There can be no reining in this temple of destruction

These days, the crassness knows no bounds. Officials at Lowe's Motor Speedway, stepping way over the line between witty and tasteless, offer some race tickets for the dollar amount equivalent to the number of cars involved in the biggest wreck this past Sunday at Talladega Superspeedway. The folks at the FOX television network, never one to let a golden marketing moment slip away, use footage of the calamitous final-lap accident in a prime-time commercial promoting their telecast of Saturday night's race at Richmond. One moment, there's Jack Bauer, chasing the bad guys. Next moment, there's Carl Edwards, hurtling into the fence.

Danger sign

Joe Menzer says Carl Edwards' crash should be a wake-up call that Talladega is not safe.

• Complete story, click here
• Wreck reaches the fans
• Hint of harsher penalties
• Safety withstands scrutiny
• Blog: NASCAR Says ...
• Audio: The change debate

No matter that seven spectators were injured in the accident, or that Edwards' first thought after extricating himself from his crumpled race car was to let his wife and mother know he was alive. When it comes to Talladega Superspeedway, the Roman Colosseum of modern sports facilities, any hint of sensitivity gets tossed into the air like so many pieces of shredded sheet metal.

No wonder NASCAR is saying that a reconfiguration of the race track is unnecessary. No wonder too many fans are busy arguing yellow lines and blocking instead of debating the track itself. This is the culture you create when you build a speedway that caters to the lowest common denominator, a temple to chaos and destruction, a place that by its very existence seems to run counter to all the laudable safety initiatives implemented in the past decade.

It's as if once you step inside those high banks, the normal rules no longer apply. Drivers are filled with a sense of dread, and slide behind the wheel not necessarily hoping to win, but to emerge in one piece. Despite restrictor plates and roof flaps, cars pinballing off one another still go airborne with frightening regularity.

All too often something horrifically spectacular occurs, like a car flipping end-over-end or barrel-rolling down the frontstretch or slamming into the restraining fence. Every now and then you hear the beat of helicopter rotors, carrying a driver -- or in Sunday's case, a spectator -- to a hospital over in Birmingham for observation or treatment.

Talladega has been that way since it first opened in 1969, when the day's top drivers saw those high banks, felt those tremendous speeds, noticed those tires getting chewed up and made their one and only stand against NASCAR management. No race track is without hazards; despite all modern safeguards, disaster can unfold on speedways of any length, given the ever-present ingredients of speed, race cars in close proximity, and grandstand seats often right on top of the action.

There are plenty of other tracks that have suffered catastrophic and even fatal events, and earned something of a reputation because of them. But only Talladega seems defined by -- and to some extent, celebrated because of -- all the macabre activities that have unfolded there.

You'd think by now people would have had enough, that even the most wreck-loving spectator in the grandstand would have grown weary of seeing vehicles launched into the air like missiles, and start to feel that something about the place just isn't right.

Video highlights

• Final Laps: Edwards gets air
• Dr. Lewis reports on spectators
• Edwards on his dramatic wreck
• Newman criticizes car safety
• Sensationalism upsets Junior
• Edwards visits Larry King

You'd think even the most callous of race fans would be tired of seeing Elliott Sadler go airborne and bounce on his roof.

You'd think they'd be tired of seeing Bobby Labonte roll down the backstretch. You'd think they'd be tired of seeing Rusty Wallace flip through the infield grass.

You'd think they'd shiver at the knowledge that Edwards was traveling more than 200 mph when he went hurtling into the wall at an angle that made him worry about his roll cage getting sheared off -- exactly what happened to sports-car driver Jeff Clinton in a fatal accident at Homestead in 2002.

You'd think they'd understand that a car going into a spectator area at Le Mans in 1955 nearly wiped auto racing out of existence.

But of course not. This kind of stuff only whets their appetite for more death-defying exploits, as if drivers are mere circus acts walking a tightrope or wrestling a grizzly bear, performers there strictly for their enjoyment. They're accustomed to seeing competitors walk away uninjured from even the most mangled of race cars. They're accustomed to wielding a big stick in a series where the sanctioning body has, to its credit, allowed the fan base a greater degree of access and influence than almost any other major professional sport. And by goodness, they want 43 cars traveling four-wide and within a half a second of one another, and all the catastrophe that such a scenario is capable of creating. They want their Talladega fix.

And to a certain degree, NASCAR is willing to give it to them. No question, NASCAR has done incredible work on the safety front in recent years. No question, the advancements implemented in Edwards' driver compartment worked. No question, despite some debris getting through, the restraining fence held. No question, Sunday's accident on the final lap could have been much, much worse than it was.

But NASCAR is almost in a no-win situation here. So far the sanctioning body has reacted rather mildly, suggesting that blocking and aggressive driving may merit more severe in-race penalties in future restrictor-plate events. And much of the fan base is in complete outrage, behaving as if NASCAR has decreed that all 43 drivers will be competing in Kias next season. Just imagine what would happen if NASCAR took a more severe stance, like mandating that the 33-degree corner banking be reduced so races could be run without restrictor plates, and cars could theoretically pull away from one another. Why, they'd set half the Talladega campground on fire. Well, they do that twice a year anyway, but you get the point.

To its credit, NASCAR has tried tirelessly to get a handle on the place. From different plate configurations to aerodynamic package changes to tire tethers to keep wheels from flying off during accidents, officials have made plenty of adjustments through the years in an attempt to rein in Talladega. All that, and yet, NASCAR narrowly averted an unthinkable disaster Sunday.

Investigators will go back and analyze this accident, too, and surely make changes because of it -- raising the height of the restraining fence and moving people out of the first few rows on the frontstretch would be a good start. But does anyone really think that NASCAR will ever reach the point where Talladega is fully under its control? The place has been harrowing and unpredictable for four decades now. Do we really expect things to change?

Of course not. And the frightening thing is, many who fill the grandstands probably won't mind. After all, watching cars go flying through the air is a heck of a show. And the show must go on.

The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.