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The Culture Wars of Car Racing	The Culture Wars of Car Racing
2018-10-18 10:35:07 UTC	2018-10-26 16:00:17 UTC (8 days later)
The air was heavy with exhaust and motor oil at Charlotte Motor Speedway in North Carolina as I waited for Tony Stewart to arrive. Charlotte was hosting the 2017 championship weekend for the World of Outlaws, the premier dirt-racing series in the country, and all 60,000 tickets had sold out well in advance. Stewart, the ex-Nascar star, was late — running on “Tony time,” a handler told me — so I went for a walk along the dusty pit road to look at the scores of racecars lined up. “You’ll probably have to run at some point,” I was warned. “And remember: The cars can’t turn right.” Their larger right-side tires help them around a loop that only bends left and, indeed, make it nearly impossible to turn right.	The air was heavy with exhaust and motor oil at Charlotte Motor Speedway in North Carolina as I waited for Tony Stewart to arrive. Charlotte was hosting the 2017 championship weekend for the World of Outlaws, the premier dirt-racing series in the country, and all 60,000 tickets had sold out well in advance. Stewart, the ex-Nascar star, was late — running on “Tony time,” a handler told me — so I went for a walk along the dusty pit road to look at the scores of racecars lined up. “You’ll probably have to run at some point,” I was warned. “And remember: The cars can’t turn right.” Their larger right-side tires help them around a loop that only bends left and, indeed, make it nearly impossible to turn right.
The crowd was young and middle-aged, mostly male and almost entirely white. There were lots of graying goatees and wraparound sunglasses and T-shirts that read “Grabbin gears, drinkin beers, slappin rears” and “God made, Jesus saved, racetrack raised.” When I told one attendee which publication I was representing, he spit on the edge of my shoe. Until recently, Nascar distanced itself from dirt-track racing. It was a holdover from the sport’s Southern past and emblematic of the backwoods image it has spent decades trying to shed. But today, dirt racing is to Nascar a little like mixed martial arts is to boxing, a rough-edged insurgent counterculture that’s proud of the pain it deals out.	The crowd was young and middle-aged, mostly male and almost entirely white. There were lots of graying goatees and wraparound sunglasses and T-shirts that read “Grabbin gears, drinkin beers, slappin rears” and “God made, Jesus saved, racetrack raised.” When I told one attendee which publication I was representing, he spit on the edge of my shoe. Until recently, Nascar distanced itself from dirt-track racing. It was a holdover from the sport’s Southern past and emblematic of the backwoods image it has spent decades trying to shed. But today, dirt racing is to Nascar a little like mixed martial arts is to boxing, a rough-edged insurgent counterculture that’s proud of the pain it deals out.
On dirt, the ovals are short — often a half-mile around, about a quarter the size of most asphalt tracks — which means cars cluster nose to tail, nicking and bumping one another off the road. The track can be the muddy, river-bottom gumbo of the South or the red dust of the Southeast, and it changes with the weather, causing unpredictable slides and skids. It’s common to see crashes, fires or, sometimes, a car flip over the fence into a cornfield.	On dirt, the ovals are short — often a half-mile around, about a quarter the size of most asphalt tracks — which means cars cluster nose to tail, nicking and bumping one another off the road. The track can be the muddy, river-bottom gumbo of the South or the red dust of the Southeast, and it changes with the weather, causing unpredictable slides and skids. It’s common to see crashes, fires or, sometimes, a car flip over the fence into a cornfield.
Because the pits are open to the public, drivers routinely have to autograph their way through a crowd just to get inside their trailers. Mechanics have it worse, wrenching around obsessives who lean on cars while they wait to glimpse the talent. By about 4 p.m., a crowd had formed a semicircle around Stewart’s trailer, T-shirts and model cars in hand for autographing. Stewart is often in greater demand at the dirt tracks than he was at Nascar. His mere presence at a race like this can sell as many as 1,000 extra tickets.	Because the pits are open to the public, drivers routinely have to autograph their way through a crowd just to get inside their trailers. Mechanics have it worse, wrenching around obsessives who lean on cars while they wait to glimpse the talent. By about 4 p.m., a crowd had formed a semicircle around Stewart’s trailer, T-shirts and model cars in hand for autographing. Stewart is often in greater demand at the dirt tracks than he was at Nascar. His mere presence at a race like this can sell as many as 1,000 extra tickets.
