Reviewed in our mind's eye, it seems to take forever. The events unfold slowly, in exact detail, a perfect panorama of color and speed. By now, we know it frame-by-fame -- the black car bending to the right, the climb up the banking, the inevitable impact and the out-of-control slide back down into the grass. But the collision itself, that actual clash of concrete and metal, happened blindingly fast -- 80 milliseconds from 160 mph to zero, according to the final accident report. It seems ludicrous that an entire decade could turn on one incomprehensibly small unit of time.

But not if that decade is the 2000s, and that fraction of a second is the one that took the life of Dale Earnhardt. So much about today's NASCAR has been shaped by that terrible afternoon of Feb. 18, 2001, a dark day that was the epicenter of a larger safety crisis that wracked the sport for the better part of three years. Earnhardt's fatal crash -- preceded by those of Adam Petty, Kenny Irwin, and Tony Roper, and followed by devastating accidents involving Jeff Purvis, Steve Park and Jerry Nadeau -- forced NASCAR to upgrade its safety standards, and did away with the antiquated notion that "implied risk" meant it was OK for drivers to die.

The effects of the Earnhardt crash radiated well beyond the sanctioning body. To varying degrees, they're also seen everywhere in the garage.

The changes brought on by the Earnhardt crash and the safety crisis, easily the top story of the last decade in NASCAR, were watershed. There were tangible modifications, like the implementation of head-and-neck restraining devices and soft-wall systems -- the two most important life-saving innovations in modern automobile racing -- as well as the addition of on-board data recorders, the construction of a research and development center, and the development of a new, safer race car. The culture changed, too; before Earnhardt's death, drivers who used new safety devices were sometimes needled, and outdated items like open-faced helmets were seen as badges of machismo.

That all changed on Feb. 18, 2001, the day NASCAR began its traumatic transformation from a series seen as lacking in the safety arena to one that is now widely viewed as an industry leader. Thankfully, there have been no fatalities on NASCAR's three national circuits since Earnhardt's death, and drivers routinely walk away from accidents that might have sent them to the hospital a decade or more ago. Every driver wears a restraining device. Every track is outfitted with a soft wall. All accident data is recorded, analyzed, and catalogued. Granted, some of these initiatives were being studied prior to the 2001 Daytona 500. But Earnhardt's death, and the prolonged period of public grief that followed, forced NASCAR to act.

Earnhardt's death, though, impacted NASCAR in far more areas than just safety. Occurring in the first race under the sport's first national television contract, the crash spurred such a degree of curiosity that, ironically, the series reached unprecedented heights of popularity in the early 2000s. In some ways the crash, and the scrutiny that followed, compelled NASCAR to expand in the areas of public relations and competition. Before Earnhardt, NASCAR was a sports league that wanted to be taken seriously, but too often acted small-time and still felt like a family business. After Earnhardt, NASCAR grew into a thoroughly more modern entity much more comparable to the NFL or the NBA.

The effects of the Earnhardt crash radiated well beyond the sanctioning body. To varying degrees, they're also seen everywhere in the garage. There are the roller-coaster fortunes at Richard Childress Racing, the team the Intimidator drove for, and which has suffered through several slumps since his passing. There is the career of Kevin Harvick, Earnhardt's successor, who was thrust onto NASCAR's top level before he was scheduled to do so, and rapidly became a star. There's the small empire overseen by Michael Waltrip, who had never won a race before Earnhardt hired him, but won four times for the Intimidator's team and parlayed that success and his glib nature into the race team he owns today.

There are the remains of Dale Earnhardt Inc., the team Earnhardt owned, which was decimated by the recent economic recession, fought over by his son and wife, and ultimately merged with Chip Ganassi's outfit. There is the career of Dale Earnhardt Jr., who competed eight years for his father's team before a dispute with his stepmom over the organization's direction led him to leave. There is Hendrick Motorsports, the dominant team of the decade, which picked up the pieces and added NASCAR's most popular driver to its stable.

There are surely others, drivers and race teams in some way touched or shaped by Earnhardt, whose fortunes or makeup may be very different today if the Intimidator had lived. You think of his contemporaries, men like Rusty Wallace and Dale Jarrett and Mark Martin, and how Earnhardt's accident affected their decisions to get out of the car or stay in. You think of the garage area, and how different it might look. You think of the series, and how much safer it is now. You think of those 80 mournful milliseconds, and the impact they continue to have to this very day. (Continued)