The Brickyard: A requiem

The kid is no more than knee-high to a Goodyear, but he knows his stuff. On this afternoon 27 years ago, he stands with his tiny hands hooked through the chain-link, watching all that Detroit muscle rumble past in the shimmery heat. And he sings out the names, one by one by one.

"Ricky Rudd!" he chirps in his high piping voice, as the No. 10 Tide Ride snarled out the gate.

"Rusty Wallace!"

"Bill Elliott!"

"Sterling Marlin!"

Car after car, blaring billboard after blaring billboard, rolling out onto the fabled oval. And then one more, and the kid is practically shrieking.

"BOBBY LABONTE!"

Because, see, he's dressed head-to-toe in the green of Labonte's No. 18 Interstate Batteries Pontiac. And now his dad is smiling.

"That's his guy," he tells a bystander. "He knows 'em all, but that's his guy."

And now the bystander -- me -- is smiling and nodding, too. It's the first blush of August in 1994, and we're all metaphorically shouting out the names, because NASCAR has come to the most famous 2 1/2 miles in motorsports. And it is strange and wonderful and earth-shaking all at once.

In 83 years, after all, no event but the Indianapolis 500 had been run at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. No month but May was ever loud and fast and coursing with humanity, and shot through with triumph and turmoil and sometimes tragedy.

But NASCAR was a happening by '94, and so here came August and more loudness and speed. All those names riding the NASCAR crest were there, and more besides. 

Among the 85 entries, for instance, were 57-year-old H.B. Bailey and 66-year-old Herschel McGriff, neither of whom made the field. Indy 500 winners Danny Sullivan and A.J. Foyt did make the field. 

On race day, which was perversely cool for August, polesitter Rick Mast led the field into turn one in his black-and-white No. 1. As he did, I raised a camera and snapped off a picture. I still have it somewhere, and should dig it out this weekend.

After all, it's a piece of history that actually is history now.

This is because what used to be the Brickyard 400, or the Something-Something 400 at the Brickyard is no more. The NASCAR boys are Indy this weekend for a tripleheader with the IndyCar guys, but they won't running on the oval anymore. 

Instead, they'll be running on the infield road course, which didn't even exist in '94. And the name of the race will be the Verizon 200.

I'm entitled to feel a bit wistful about that, having covered the first 20 Brickyard 400s. Even if I've been banging the gong to move the race to the road course for a good decade now.

This is because a race that was strange and wonderful and earth-shaking in '94 gradually became a really loud Tournament of Roses parade as the years marched along. Technology advanced and changed the cars and those iconic 2 1/2 miles, unchanging across more than a century now, became the worst possible venue for NASCAR. What was a show the first few years became a dreary slog under a melting August sun, and when the shine wore off NASCAR-at-Indy the dreary slog was all that was left.

People stopped coming, gradually, once they discovered the Brickyard was a giant bore. Then came Tiregate in 2008, and they really stopped coming.

That's when the Blob began saying maybe the Speedway and NASCAR ought to think about moving the event to the road course. It wouldn't be the same as running the race on that hallowed oval, but at least it wouldn't put the audience into a full snooze -- or decide it wasn't worth making the trek to Indy at all.

At the very least the visuals would be better. Because they wouldn't be going around and around and around in front of acres of empty seats.

Well, that's all past. Tomorrow they come to the green going south-to-north on the main straightaway, braking hard to make that tight right into the infield, and, sure, this will be better. NASCAR at Indy will be fun again -- or least not the tranquilizer the oval race had become.

The Blob applauds this.

But a part of me will miss that kid, and the wonder of it all.