All-star race isn't perfect, but it's not short on effort

In auto racing, the entire concept of an all-star event is ridiculous. The real lure of any such contest is the rare chance to see the sport's greats together in the same arena, something that happens in NASCAR every time cars hit the track. It's not as if the folks in Dover or Phoenix are denied the opportunity to watch Jeff Gordon mix it up with Tony Stewart. The drivers competing Saturday night are the same ones competing every weekend, a fact that makes the Nextel All-Star Challenge feel like a made-for-television version of the standard Sunday show.

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But danged if the players involved don't embrace it. Drivers love the chance to race for $1 million and no points, even if penalties -- remember Kurt Busch's intentional spin of Robby Gordon? -- can be levied as if it's the USG Sheetrock 400. Lowe's Motor Speedway, the metro Charlotte track that's been home to the race for all but one of its 22 years, has done a fine job of cultivating it into a major event, even if it's supposed to replicate heat racing at a Saturday night short track. Yeah, a short track with 170,000 seats.

The concept has always been a good one -- force some guys to race their way in, put a lot of money on the line, and hope for the kind of sheet-metal-bending spectacular often found on weekly tracks among drivers who really need the cash. It's produced a few truly iconic moments, like Gordon winning in a backup car in 2001 and Dale Earnhardt sliding through the tri-oval grass to victory in 1987. Yet it's always come across as a little awkward, as evidenced by the almost annual format changes. Two decades they've been running it, and they still haven't gotten it quite right.

At its best, the Challenge -- known as The Winston until cigarette maker R.J. Reynolds bowed out of the sport in 2003 -- can produce thrilling, almost reckless action like Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s charge to the front in 2000. At its worst, it can be a cacophony of overproduction and noise, the event itself drowned out by mosh-pit team introductions, TV talking heads babbling on during the interminable segment breaks, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers running too long. Now it's been shunted off to SPEED, a network many fans can't get on basic cable. Can you imagine Major League Baseball doing that?

It would help if the format was a little more uniform year to year, if fans, reporters and even drivers didn't need a guidebook to understand rules more complex than the U.S. Tax Code. "I have no clue what the format is, or how many laps we're running," Jimmie Johnson told reporters Friday at the racetrack. "I'm learning as I'm out here." This from a guy who's won the thing twice.

But the sponsors care, and the drivers care, and more than 100,000 fans will care enough to buy tickets and watch. This isn't the Pro Bowl, where players come down with phantom injuries so they won't have to show up. This isn't the NBA All-Star Game, where everyone goes through the motions. This isn't the NHL or baseball all-star games, where guys avoid physical contact like they're in the middle of an Ebola scare. NASCAR's all-star race can be tacky and tedious, but the stars always show up, and they never sell out.

Nobody's faking a sprained toe here. Davey Allison spent a night in a Charlotte hospital after winning the 1992 event, suffering a concussion when he hit the wall after taking the checkered flag. That came three years after Rusty Wallace punted Darrell Waltrip out of the way to win. The race was built on that kind of daredevil action, which has gradually tapered off as drivers and teams grow more cautious with pricey racecars. But you can still see elements of it at times like the 2005 qualifying race, when Brian Vickers spun Mike Bliss at the finish to win.

And that, more than anything else, is what elevates the event. Whether it's because of the big check or the joy of racing with no pressure or the prestige of winning a track everyone calls home, the vast majority of participants really care. The same can't always be said of other all-star events, where those involved often play like they'd much rather be enjoying three days in Nassau. On Saturday night, Nextel Cup drivers will go at it just as hard as they would in a regular-season event. That's something no other sport can match.

The Junior chronicles

When Dale Earnhardt Jr. announced his intentions to leave Dale Earnhardt Inc. last week, he repeatedly mentioned the strong feelings he held for the team his late father created. Which means the news Friday that DEI and Richard Childress Racing will merge engine-building facilities could be an asset, rather than a hindrance, in RCR's effort to land NASCAR's most popular driver.

Both sides say merger talks were in the works before Earnhardt decided to split from DEI when his contract ends after this season. Some believe the mere presence of DEI in the RCR camp will scare off Earnhardt, who had difficulty racing for the company now run by his stepmother, Teresa. Rather, it could allow him to race for someone else while still maintaining some ties -- albeit loose ones -- to people and an organization he clearly still cares for.

Meanwhile, the courtship continues. Asked Friday if they had any intentions of returning as a primary car sponsor, a representative of GM Goodwrench -- the company that backed the elder Earnhardt's No. 3 car at RCR -- would say only that they were monitoring the situation and had nothing to announce. Earnhardt says he's talked to car owners, but Childress says he hasn't talked to Earnhardt. Somewhere, Joe Gibbs continues to lurk. If only the final season of The Sopranos was this interesting.

The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.