He argued with his crew chief on the way to an uncharacteristic 29th-place finish early in the year at Las Vegas, griped at some of the lapped traffic late in his run last weekend at Kansas. Jimmie Johnson admittedly has his moments, those times when the frustration spills over to the open radio waves, and anyone with a scanner and headphones can bear witness to his discontent.

But they're relatively rare. Johnson, fast on his way to staking a legitimate claim as the greatest driver of his generation, stands out for so many reasons. He's won the past two championships in NASCAR's premier series, and has a good chance to become the first driver to win three in a row since Cale Yarborough did it in the late 1970s. He has more race victories than any other driver the past five years. He's finished first or second in almost half (19 out of 43) of all the Chase events contested since the playoff format was implemented in 2004.

And in a racing series where so many of the most-focused, talented drivers on the planet turn into raving screamers, whiners, complainers and cursers the instant they're faced with adversity, Johnson has shown a sustained knack for keeping his cool. Maybe that's the laid-back Californian in him, the guy who wears blue jeans and flip-flops -- yes flip-flops -- when HBO stops by to do a profile piece. Maybe it's a conscious effort to always appear under control, another savvy move from someone who crafted business proposals and networked with sponsor reps to claw his way to the top. Maybe it's no coincidence that the driver who appears the most poised from green flag to checkered is the one winning the most races.

Now, this isn't a knock on anyone else. As a red-headed half-Irishman who can throw a telephone-hurling tantrum with the best of them, I understand that temperament is something that's often embedded deep within the DNA, as much a part of a person as his height or skin tone, as involuntary as a heartbeat. NASCAR history is filled with drivers who were able to turn rage into greatness on the racetrack, people like Tony Stewart and Dale Earnhardt and A.J. Foyt who won not in spite of their hot-headedness but because of it. Likewise, there are innumerable nice guys who have ventured out into the Cup circuit only to be eaten alive. This is no place for the meek.

But every once in a while there comes along someone like Johnson, who seems able to place himself above the fray. Like Richard Petty, a man whose record for championships he may one day seriously challenge, Johnson can cut the heart out of the competition and emerge with the vanquished patting him on the back. Other drivers carry on like they're calling in a house fire to 911. With Johnson, there's rarely any panic. You don't see him trying to bump Brian Vickers and spinning himself out in the process. You don't see him going after people on pit road. You don't hear him talking about how much his car stinks or how his pit crew gave one away. His keel is so even, you could drop a marble right in the center, and the thing wouldn't budge.

"I certainly do get upset from time to time, but it doesn't last long," he said at Kansas, after recording victory No. 5 of the season and moving into the points lead for the first time this year. "I know it's going to affect what I do in the car. At the end of the day, I want to be sitting here talking to [the media as the race winner]. I just know myself. If I'm obsessing over something that went on or mad about a stop or a driver or pit road or whatever it may be, I'm not focusing on driving that car to its limit."

“

I have a crew chief that worries about everything ... I've found more success in taking a backseat and letting him get crazy from time to time and talking him off the ledge. It's worked well.

”

JIMMIE JOHNSON, on Chad Knaus

He's not just a good driver, but a smart one, someone who rarely lets his emotions get the best of him. Oh sure, there are times behind the wheel when he screams and yells and curses just like everyone else. But for Johnson, someone who's made a career out of seeing the bigger picture, there's one difference -- he doesn't do it over the radio. He's not going to rip his team or his car publicly, as many of his peers have done, because he knows his words could negatively impact the people he relies upon to win.

"You can scream and yell all you want, just don't hit the button," he said Tuesday. "I don't know how it's good for a team to have their butts chewed out, to hear the negative tone, especially screaming about how the car is driving. All you're going to do is tear apart the team. You down everyone's confidence, and when you come onto pit road, everybody's beat down about how the car is driving and you have a bad stop."

So he keeps it inside. Some may rip him for that -- you can hear it now: there he goes, being the politically correct driver again -- but to Johnson, getting angry compromises performance. And performance is what it's all about.

"I internalize and digest and process the things that go on. That's just my personality," he said. "I find if I get caught up in that stuff, I do get too mad, and I don't perform as well. I think some drivers, I think [Dale Earnhardt Jr.] has gone on record saying that the more mad he gets, the better he performs. I'm the opposite. If I get caught up in the anger and the frustration of it, I'm overdriving the car so far, that it just doesn't do us any good. I guess I have some sense of where a sweet spot is, and any extra anxiety or pressure, or whatever it is, puts me over the edge, and I don't perform like I need to."

Some will call that boring. In reality, it's mature. From the very moment he entered this sport, Johnson has grasped the concept that he's part of something much larger than himself, with responsibilities to both the organization and the series he represents. He gets the fact that it's his job to win races, and that distractions -- even self-made -- can get in the way.

Of course, deep inside is still the dude who likes to surf atop a golf cart. But behind the wheel he's coolly efficient, blessed with the sort of unflappable demeanor that would serve him well whether he was at the controls of a space shuttle, a fighter jet, or a racecar. No one gets inside his head. No one gets under his skin. No one tries to play mind games with him. The focus is on his team, his car, his run. On the flight home, he'll study the points sheet to see how it all turned out. The results speak for themselves.

Besides, Johnson can afford not to worry. Chad Knaus does plenty of that for the both of them. It's the frenetic crew chief who often plays the heavy, shooing curious onlookers away from the team's pit box, ordering the spotter to tell lapped cars to clear the way, and spitting venom when they don't. No wonder Johnson feels the need to internalize.

"I have a crew chief that worries about everything, gets riled up about everything. If both of us were wound up all the time, we would be a disaster," he said, only half joking. "I've found more success in taking a backseat and letting him get crazy from time to time and talking him off the ledge. It's worked well."

The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.

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