When Stewart, who is 47, entered Nascar in the late 1990s, stock-car racing was America’s fastest-growing sport, second only to football in television viewership. By the early 2000s, Nascar had ballooned into an entertainment juggernaut, selling billions of dollars’ worth of branded merchandise a year and bringing in more than twice the corporate sponsorship dollars of Major League Baseball. With that success came more corporate-friendly policies, which disproportionately affected drivers like Stewart, one of Nascar’s saltier personalities. In his 18 years with Nascar, Stewart racked up hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines for outbursts that included throwing a helmet at another racer’s car, backing into another racer’s car, grabbing a racer through the window and running a driver off the track. He once punched a photographer. Another time, he slapped a reporter’s tape recorder out of his hand and then kicked it.	When Stewart, who is 47, entered Nascar in the late 1990s, stock-car racing was America’s fastest-growing sport, second only to football in television viewership. By the early 2000s, Nascar had ballooned into an entertainment juggernaut, selling billions of dollars’ worth of branded merchandise a year and bringing in more than twice the corporate sponsorship dollars of Major League Baseball. With that success came more corporate-friendly policies, which disproportionately affected drivers like Stewart, one of Nascar’s saltier personalities. In his 18 years with Nascar, Stewart racked up hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines for outbursts that included throwing a helmet at another racer’s car, backing into another racer’s car, grabbing a racer through the window and running a driver off the track. He once punched a photographer. Another time, he slapped a reporter’s tape recorder out of his hand and then kicked it.
Stewart finally arrived at the World of Outlaws race around 4:30, looking unusually fashionable in dark fitted jeans and an RVCA T-shirt. Two and a half years ago, he started dating a former Playboy Playmate named Pennelope Jimenez and, he explained as he took a seat on the leather couch in his trailer, “about 80 percent of the clothes that were in my closet got vanished.” While he went to change into his black Arctic Cat fire suit, Jimenez lent me a pair of plastic safety glasses and a baseball cap to shield against the spraying dirt. She poured us two paper cups of red wine, and we went to watch from a pair of folding chairs near Turn 2.	Stewart finally arrived at the World of Outlaws race around 4:30, looking unusually fashionable in dark fitted jeans and an RVCA T-shirt. Two and a half years ago, he started dating a former Playboy Playmate named Pennelope Jimenez and, he explained as he took a seat on the leather couch in his trailer, “about 80 percent of the clothes that were in my closet got vanished.” While he went to change into his black Arctic Cat fire suit, Jimenez lent me a pair of plastic safety glasses and a baseball cap to shield against the spraying dirt. She poured us two paper cups of red wine, and we went to watch from a pair of folding chairs near Turn 2.
The race began at sundown with a prayer for the military and for the safety of drivers and track workers — not an idle concern at a dirt race. Nascar hasn’t had a fatality in any of its upper levels since Dale Earnhardt’s nationally televised death in 2001, which led it to impose strict safety regulations. But short tracks, which host the dirt races Stewart prefers, are often lethal. Two-thirds of all racing deaths occur on them, with drivers often competing for rewards of $1,000 or less. In 2014, The Charlotte Observer reported that over the previous 25 years, at least 171 people were killed at dirt tracks.	The race began at sundown with a prayer for the military and for the safety of drivers and track workers — not an idle concern at a dirt race. Nascar hasn’t had a fatality in any of its upper levels since Dale Earnhardt’s nationally televised death in 2001, which led it to impose strict safety regulations. But short tracks, which host the dirt races Stewart prefers, are often lethal. Two-thirds of all racing deaths occur on them, with drivers often competing for rewards of $1,000 or less. In 2014, The Charlotte Observer reported that over the previous 25 years, at least 171 people were killed at dirt tracks.
Nascar’s transformation from a Southern pastime to a regulated global business has unleashed a familiar-feeling culture war within its ranks — between the Southerners and the coastal elites, those who came up on dirt tracks and those who came up on pavement. Racing forums today are filled with complaints about how boring it is to watch millionaires turn left and be polite to one another. Many of these disaffected fans have been flocking to dirt tracks like the one in Charlotte and the one Stewart owns in Ohio, Eldora Speedway. Stewart has become a serious investor in dirt racing. In recent years, he bought two dirt-racing teams, a regional series, a dirt-car manufacturer and a stake in two other dirt speedways in Kentucky and Illinois. He drives in about 70 dirt races a year. Where Nascar has lost its emotional resonance with fans, Stewart has handily harnessed it.	Nascar’s transformation from a Southern pastime to a regulated global business has unleashed a familiar-feeling culture war within its ranks — between the Southerners and the coastal elites, those who came up on dirt tracks and those who came up on pavement. Racing forums today are filled with complaints about how boring it is to watch millionaires turn left and be polite to one another. Many of these disaffected fans have been flocking to dirt tracks like the one in Charlotte and the one Stewart owns in Ohio, Eldora Speedway. Stewart has become a serious investor in dirt racing. In recent years, he bought two dirt-racing teams, a regional series, a dirt-car manufacturer and a stake in two other dirt speedways in Kentucky and Illinois. He drives in about 70 dirt races a year. Where Nascar has lost its emotional resonance with fans, Stewart has handily harnessed it.
In Charlotte, Stewart sped ahead of the pack during the preliminary time trial, but in the qualifying heat that followed, he couldn’t maintain his speed and finished last. When his mud-caked car returned to the pits, Stewart climbed out and yanked off his gloves. He stomped up the trailer ramp without glancing at his pining fans. Jimenez said something to him softly and touched his arm as he passed, but he didn’t look at her either.	In Charlotte, Stewart sped ahead of the pack during the preliminary time trial, but in the qualifying heat that followed, he couldn’t maintain his speed and finished last. When his mud-caked car returned to the pits, Stewart climbed out and yanked off his gloves. He stomped up the trailer ramp without glancing at his pining fans. Jimenez said something to him softly and touched his arm as he passed, but he didn’t look at her either.
