Waltrip's TV star persona both a blessing and a curse

They still love Michael Waltrip, even when he's walking solemnly back from pit road after failing to qualify for yet another Nextel Cup race. Time after time, it happens -- a fan, oblivious to what's just happened on the track, stops the tall man in the blue suit and asks for a photograph. And Waltrip always obliges, leaning down and smiling that classic smile that's sold so many car parts for NAPA. The fan walks away, Waltrip's mask of concern returns, and his lonely march to the garage resumes.

They still love him, even after all he's been through. The fuel-additive scandal at Daytona, which earned his crew chief an indefinite suspension and the driver a 100-point penalty he feels every Friday afternoon like a sharp stick to the ribs. The mental stress and the inherent pressure from sponsors after missing one race after another. And now the raised eyebrows and whispered accusations following a rollover accident on a lonely road that had police knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning,

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But none of that seems to matter to the faithful, who wander back to the far end of the line of transporters looking for Waltrip, even if his truck is parked outside because there isn't enough room in a short-track infield for those outside the top 35. So he'll hold court in a director's chair outside teammate Dale Jarrett's hauler instead, signing the occasional autograph and talking to the occasional reporter who wanders by. Say this about Waltrip -- even in the worst of times, he doesn't duck the television cameras.

And he shouldn't. Because the television cameras are what created him.

They love his shtick, love his funnyman routine, love his unkempt mess of dark hair and his accent and his penchant for dropping sponsor names at the most unexpected of times. Make no mistake about it, Waltrip earned his two Daytona 500 victories, even the one shortened by rain. Those are the rules. But much of what he has today he also owes to television, which found him irresistible and turned him into a star. Sterling Marlin has just as many Daytona 500s as Waltrip does, and six more race wins overall, but you don't see him on SPEED every five minutes.

Yet Waltrip, especially during his heyday with Dale Earnhardt Inc., was everywhere, his Q Score climbing even after DEI's restrictor-plate dominance had faded and his best years as a driver were behind him. His innate ability to sell NAPA, or any other sponsor he had on his car that moment, separated him in the public eye from even drivers who were vastly superior on the track. Some drivers won. Waltrip pitched. To sponsors, both are equally as important.

Notes: Waltrip silent

Michael Waltrip met with NASCAR officials at Texas on Friday, but not with anyone else. The troubled Waltrip was out of character and didn't grant requests for interviews.

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The vestiges of that are seen even today, as Waltrip labors to right an organization that's been listing almost from the beginning. There are plenty of struggling teams in the Nextel Cup garage, plenty of drivers -- one of them, Ward Burton, also a former Daytona 500 champ -- who have difficulty making races because they're outside the top 35. There are two other Toyota operations struggling just as mightily as Waltrip's is. But Waltrip is the big story, because Waltrip is a television star.

And that, these days, is both a blessing and a curse. Waltrip's high profile out of the car keeps him in the headlines, allows him to sell NAPA even when he's not around on Sundays. But sponsors don't pay to miss races, something Waltrip did for the sixth consecutive time Friday when qualifying was rained out at Texas Motor Speedway. And it makes everyone wonder how much longer NAPA will stick with a driver who has become synonymous with the auto parts company.

"Domino's, Burger King, UPS and NAPA are paying a majority of the bills, and they don't want to hear anything about being here for a long time. They want to be here on Sunday," said vintage Waltrip, naming the sponsors of all three of his cars in an interview two weeks ago at Martinsville. "We have to start doing better at being here on Sundays."

For Waltrip, all those seasons of Busch team ownership and all that relentless sponsor pitching have led to this moment, and it's all started off horribly wrong. The three Nextel Cup cars that bear his name and the roller rink turned into a race shop outside Charlotte represent his life's work. He has no choice but to set his jaw and dig, just like a driver who finds himself laps behind the leader in the early portion of a race.

But if it all goes away tomorrow, if NAPA and Toyota swoop down and whisk away all they've invested in the driver, he won't walk away empty-handed. Michael Waltrip will always have television.