BRISTOL, Tenn. – Never say never. Success is fleeting. Things change.
It wasn’t long ago that national magazines listed Bristol Motor Speedway in discussions of the toughest tickets in sports. Getting in the spring race required a few months’ advance purchase. The night race in August allegedly had a waiting list of several years.
What happened? One of the world’s larger arenas, and certainly one of its more intimidating, played to what appeared to be half capacity on Sunday.
Unless the old stories were merely widespread rumors, there were welders in Decatur, Ind., government workers in Pascagoula, Miss., and farmers in Bettendorf, Iowa, all hoping that one day they would find in their mailboxes – OK, in their emails – that long-awaited opportunity to buy tickets for … Bristol! Then they, too, could see Terry Labonte cross the finish line backwards and take his wrecked car to victory lane. Or see Jeff Gordon give Rusty Wallace the old bump and run. Or see Dale Earnhardt rattle the cages of Labonte and innumerable others.
Apparently, when the day finally arrived, some cheerful telemarketer phoned up race fans by the thousands and asked, “How would you like to purchase your very own tickets to … Bristol Motor Speedway?”
Not only did thousands apparently say, “Well, no, I think I’ll pass,” but many other thousands started saying “been there, done it” and decided they’re rather lie on the couch and nurse a couple of suds than camp on the grounds and barbecue a pig. Based on the campgrounds behind the press box, the track could hold a Boy Scout Camporee at the same time as the night race come August.
In 1965, when I was seven years old, the race I saw at Bristol was packed. That may have been only 18,000 fans, but it was still packed. In 1993, I started writing about races here, and it was 2010 before I saw an empty seat that couldn’t be reasonably be ascribed to random occurrences such as, oh, maybe, certain partisans being a tad overserved.
When the size of a crowd is half what it was two years earlier, the appropriate adjective isn’t random.
Wonder what the state of the motor-home industry is these days? If one looked at the grounds around the speedway on Sunday – and at least one did -- one could only conclude that they’re all being purchased by race-car drivers these days.
www.gastongazette.com
It wasn’t long ago that national magazines listed Bristol Motor Speedway in discussions of the toughest tickets in sports. Getting in the spring race required a few months’ advance purchase. The night race in August allegedly had a waiting list of several years.
What happened? One of the world’s larger arenas, and certainly one of its more intimidating, played to what appeared to be half capacity on Sunday.
Unless the old stories were merely widespread rumors, there were welders in Decatur, Ind., government workers in Pascagoula, Miss., and farmers in Bettendorf, Iowa, all hoping that one day they would find in their mailboxes – OK, in their emails – that long-awaited opportunity to buy tickets for … Bristol! Then they, too, could see Terry Labonte cross the finish line backwards and take his wrecked car to victory lane. Or see Jeff Gordon give Rusty Wallace the old bump and run. Or see Dale Earnhardt rattle the cages of Labonte and innumerable others.
Apparently, when the day finally arrived, some cheerful telemarketer phoned up race fans by the thousands and asked, “How would you like to purchase your very own tickets to … Bristol Motor Speedway?”
Not only did thousands apparently say, “Well, no, I think I’ll pass,” but many other thousands started saying “been there, done it” and decided they’re rather lie on the couch and nurse a couple of suds than camp on the grounds and barbecue a pig. Based on the campgrounds behind the press box, the track could hold a Boy Scout Camporee at the same time as the night race come August.
In 1965, when I was seven years old, the race I saw at Bristol was packed. That may have been only 18,000 fans, but it was still packed. In 1993, I started writing about races here, and it was 2010 before I saw an empty seat that couldn’t be reasonably be ascribed to random occurrences such as, oh, maybe, certain partisans being a tad overserved.
When the size of a crowd is half what it was two years earlier, the appropriate adjective isn’t random.
Wonder what the state of the motor-home industry is these days? If one looked at the grounds around the speedway on Sunday – and at least one did -- one could only conclude that they’re all being purchased by race-car drivers these days.
www.gastongazette.com