He slouched on the L-shaped sofa in his trailer, next to his German shepherd Max, propping his feet up on a cabinet and taking a swig of Pedialyte-spiked Sunkist to rehydrate. He glared at a horse race on TV. The corners of his mouth are slightly lopsided in a way that gives him a sneering resting face. He’s actually nicer than his reputation suggests, with a particular soft spot for animals, disabled children and injured drivers — the three causes his Tony Stewart Foundation supports. But like many monomaniacs, he seems bored when idle.	He slouched on the L-shaped sofa in his trailer, next to his German shepherd Max, propping his feet up on a cabinet and taking a swig of Pedialyte-spiked Sunkist to rehydrate. He glared at a horse race on TV. The corners of his mouth are slightly lopsided in a way that gives him a sneering resting face. He’s actually nicer than his reputation suggests, with a particular soft spot for animals, disabled children and injured drivers — the three causes his Tony Stewart Foundation supports. But like many monomaniacs, he seems bored when idle.
I watched his gut rise and fall in his fire suit for a few minutes, debating what to say. I told him I was surprised that he was so upset over what seemed like a fairly little race relative to his career.	I watched his gut rise and fall in his fire suit for a few minutes, debating what to say. I told him I was surprised that he was so upset over what seemed like a fairly little race relative to his career.
“It’s not little anymore to me,” he said. “This is what we do now. I don’t have Nascar to go back to.”	“It’s not little anymore to me,” he said. “This is what we do now. I don’t have Nascar to go back to.”
The N.F.L. and Major League Baseball are team-owned leagues, but Nascar has always been a private family business — or, as many inside the sport call it, a dictatorship. Since its founding in 1947 by “Big” Bill France, Nascar has been wholly owned by him and his heirs. So when it was reported in May that the France family had enlisted Goldman Sachs to help them sell a substantial stake in the business, the news stunned many. (The chief executive at the time, Brian France, denied that the family was looking for a buyer.) But people closer to Nascar knew that this past year had dealt serious blows to an already beleaguered business. Dale Earnhardt Jr., the biggest celebrity in racing since his father, announced that the 2018 season would be his last; Danica Patrick, one of the league’s most marketable personalities, couldn’t even find a sponsor. And with them went two of the last vestiges of character from Nascar’s ranks.	The N.F.L. and Major League Baseball are team-owned leagues, but Nascar has always been a private family business — or, as many inside the sport call it, a dictatorship. Since its founding in 1947 by “Big” Bill France, Nascar has been wholly owned by him and his heirs. So when it was reported in May that the France family had enlisted Goldman Sachs to help them sell a substantial stake in the business, the news stunned many. (The chief executive at the time, Brian France, denied that the family was looking for a buyer.) But people closer to Nascar knew that this past year had dealt serious blows to an already beleaguered business. Dale Earnhardt Jr., the biggest celebrity in racing since his father, announced that the 2018 season would be his last; Danica Patrick, one of the league’s most marketable personalities, couldn’t even find a sponsor. And with them went two of the last vestiges of character from Nascar’s ranks.
In a way, the whole history of Nascar is one of sanitizing and domesticating a renegade subculture. Stock-car racing was initially (and unwittingly) invented in the 1930s by bootleggers who souped up their engines to outrun cops during Prohibition. Bill France, who started as a racing promoter, was the first to organize the sport. In 1948, he incorporated the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing and cut out his early associates, beginning what would become a long rivalry between the racers who popularized the sport and the family that regulated it.	In a way, the whole history of Nascar is one of sanitizing and domesticating a renegade subculture. Stock-car racing was initially (and unwittingly) invented in the 1930s by bootleggers who souped up their engines to outrun cops during Prohibition. Bill France, who started as a racing promoter, was the first to organize the sport. In 1948, he incorporated the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing and cut out his early associates, beginning what would become a long rivalry between the racers who popularized the sport and the family that regulated it.
France built his empire by quashing drivers’ unions and blacklisting anyone who raced outside his series. In 1957, he formed the International Speedway Corporation, which would eventually own more than a dozen tracks around the United States. The company, which is still run by France family members, suppresses competition from outside groups by granting itself bids for Nascar races. The Frances also created the radio network that broadcasts Nascar events and even the catering company that serves its concessions.	France built his empire by quashing drivers’ unions and blacklisting anyone who raced outside his series. In 1957, he formed the International Speedway Corporation, which would eventually own more than a dozen tracks around the United States. The company, which is still run by France family members, suppresses competition from outside groups by granting itself bids for Nascar races. The Frances also created the radio network that broadcasts Nascar events and even the catering company that serves its concessions.
