In Indy aftermath, a little contrition goes a long way

• Video teleconference: Pemberton: "This won't happen again"

The fallout from Sunday's Allstate 400 at the Brickyard has begun settling in earnest, and it's landing on rooftops from Indianapolis to Akron to Daytona Beach. Tuesday, officials from NASCAR and Goodyear held a conference call to review exactly how such a prominent event turned into an unmitigated disaster. Indianapolis Motor Speedway CEO Tony George told his city's newspaper that that the problem was NASCAR's alone, and that no changes would be made to the racetrack. Goodyear posted an extensive statement on its racing Web site, detailing yet again how all indications led them to believe that tire wear would improve as the surface rubbered in -- two things that never happened.

And fans remained as angry as a disturbed rattlesnake, especially those who attended the event and left coated in tire dust. This reporter's inbox was pummeled with more than 600 irate missives, some demanding that spectators have their money refunded (as happened after the 2005 Formula One tire debacle at Indy) or that the Sprint Cup tour be demoted from the big track to O'Reilly Raceway Park. But most just seethed over what they perceived as arrogance from NASCAR and Goodyear officials, who came across as unapologetic and defiant in the aftermath of the event. The only people directly apologizing were the drivers, who were the least at fault.

Well, that changed Tuesday. Somebody at NASCAR finally realized that a little contrition goes a long way. And Robin Pemberton was the man chosen to deliver it.

"I can't say enough how sorry we are," Pemberton, the circuit's vice president for competition, said in a conference call with reporters. "It's our responsibility being NASCAR that we don't go through this situation again. We've already gotten after it and we're moving forward with a plan to get ahead of the situation so we don't go through this again. Once again, I think it deserves to be said that the race didn't come off like we had hoped, the fans didn't get what exactly they wanted. We'll do everything in our power so it won't happen again, I can tell you that much."

Granted, there's a little overreaction going on here on the part of the good folks who buy tickets and watch on television. There will be a Brickyard race next season, and the season after that, and the season after that. NASCAR needs Indianapolis, and Indianapolis needs NASCAR. Both earn a certain degree of credibility and exposure from their association with the other. This isn't F1, which treated Indy and America like some sort of expensive toy it wanted but ultimately didn't need. The people who think Sunday's race will spell the end of NASCAR at Indianapolis -- or, among the more melodramatic in the fan base, see it as the beginning of the end of NASCAR itself -- need to realize that these are two strong, immensely popular and profitable institutions that will both be in operation for a very long time to come.

But that said, you can't put on a race like Sunday, at a place like Indianapolis, and expect people to just take it as a matter of course. Absolutely, the Brickyard mess was caused by a number of factors, and NASCAR managed the event as best it could from green flag to checkered. But other than a few drivers -- Ryan Newman and Dale Earnhardt Jr., most notably -- no one seemed willing to own up to the fact that mistakes had been made. The sight of so many people patting one another on the back, congratulating each other on just making it through the day, understandably had to stick in the gullet of a race fan who spent $100 on a ticket, $300 on gas and $200 on a hotel room to witness what essentially was a glorified tire test. (Continued)