Hate the new car? Too bad. Daytona showed us why (cont'd)

But oh, you can just hear the howls coming from the grandstand, the wailing and gnashing of teeth from race fans that are already weary of the growing pains of the new Cup car, and are unlikely to warmly embrace another one on the Nationwide tour. Oh, it's going to be harder to drive. Oh, it's going to interfere with competition. Probably, and maybe. But you're going to have to deal with it, because you can't have it both ways. You can't demand events like we saw this past weekend in Daytona -- races that were almost gladiatorial in their quality, and exist solely for the viewing pleasure (and we use that word very loosely) of spectators -- and not expect drivers to be girded for automotive combat by every modern safety device.

And that's what this new car is, a safety device, one that's done it's job so well that people have grown somewhat complacent with the sight of Michael McDowell walking away at Texas, Carl Edwards walking away at Talladega, Jeff Gordon walking away at Las Vegas, and other drivers walking away from other crashes that would have sent them to the hospital a decade ago. In the aftermath of something as violent as the accident on the final lap of the Cup race Saturday night at Daytona, there should be an overwhelming sense of relief that Kyle Busch -- and Kasey Kahne, for that matter -- escaped the melee unscathed. There's none of that. Instead, there's a blame game, excessive finger-pointing over who was at fault for the wreck. The fact that Busch and Kahne walked away is almost taken for granted. It feels as if fans expect every driver to emerge from every violent crash unscathed these days, casually blind to the fact that even amid so many safety advances, auto racing can never, ever be truly made 100 percent safe.

Amid all this, people have the gall to rip the new car, to say it's ruined the sport, to question whether the Nationwide Series really needs it or not. Please. In some ways, the very architects of that new car were the people who bought tickets to places like Daytona and Talladega, who regaled in mechanical destruction, who fostered the creation of a modern Colosseum atmosphere at 200 mph. The new car is NASCAR's attempt at forging some kind of middle ground, of retaining the aspects of restrictor-plate racing that so many people find thrilling, and yet of providing maximum protection to drivers who just suck it up and try to get through it. Still, people hate it. They want the old car back, no matter how many drivers got hurt in it. It's as coldhearted as the idea of football fans getting angry because they can't see players' faces, and demanding that teams take the field without helmets.

So get used to the new car. Oh, you might curse its existence, you might threaten to swear off NASCAR and find another racing series, but crashes like the one that unfolded Saturday night show why it exists on the Cup tour. Fiery accidents like those that occurred Friday night show why it's needed on the Nationwide circuit. And the fact that Kyle Busch made a furious, recalcitrant trip to the infield care center -- rather than one on a stretcher -- showed once again that it works.

The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.