem -- the protective foam in the right side of the Car of Tomorrow becoming overheated because of its proximity to exhaust pipes -- that affected several teams at Bristol.

Once his weekly competition meeting at Roush Fenway was completed, Biffle could have taken the rest of the day off. He could have gone home to play video games, jetted off to some remote Caribbean island, or done whatever it is that drivers do when they're not at the racetrack. Instead, he chose to knock on NASCAR's door and ask some questions. He did the exact opposite of what some believe drivers should do with the Car of Tomorrow -- just shut up and drive.

Which, of course, is the worst thing he could have done. Shut up and drive is a selfish, archaic mindset held by those who don't believe drivers are capable of acting on their own behalf, who can't separate the seriousness from bluster, who want to see the show go on regardless of the consequences. Shut up and drive keeps problems hidden. Shut up and drive lets problems fester. Shut up and drive can put drivers at risk.

Sure, drivers are picky, often superstitious, usually idiosyncratic sorts who want to find something that works and stick with it. They often have difficulty adjusting to change, or resist it altogether. At times, they're just flat-out wrong -- like those few holdouts who resisted using the Head and Neck Support (HANS) device, believing it was too bulky or restrictive, until NASCAR made it mandatory in late 2001. In the years since, it's saved untold drivers from serious injury.

But at times, it takes objection from competitors to make a sanctioning body aware of an issue. Complaints from Champ Car drivers helped prevent what could have been a disaster in 2001, when a race at Texas Motor Speedway was called off just hours before its scheduled start. The combination of high banking and high speeds led 21 of 25 drivers to complain of dizziness while on the track. The G-forces felt in the cockpit, officials discovered, were high enough to cause blackouts.

The cancellation led to a lawsuit, but every driver walked away. Granted, that's an extreme case, an unprecedented mixture of 24-degree banking and 240 mph speeds. But that same year, there was another perilous situation that had drivers complaining. No one did anything about it, and the results were tragic.

NASCAR making changes to COT

After Kevin Harvick's foam fire at Martinsville, along with several issues at Bristol, NASCAR has ordered changes to the COT which will create more airflow from the exhaust on the right side.

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Almost to a man, drivers in NASCAR's premier series hated the aerodynamic package implemented for the Daytona 500 in 2001. The cars had rails along the top of the roof, flanges on the rear spoiler, and other physical tweaks that were designed to create more passing, but which competitors thought gave them less control. Nobody cared. Everybody was too busy watching the racing, a spectacular blend of slicing and dicing that held everyone mesmerized.

There was so much passing, so much action, that the drivers were just tuned out. Fans and media members loved it -- until Tony Stewart's vehicle went airborne along the backstretch, flipping over and landing on the roof of teammate Bobby Labonte's car. That was bad enough. Then on the final lap, Dale Earnhardt's black Chevy wiggled just a little too much in Turn 4. It veered high up in the banking and slammed into the concrete wall, killing the seven-time champion and igniting the biggest safety crisis in NASCAR history.

Looking back on interviews from that week, the signs were there. Drivers were nervous about that aerodynamic package from the beginning, but nobody listened. The racing was so good, so entertaining, that that the warnings of competitors rang hollow.

So let drivers complain. Let them knock on doors and ask questions and demand answers. Let them keep NASCAR honest by criticizing how the COT handles, what's being done about melting foam and bursting tailpipes, or anything else they feel compromises their safety or their ability behind the wheel. And everyone else can just shut up and listen.