Over the years, France further sought to erase the sport’s moonshining past and distance Nascar from its rowdier factions. He banned liquor from the pits and imposed new restrictions on car modifications, obviating the bootleggers’ chief ingenuity. When inspectors couldn’t disqualify a driver France didn’t like, he would find a way to penalize him for “being outside the spirit of competition.” In 1950, he bought an asphalt track in South Carolina, putting an end to the bootleggers’ signature dirt-road skids and slides — and literally paved the way for Nascar’s future.	Over the years, France further sought to erase the sport’s moonshining past and distance Nascar from its rowdier factions. He banned liquor from the pits and imposed new restrictions on car modifications, obviating the bootleggers’ chief ingenuity. When inspectors couldn’t disqualify a driver France didn’t like, he would find a way to penalize him for “being outside the spirit of competition.” In 1950, he bought an asphalt track in South Carolina, putting an end to the bootleggers’ signature dirt-road skids and slides — and literally paved the way for Nascar’s future.
It wasn’t until the 1980s, however, that racing went from a Southern curiosity to a full-blown white-knuckled American religion, thanks largely to a grizzled young driver named Dale Earnhardt. After a marketing guru dubbed him the Intimidator, Earnhardt became the Marlboro Man of Nascar, his mustached grimace fueling a booming merchandise industry. In 1999, near the height of racing’s mass-market ascent, Earnhardt built his glass-and-granite “Garage Mahal,” the very same year that Donald Trump signed with Nascar to build the $400 million Trump Super Speedway in Bridgeport, Conn., promoted as “the tallest building in the world sideways” — and it might have been, had it ever been built.	It wasn’t until the 1980s, however, that racing went from a Southern curiosity to a full-blown white-knuckled American religion, thanks largely to a grizzled young driver named Dale Earnhardt. After a marketing guru dubbed him the Intimidator, Earnhardt became the Marlboro Man of Nascar, his mustached grimace fueling a booming merchandise industry. In 1999, near the height of racing’s mass-market ascent, Earnhardt built his glass-and-granite “Garage Mahal,” the very same year that Donald Trump signed with Nascar to build the $400 million Trump Super Speedway in Bridgeport, Conn., promoted as “the tallest building in the world sideways” — and it might have been, had it ever been built.
When Brian France, part of the dynasty’s third generation, took over in 2003, he was at the cusp of a national entertainment upset, with Nascar close to usurping football as America’s most-watched sport. Attendance at Nascar races had soared 90 percent in the 1990s. The only way for Nascar to grow more was to convert new audiences: women, nonwhites and non-Americans. In 2004, Nascar started the Drive for Diversity program; it recruited the African-American driver Darrell Wallace Jr. and Kyle Larson, whose mother is Japanese-American. It introduced drivers from Italy, Mexico and Sweden and tried to reach Latino audiences by playing Spanish-language songs in its ads. A Colombian driver named Juan Pablo Montoya rose to its highest ranks.	When Brian France, part of the dynasty’s third generation, took over in 2003, he was at the cusp of a national entertainment upset, with Nascar close to usurping football as America’s most-watched sport. Attendance at Nascar races had soared 90 percent in the 1990s. The only way for Nascar to grow more was to convert new audiences: women, nonwhites and non-Americans. In 2004, Nascar started the Drive for Diversity program; it recruited the African-American driver Darrell Wallace Jr. and Kyle Larson, whose mother is Japanese-American. It introduced drivers from Italy, Mexico and Sweden and tried to reach Latino audiences by playing Spanish-language songs in its ads. A Colombian driver named Juan Pablo Montoya rose to its highest ranks.
Breaking into the series, meanwhile, has become significantly more expensive. The safety regulations that followed Earnhardt’s death drastically increased equipment costs, as have advances in aerodynamics and engineering, which have replaced traditional auto mechanics. Ken Schrader, a veteran driver and team owner, estimates that it costs $15 million to $18 million a year for a driver to compete in the upper levels of Nascar. (This is why sponsors are so vital.) Increasingly, the American-born stars come from affluent parts of the country, like Northern California and the Northeast.	Breaking into the series, meanwhile, has become significantly more expensive. The safety regulations that followed Earnhardt’s death drastically increased equipment costs, as have advances in aerodynamics and engineering, which have replaced traditional auto mechanics. Ken Schrader, a veteran driver and team owner, estimates that it costs $15 million to $18 million a year for a driver to compete in the upper levels of Nascar. (This is why sponsors are so vital.) Increasingly, the American-born stars come from affluent parts of the country, like Northern California and the Northeast.
In perhaps the greatest symbolic change of this new era, Winston tobacco departed as the title sponsor of cup racing in 2004 and was replaced by the telecommunications giant Nextel in a 10-year, $700 million deal. The move stripped the sport of one of the last vestiges of its Southern heritage and intensified its identity crisis. The next year, the racing legend Richard Petty declared that “Nascar is no longer a Southern sport.”	In perhaps the greatest symbolic change of this new era, Winston tobacco departed as the title sponsor of cup racing in 2004 and was replaced by the telecommunications giant Nextel in a 10-year, $700 million deal. The move stripped the sport of one of the last vestiges of its Southern heritage and intensified its identity crisis. The next year, the racing legend Richard Petty declared that “Nascar is no longer a Southern sport.”
