FORT WORTH, Texas -- Before he was Jimmie Johnson, he was Brad Noffsinger.

At least, that's what the firesuit said. A decade ago the man who would become the most dominant NASCAR driver of his generation was just another guy trying to climb up from the depths of the Busch Series, scrambling for whatever ride he could find. So at Homestead-Miami Speedway when someone from Curb Motorsports handed him a used firesuit with Noffsinger's name scrawled across the belt, Johnson did what any other driver in that situation would have done -- he put it on and went out to race.

"People were saying, 'Hey Brad, sign this or sign that,'" Johnson remembered at Texas Motor Speedway, site of Sunday's race. "And I'm like, cool. They don't know my name, but I don't care. I'm wearing the suit. I signed."

It wasn't the first time. He had also worn somebody else's old firesuit in his first Busch race in 1998, for Tad Geschickter's team at Indianapolis Raceway Park. The 25th-place finish in the event, won by Dale Earnhardt Jr., left him devastated. Here he was, wearing an unfamiliar uniform and struggling with an unfamiliar car, wondering if he was ever going to make it. He conveyed that disappointment over the telephone to his father, Gary, who was just proud to see his son compete in what then seemed like the big time. The amazing metamorphosis of Jimmie Johnson, from unknown off-road driver to Sprint Cup champion, had begun.

Given where he came from and where he is today, it's an unbelievable transformation. Because of his Southern California roots, because of his unflappable demeanor, because of the way he's always -- one golf cart surfing incident aside -- on his best behavior, mindful of the sponsors and the organization he represents, he's become something of a target. He's not as hardscrabble or as rough around the edges as some would like him to be. In a sport where much of the fan base is blue collar and idolizes drivers who remind them of themselves, Johnson doesn't always fit the mold. If you want a driver who's going to curse, who's going to call someone out publicly, who's going to take unpopular stances or a swing at another competitor, you need to look somewhere else.

And you know what? That's just fine. Hey, it's a free country. Just don't let a personal dislike of Jimmie Johnson the racer devolve into a belittling of his accomplishments or a rash assumption about his background. Because two facts are absolutely unassailable -- Johnson is on the verge of becoming one of the best ever, and he's traversed a very long and difficult road to get there. The perception is that he's some spoiled California kid who's always been handed everything, a canard that's been around since his first days in the American Speed Association, when the nice clothes he brought along for sponsor appearances led to snickers behind his back. The reality is a guy who grew up in a mobile-home park, whose dad worked for a tire company and mother drover a school bus, who consciously crafted himself into a sponsor's dream because he knew that's how drivers earned money to get on the track.

He didn't have a family with enough disposable income to finance his racing dream. What he did have was enough savvy to know that if he looked and acted and raced a certain way, he'd have a chance at getting noticed. He worked in television. He crafted business proposals. He networked and cashed in on relationships he made along the way. No wonder he's so good in the Chase playoff format, on the brink of tying Cale Yarborough's 30-year-old mark of three consecutive championships. He learned how to work the system long ago.

Does it help him with the folks in the grandstands? Truth be told, there are many more Jimmie Johnson fans than public perception would lead you to believe, hordes of faithful sporting No. 48 gear at every racetrack on the circuit. While he's clearly bigger out west, he's not unpopular, at least not in the Kyle Busch kind of way. If he wanted to he could lean on his out-of-nowhere back story a little bit more, trying to win over those diehards who still hold fast to the Earnhardt model. He's not going to. He's been on the Sprint Cup circuit for eight years now. He's won 39 races and soon to be three championships. He figures he's done enough. If they're not jumping on the bandwagon now, they won't be anytime soon.

"I feel that coming in and driving for Jeff [Gordon] and driving for Rick [Hendrick] in some way created that negative tone. People who didn't like Jeff instantly weren't going to like the No. 48 and the guy driving it. But I'm my own personality and my own driver, and I really feel like I've created my own mark in this sport. To be honest with you, I don't really care what people think anymore. I've spent my whole life, my whole career worrying about that crap, and it's done nothing but confuse people. So I'm just climbing in that car and doing my job and driving my ass off and taking it from there. The thing that I've done through my whole career is treated everybody with respect and raced hard," he said.