Nascar is a privately owned company and doesn’t release its financial statements. But in 2017, the International Speedway Corporation, which is publicly traded and generates 90 percent of its revenue from Nascar, reported a $145 million decline in revenue compared with 2008. Television viewership of the Daytona 500, one of Nascar’s most important races, is down 45 percent from 2005. The championship cup race in 2017 was the lowest rated in the series’ history. Big-name sponsors are fleeing: Home Depot, which entered Nascar as the sponsor of Stewart’s car in 1999, left in 2014; Lowe’s will end its sponsorship of the seven-time champion Jimmie Johnson after this season. In 2011, an external review by the public relations firm Taylor Strategy determined that Nascar had reached a state of “dangerous irrelevance.”	Nascar is a privately owned company and doesn’t release its financial statements. But in 2017, the International Speedway Corporation, which is publicly traded and generates 90 percent of its revenue from Nascar, reported a $145 million decline in revenue compared with 2008. Television viewership of the Daytona 500, one of Nascar’s most important races, is down 45 percent from 2005. The championship cup race in 2017 was the lowest rated in the series’ history. Big-name sponsors are fleeing: Home Depot, which entered Nascar as the sponsor of Stewart’s car in 1999, left in 2014; Lowe’s will end its sponsorship of the seven-time champion Jimmie Johnson after this season. In 2011, an external review by the public relations firm Taylor Strategy determined that Nascar had reached a state of “dangerous irrelevance.”
Nascar stopped releasing attendance figures five years ago after embarrassing double-digit dips, but the expanses of empty seats at the speedways speak for themselves. Around the country, tracks have been stripping grandstands of thousands of seats to minimize the desolate appearance. Nascar executives declined to be interviewed for this article, but at a news conference last year, Brian France said that reports of ratings and attendance slumps were “not accurate.” (In August, Brian France was charged with drunken driving and criminal possession of oxycodone, and his uncle, Jim France, replaced him as chief executive. He has pleaded not guilty.)	Nascar stopped releasing attendance figures five years ago after embarrassing double-digit dips, but the expanses of empty seats at the speedways speak for themselves. Around the country, tracks have been stripping grandstands of thousands of seats to minimize the desolate appearance. Nascar executives declined to be interviewed for this article, but at a news conference last year, Brian France said that reports of ratings and attendance slumps were “not accurate.” (In August, Brian France was charged with drunken driving and criminal possession of oxycodone, and his uncle, Jim France, replaced him as chief executive. He has pleaded not guilty.)
There’s no doubt that Nascar has been watching Stewart’s success at his track in Ohio, which reported record crowds last year. In 2013, Stewart persuaded Nascar to sanction its first dirt race in nearly half a century at his track, and he is angling for the organization to bring more. Nascar’s inaugural dirt race at Eldora sold out instantly and attracted more than 1.5 million television viewers. TV ratings for the 2017 race went up 2 percent over the previous year, one of the few viewership increases Nascar saw. Last month, Nascar added a second dirt race, in Las Vegas, to its calendar.	There’s no doubt that Nascar has been watching Stewart’s success at his track in Ohio, which reported record crowds last year. In 2013, Stewart persuaded Nascar to sanction its first dirt race in nearly half a century at his track, and he is angling for the organization to bring more. Nascar’s inaugural dirt race at Eldora sold out instantly and attracted more than 1.5 million television viewers. TV ratings for the 2017 race went up 2 percent over the previous year, one of the few viewership increases Nascar saw. Last month, Nascar added a second dirt race, in Las Vegas, to its calendar.
Stewart’s drawn-out exit from Nascar probably began in 2013, during a race in San Bernardino County, Calif. He was in third place with just 10 laps to go when a driver named Joey Logano, a 22-year-old media-polished newcomer, took up a position directly in front of Stewart’s car. Each time Stewart lurched to the left, Logano did, too, until they were both clinging to the white line and Stewart’s pathway closed. If Stewart had gotten around Logano, he would have at least had a shot at winning. Instead, he lost his momentum. Cars began to pass him on the right, and he finished in 22nd place.	Stewart’s drawn-out exit from Nascar probably began in 2013, during a race in San Bernardino County, Calif. He was in third place with just 10 laps to go when a driver named Joey Logano, a 22-year-old media-polished newcomer, took up a position directly in front of Stewart’s car. Each time Stewart lurched to the left, Logano did, too, until they were both clinging to the white line and Stewart’s pathway closed. If Stewart had gotten around Logano, he would have at least had a shot at winning. Instead, he lost his momentum. Cars began to pass him on the right, and he finished in 22nd place.
In stock-car etiquette, blocking is frowned upon as unsportsmanlike, but it’s not against the rules. Stewart knows this well — he once caused a 25-car pileup at Talladega with his own attempt to block another driver’s pass. But he was still furious when someone else, a rookie no less — a rookie from Connecticut — did it to him. After the race, Logano calmly explained to reporters that blocking was the only way he felt he could win. (He finished third.) Stewart took a different approach. “He’s nothing but a little rich kid who’s never had to work in his life,” he told a reporter. “So he’s gonna learn what us working guys, who had to work our way up, how it works.” He soon clarified what he meant by this. As Logano stood beside his car on the pit road after the race, Stewart charged at him and shoved him in the chest. Logano took a punch to the head before his crewmates pulled the men apart. The grandstands roared at the thrill of a good old-fashioned brawl — a rare sight in Nascar these days.	In stock-car etiquette, blocking is frowned upon as unsportsmanlike, but it’s not against the rules. Stewart knows this well — he once caused a 25-car pileup at Talladega with his own attempt to block another driver’s pass. But he was still furious when someone else, a rookie no less — a rookie from Connecticut — did it to him. After the race, Logano calmly explained to reporters that blocking was the only way he felt he could win. (He finished third.) Stewart took a different approach. “He’s nothing but a little rich kid who’s never had to work in his life,” he told a reporter. “So he’s gonna learn what us working guys, who had to work our way up, how it works.” He soon clarified what he meant by this. As Logano stood beside his car on the pit road after the race, Stewart charged at him and shoved him in the chest. Logano took a punch to the head before his crewmates pulled the men apart. The grandstands roared at the thrill of a good old-fashioned brawl — a rare sight in Nascar these days.
The scrape between Logano, the clean-cut son of a New England businessman, and Stewart, the paunchy-gutted son of an Indiana salesman, was in many ways emblematic of the developing fault lines in Nascar. Never mind that Stewart is worth an estimated $100 million, is a co-owner of a Nascar team and flies to races on his private jet. He still eats Spaghetti Os out of the can and lives in his hometown, Columbus, Ind. — albeit in a $3.5 million log mansion.	The scrape between Logano, the clean-cut son of a New England businessman, and Stewart, the paunchy-gutted son of an Indiana salesman, was in many ways emblematic of the developing fault lines in Nascar. Never mind that Stewart is worth an estimated $100 million, is a co-owner of a Nascar team and flies to races on his private jet. He still eats Spaghetti Os out of the can and lives in his hometown, Columbus, Ind. — albeit in a $3.5 million log mansion.
Stewart grew up in auto-racing country. Cars in the area were plastered with bumper stickers for Dale Earnhardt and Jeff Gordon; family outings took place at the nearby Indianapolis Motor Speedway, home of the Indy 500. Tony’s dad, Nelson, bought him his first go-kart when he was 5. After the boy carved an oval into their backyard, Nelson started hauling him to races around the country. Tony won a national go-kart competition at age 12, soon graduated to sprint cars and later earned the nickname Smoke because of the way his tires burned rubber on turns.	Stewart grew up in auto-racing country. Cars in the area were plastered with bumper stickers for Dale Earnhardt and Jeff Gordon; family outings took place at the nearby Indianapolis Motor Speedway, home of the Indy 500. Tony’s dad, Nelson, bought him his first go-kart when he was 5. After the boy carved an oval into their backyard, Nelson started hauling him to races around the country. Tony won a national go-kart competition at age 12, soon graduated to sprint cars and later earned the nickname Smoke because of the way his tires burned rubber on turns.
Tony was a wild teenager, drinking and crashing family cars. At 18, his mom kicked him out of the house, and he took jobs at McDonald’s and a concrete-block plant, racing on the side. In 1993, he won second place at a race in Arizona and was awarded $3,500 — far more cash than he saw at his day jobs. After that, he decided to take racing more seriously. Few drivers who come up on dirt tracks ever ascend to the asphalt glory of Nascar. Even if they qualify, still fewer can afford the hundreds of thousands of dollars it takes to compete in even the lowest levels of professional pavement racing today. (Nascar runs more than a dozen “series,” or categories for different regions, with different sponsors and cars.) But one day in 1994, a Nascar team owner approached Stewart at a dirt race in Ohio and offered him a part-time position in the Busch series (now the Xfinity series) — the second-highest tier in national racing.	Tony was a wild teenager, drinking and crashing family cars. At 18, his mom kicked him out of the house, and he took jobs at McDonald’s and a concrete-block plant, racing on the side. In 1993, he won second place at a race in Arizona and was awarded $3,500 — far more cash than he saw at his day jobs. After that, he decided to take racing more seriously. Few drivers who come up on dirt tracks ever ascend to the asphalt glory of Nascar. Even if they qualify, still fewer can afford the hundreds of thousands of dollars it takes to compete in even the lowest levels of professional pavement racing today. (Nascar runs more than a dozen “series,” or categories for different regions, with different sponsors and cars.) But one day in 1994, a Nascar team owner approached Stewart at a dirt race in Ohio and offered him a part-time position in the Busch series (now the Xfinity series) — the second-highest tier in national racing.
Stewart proved himself there and, in 1999, was recruited to race in Nascar’s Winston Cup, the top tier of American racing. Stewart ~~and~~ ~~his~~ ~~No.~~ 14 ~~Chevrolet~~ would win three cup races that year, followed by championships in 2002, 2005 and 2011. His talent won him notice, but his hothead swagger, a throwback to the sport’s rowdier days, made him a superstar.	Stewart proved himself there and, in 1999, was recruited to race in Nascar’s Winston Cup, the top tier of American racing. Stewart would win three cup races that year, followed by championships in 2002, 2005 and 2011. His talent won him notice, but his hothead swagger, a throwback to the sport’s rowdier days, made him a superstar.