"My story has been out there about how hard I've worked to get here, and the simple upbringing that I had in El Cajon, Calif., and how far away NASCAR was. That story is still out there and it's a story I'm very proud of. But today, man I'm trying to race and win races and win championships. If people want to go back and look at that stuff and see the stories, then fantastic, because I feel I have a great story. But I can't spend my whole career trying to say, 'Hey, you need to respect me and you need to look at my upbringing because you might be a bigger fan of mine.' I've just got to go out and do my job and race hard. So that's my perspective on it."

It's a defiant tone from somebody not exactly known for defiance, another example of what makes the guy so difficult to read. Maybe the reason there's still such ambivalence over Johnson is because we're still not sure exactly who he is -- the crazy golf cart surfer, the ice-cold racecar driver, the New York socialite, the cool champion? He's likeable enough, but somewhat puzzling nonetheless. The genuine article is in there somewhere, but it's hard to penetrate the professional persona that Johnson used to climb the ranks through stadium trucks, ASA and the Busch Series. His teammates, present and future, help to fill in the gaps.

"It's unfortunate, and I talk to Jimmie about this all the time," said Earnhardt Jr., who drives Hendrick's No. 88 car. "I'm in a different situation, and I tell him, 'Man, you know if you would just act like you act to me and other people you know really well, if you were just like that all day long at the racetrack and in front of the camera and to the media and just in general, people would really see what type of guy you are.'

"Most of you guys [in the media] know Jimmie. He's really cool, he's really a good guy, and he's got a great attitude. He's never acted like a fool. He's never thrown a tantrum per se, and he's never said anything really out of context. He's just always held his head on real straight and he's a great person. He does a lot of things. He'd give his shirt off his back to you if you needed it. He treats me that way, anyway. See, I've always been able to say whatever I wanted to say and act however I wanted to act. When I tell Jimmie, 'You ought to be more like that, more open and just be yourself,' he says, 'I can't do that like you can do it,' and I don't really understand why as much as they understand why. I really feel like it's unfortunate that Jimmie isn't able or hasn't been able to get his personality truly across to the fan to where they knew exactly what type of person he was."

Earnhardt, thanks to his lineage and his popularity, has the advantage of being able to vent or misstep and not risk feeling the wrath of the grandstand. Johnson doesn't have that luxury. Sometimes even winning isn't good enough; there is always that vocal but misguided minority which is convinced that the No. 48 team's success the past few years is the product of mechanical necromancy masterminded by occasionally busted crew chief Chad Knaus. Mark Martin, as universally respected as anyone who's ever slid into a racecar, would beg to differ.

"I've had the opportunity to spend a little time inside the walls of Hendrick Motorsports, and I'm a little shamed of myself that I didn't know this already, but Jimmie Johnson makes it look so easy that we don't realize that he's not just a lucky guy who gets to drive Chad's car that's the best car on the racetrack," said Martin, who will drive Hendrick's No. 5 car next year. "That's a little bit shallow of me to have thought that. The more I find out about Jimmie Johnson, the more I understand why he is experiencing the success that he does and that's kind of cool. It's nice to learn things, and I've certainly learned from being inside those walls, that Jimmie Johnson is incredibly committed. It reminds me of some young men from many years ago. But Jimmie is willing to do whatever it takes to gain an advantage on the competition, whether it's mental or physical or mechanical. I think that's really cool."

So like or dislike Jimmie Johnson, his accomplishments stand on their own. He's not lucky, he's not a product of the Chase system, he's not simply the beneficiary of a creative crew chief or superior equipment. The things that make him so enigmatic, like his unflappability and his even temperament and his ability to win sponsors with a pressed white shirt and a smile, are also what make him so good. He's always been the consummate professional -- regardless of what firesuit he may be wearing.

The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.