Still, no matter how far Stewart excelled in Nascar, he could never quite leave his past behind. He refused to stop running dirt races, even after shattering his leg in a 2013 crash that caused him to miss 15 Nascar events. Three years later, he fractured a vertebrae in an off-roading accident and missed an additional eight races. “I think if he could’ve retired 10 years ago from Nascar, he would have,” the Nascar driver Kyle Larson says. “He was making a living there so he could play in the dirt.”	Still, no matter how far Stewart excelled in Nascar, he could never quite leave his past behind. He refused to stop running dirt races, even after shattering his leg in a 2013 crash that caused him to miss 15 Nascar events. Three years later, he fractured a vertebrae in an off-roading accident and missed an additional eight races. “I think if he could’ve retired 10 years ago from Nascar, he would have,” the Nascar driver Kyle Larson says. “He was making a living there so he could play in the dirt.”
The sprint cars that Tony Stewart drives are the fastest, most dangerous models in dirt racing. Their 360-cubic-inch iron-block V-8 engines can generate 800 horsepower and speeds of up to 150 miles per hour. With an open cockpit and an uneven pair of rear wheels that sit outside a stripped-down frame, they look like something out of “Mad Max.”	The sprint cars that Tony Stewart drives are the fastest, most dangerous models in dirt racing. Their 360-cubic-inch iron-block V-8 engines can generate 800 horsepower and speeds of up to 150 miles per hour. With an open cockpit and an uneven pair of rear wheels that sit outside a stripped-down frame, they look like something out of “Mad Max.”
Because of the staggered wheels, steering is more difficult in sprints. The car’s natural inclination is to turn left, which means drivers sometimes have to hit the throttle and pull a hard right just to go straight. Expert car control is even more essential on dirt, where the track changes throughout the night. The groove on the outside or “top” of the track is generally considered the fastest. It’s also where, by the end of the race, the dirt tends to get pushed up and hardened into a steep angle known as the “cushion.” Hit the cushion too fast, and it could send you into the wall. Instead, to pass a car on the top part of the track, a skilled driver may use a technique known as a “slide job”: when a car on the inside track intentionally turns a corner too sharply, causing it to skid to the top with, ideally, enough momentum to slide just in front of the other car.	Because of the staggered wheels, steering is more difficult in sprints. The car’s natural inclination is to turn left, which means drivers sometimes have to hit the throttle and pull a hard right just to go straight. Expert car control is even more essential on dirt, where the track changes throughout the night. The groove on the outside or “top” of the track is generally considered the fastest. It’s also where, by the end of the race, the dirt tends to get pushed up and hardened into a steep angle known as the “cushion.” Hit the cushion too fast, and it could send you into the wall. Instead, to pass a car on the top part of the track, a skilled driver may use a technique known as a “slide job”: when a car on the inside track intentionally turns a corner too sharply, causing it to skid to the top with, ideally, enough momentum to slide just in front of the other car.
That’s the move Stewart tried on Aug. 9, 2014. That night, Stewart, still a star in Nascar, arrived at the Canandaigua Motorsports Park in upstate New York for a dirt race in the Empire Super Sprints series. Fourteen laps in, Stewart, trying a pass, slid into Kevin Ward Jr.’s car on a turn, edging him off the track. Ward hit a wall and spun around. He climbed out of the car unscathed but angry. He stomped onto the track, pointing toward Stewart’s car. The stakes were much higher that night for Ward, who was 20, than they were for Stewart. Ward had dreamed of joining Nascar since he was a boy. But racing Stewart that night would bring Ward as close to Nascar as he would ever get.	That’s the move Stewart tried on Aug. 9, 2014. That night, Stewart, still a star in Nascar, arrived at the Canandaigua Motorsports Park in upstate New York for a dirt race in the Empire Super Sprints series. Fourteen laps in, Stewart, trying a pass, slid into Kevin Ward Jr.’s car on a turn, edging him off the track. Ward hit a wall and spun around. He climbed out of the car unscathed but angry. He stomped onto the track, pointing toward Stewart’s car. The stakes were much higher that night for Ward, who was 20, than they were for Stewart. Ward had dreamed of joining Nascar since he was a boy. But racing Stewart that night would bring Ward as close to Nascar as he would ever get.
The yellow flag flew, signaling that cars should slow down. Drivers passed Ward as he stood there, still pointing at Stewart. Then, just as Stewart reached Ward, he sped up and fishtailed, the right rear wheel hitting Ward and pulling him underneath. Stewart’s car dragged Ward for a few seconds before flinging him 50 yards down the track. An ambulance rushed the young man to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead on arrival. Stewart refused to say anything to me about Ward’s death, but he has maintained publicly that he didn’t see him until it was too late. The racing community is divided: Stewart’s fans call it an accident, while others point to his infamous temper as evidence of malice. Everyone agrees that Ward should not have exited his car on a hot track.	The yellow flag flew, signaling that cars should slow down. Drivers passed Ward as he stood there, still pointing at Stewart. Then, just as Stewart reached Ward, he sped up and fishtailed, the right rear wheel hitting Ward and pulling him underneath. Stewart’s car dragged Ward for a few seconds before flinging him 50 yards down the track. An ambulance rushed the young man to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead on arrival. Stewart refused to say anything to me about Ward’s death, but he has maintained publicly that he didn’t see him until it was too late. The racing community is divided: Stewart’s fans call it an accident, while others point to his infamous temper as evidence of malice. Everyone agrees that Ward should not have exited his car on a hot track.
The sprint driver Tyler Graves, who was in the stands that night, ignited widespread condemnation of Stewart when he told a reporter, “I know Tony could see him. I know how you can see out of these cars.” He added: “Kevin was pissed, and he let Tony know. And Tony was trying to give the message back that he wasn’t happy, either. He went over the line with it.” An avalanche of op-eds in the racing press speculated on whether hitting the throttle indicated that Stewart was trying to swerve at or away from Ward. To this day, any mention of Stewart on the internet draws comments alternately accusing him of getting away with murder or defending him from character assassination.	The sprint driver Tyler Graves, who was in the stands that night, ignited widespread condemnation of Stewart when he told a reporter, “I know Tony could see him. I know how you can see out of these cars.” He added: “Kevin was pissed, and he let Tony know. And Tony was trying to give the message back that he wasn’t happy, either. He went over the line with it.” An avalanche of op-eds in the racing press speculated on whether hitting the throttle indicated that Stewart was trying to swerve at or away from Ward. To this day, any mention of Stewart on the internet draws comments alternately accusing him of getting away with murder or defending him from character assassination.
Ward’s family tried to bring criminal charges against Stewart in 2014, arguing that even if he didn’t intend to kill the young man, he had recklessly tried to intimidate him by veering toward him. (Stewart insists that he hit the throttle in an effort to avoid Ward once he saw him.) When the grand jury declined to bring criminal charges, the family filed a civil suit. Stewart settled with the Wards in April. The year of Kevin Ward’s death was Stewart’s worst ever in Nascar. The following season wasn’t much better, and in 2016, he quit for good.	Ward’s family tried to bring criminal charges against Stewart in 2014, arguing that even if he didn’t intend to kill the young man, he had recklessly tried to intimidate him by veering toward him. (Stewart insists that he hit the throttle in an effort to avoid Ward once he saw him.) When the grand jury declined to bring criminal charges, the family filed a civil suit. Stewart settled with the Wards in April. The year of Kevin Ward’s death was Stewart’s worst ever in Nascar. The following season wasn’t much better, and in 2016, he quit for good.
I went to see Stewart again in June at his Eldora Speedway, about an hour northwest of Dayton. It was in the upper 80s, with a mass of Midwestern humidity in the air, so he was giving me a tour of the grounds from inside his air-conditioned truck. “I like it when it gets hot,” Stewart said. “Young skinny kids fall off their seats when it gets hot like this. But us fat kids, we got staying power.” Stewart is proud of the speedway, which he bought in 2004 and has been gradually renovating since. When he noticed that his tires were tracking mud onto the concrete parking lot, he pulled out onto the road. “We’re going to fix this the old-fashioned way,” he said.	I went to see Stewart again in June at his Eldora Speedway, about an hour northwest of Dayton. It was in the upper 80s, with a mass of Midwestern humidity in the air, so he was giving me a tour of the grounds from inside his air-conditioned truck. “I like it when it gets hot,” Stewart said. “Young skinny kids fall off their seats when it gets hot like this. But us fat kids, we got staying power.” Stewart is proud of the speedway, which he bought in 2004 and has been gradually renovating since. When he noticed that his tires were tracking mud onto the concrete parking lot, he pulled out onto the road. “We’re going to fix this the old-fashioned way,” he said.
He swerved to the right, off the two-lane highway and into a pasture. “We’ll sling it over here,” he said, hitting the gas and accelerating to nearly 40 miles per hour, which feels much faster when on a choppy field. As I bounced around the passenger seat gripping the armrest, he looked amused. “See how the suspension is nice?” Once he had sufficiently flung off the dirt, he returned to the tour. He started with the bathrooms, showing how he had upgraded the men’s troughs to urinals. Light sconces now adorned the women’s rooms, and he put coat hooks in the stalls. “You go to any dirt track in the country, and they don’t have those,” he said.	He swerved to the right, off the two-lane highway and into a pasture. “We’ll sling it over here,” he said, hitting the gas and accelerating to nearly 40 miles per hour, which feels much faster when on a choppy field. As I bounced around the passenger seat gripping the armrest, he looked amused. “See how the suspension is nice?” Once he had sufficiently flung off the dirt, he returned to the tour. He started with the bathrooms, showing how he had upgraded the men’s troughs to urinals. Light sconces now adorned the women’s rooms, and he put coat hooks in the stalls. “You go to any dirt track in the country, and they don’t have those,” he said.