Doomsday101
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 107,762
- Reaction score
- 39,034
DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. - At night, when he drives through the infield on his way to dinner, Tony Eury Jr. can't help but marvel at all those green 88 banners. "Just a couple of months ago, they were red 8s," he says. "These people went out and spent their money to show who they were rooting for. You see all the green stuff and you know: these people love us."
Eury is cousin, crew chief and consigliere to the world's most famous and popular living driver, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Since the conclusion of the last disappointing season, they have changed teams, sponsors and numbers, hence the suddenly ubiquitous green 88s, denoting Mountain Dew's Amp energy drink, where there had been red Budweiser logos. Of course, the fans don't care if Earnhardt likes his beverages caffeinated or alcoholic. Their allegiance — likely the most devout in all of American sports — isn't based on the product, but the man.
It's been said, with ample economic justification, that what's good for Junior is good for NASCAR. With that in mind, this was an especially sweet Valentine's Day, as pleasing to the sponsors as it was to the fans. Just five days after winning the Budweiser Shootout, Junior won his qualifying race, the 60-lap Gatorade Duel. These races might not count in the season standings, but they are a harbinger for the race that really counts, or, perhaps, counts most of all.
The 50th running of the Daytona 500 is still two days away. It's a momentous occasion for any driver — but most of all, for Earnhardt. Daytona was where his daddy died.
"That's where it happened," says Eury, nodding in the direction of Turn 4. "You hope it never happens again, but you also know it can be around the corner at any time."
Eury speaks for the team, the family and the driver. They are his indivisible concerns. But listening to the crew chief, you can't help but think of Junior. Going around that track as he does, can he ever be cured of his grief?
"No, I don't think he ever will," says Eury. "We lost something valuable here. We miss him every day."
They're not alone. The deep affection fans felt for the father — "the working man who come out of a cotton mill town and made it big ... a small-town guy who made you think hey, that could be me" — has been bestowed upon the son. The fans' green 88s and before that, their red 8s, have been a way to honor the black 3.
"That's probably the one way they can carry that legacy," says Eury. "They're gonna pull for his son. That's the next best thing."
Unfortunately, there's a problem with this. Being a famous son is among the most hazardous jobs in America. Expectations are relentless and unforgiving. What's more, in Earnhardt's case, the anniversary of his father's death inevitably coincides with the biggest Sunday in the sport. It's one thing to share a famous father with the world; it's another to have to share his ghost.
The Man in Black is everywhere at Daytona. His statue marks the entrance like a welcoming icon. Pilgrims in black Goodwrench hats approach as if receiving a benediction. A Car of Tomorrow replica of the No. 3 Monte Carlo is parked outside the media center. He died on the last lap of the 500 blocking for his boy. Religions have been constructed from less potent narratives.
Actually, the attentions directed at Junior do seem almost religious. It's not just the sudden preponderance of green stuff at the track. It's the way grown men and women press their noses to the glass of the #25 garage stall, with that unmistakable look of devotion. Even when the stall is empty — no car, no crew — they gaze upon the tires and the tools as if they were talismans.
Forget the money. How many men could compete in the place where one's father had passed? You wonder how many days Junior wakes up and wishes his name were John Smith.
"Sure," says Eury. "There's a lot of pressure that comes along with that name. But most days he enjoys waking up being Dale Earnhardt Jr."
The Earnhardts and Eurys embrace Daytona and all that the track signifies: money and pressure, the chance to grieve and the chance to be great. Junior himself said as much the other day, after winning the Budweiser Shootout: "This is where we lost him and I want to keep whipping it. You know what I'm saying? I want to make it a special place."
If the last two races make Junior a favorite to win the 50th Daytona, so be it. "We got a great shot," he said after Thursday's qualifying race.
That's the truth, no sense hiding from it. False modesty is as bad as a braggart's conceit. The truth is, Senior's son has a great shot. A win would be good for the family, as victory is palliative for everything from enduring sorrow to outsized expectation. It'll be good for the sport, too, for everybody from those guys in green to the Man in Black.
"I know he's proud of us," says Eury. "Every time we win here it's a tribute to him. It makes us feel better."
Eury is cousin, crew chief and consigliere to the world's most famous and popular living driver, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Since the conclusion of the last disappointing season, they have changed teams, sponsors and numbers, hence the suddenly ubiquitous green 88s, denoting Mountain Dew's Amp energy drink, where there had been red Budweiser logos. Of course, the fans don't care if Earnhardt likes his beverages caffeinated or alcoholic. Their allegiance — likely the most devout in all of American sports — isn't based on the product, but the man.
It's been said, with ample economic justification, that what's good for Junior is good for NASCAR. With that in mind, this was an especially sweet Valentine's Day, as pleasing to the sponsors as it was to the fans. Just five days after winning the Budweiser Shootout, Junior won his qualifying race, the 60-lap Gatorade Duel. These races might not count in the season standings, but they are a harbinger for the race that really counts, or, perhaps, counts most of all.
The 50th running of the Daytona 500 is still two days away. It's a momentous occasion for any driver — but most of all, for Earnhardt. Daytona was where his daddy died.
"That's where it happened," says Eury, nodding in the direction of Turn 4. "You hope it never happens again, but you also know it can be around the corner at any time."
Eury speaks for the team, the family and the driver. They are his indivisible concerns. But listening to the crew chief, you can't help but think of Junior. Going around that track as he does, can he ever be cured of his grief?
"No, I don't think he ever will," says Eury. "We lost something valuable here. We miss him every day."
They're not alone. The deep affection fans felt for the father — "the working man who come out of a cotton mill town and made it big ... a small-town guy who made you think hey, that could be me" — has been bestowed upon the son. The fans' green 88s and before that, their red 8s, have been a way to honor the black 3.
"That's probably the one way they can carry that legacy," says Eury. "They're gonna pull for his son. That's the next best thing."
Unfortunately, there's a problem with this. Being a famous son is among the most hazardous jobs in America. Expectations are relentless and unforgiving. What's more, in Earnhardt's case, the anniversary of his father's death inevitably coincides with the biggest Sunday in the sport. It's one thing to share a famous father with the world; it's another to have to share his ghost.
The Man in Black is everywhere at Daytona. His statue marks the entrance like a welcoming icon. Pilgrims in black Goodwrench hats approach as if receiving a benediction. A Car of Tomorrow replica of the No. 3 Monte Carlo is parked outside the media center. He died on the last lap of the 500 blocking for his boy. Religions have been constructed from less potent narratives.
Actually, the attentions directed at Junior do seem almost religious. It's not just the sudden preponderance of green stuff at the track. It's the way grown men and women press their noses to the glass of the #25 garage stall, with that unmistakable look of devotion. Even when the stall is empty — no car, no crew — they gaze upon the tires and the tools as if they were talismans.
Forget the money. How many men could compete in the place where one's father had passed? You wonder how many days Junior wakes up and wishes his name were John Smith.
"Sure," says Eury. "There's a lot of pressure that comes along with that name. But most days he enjoys waking up being Dale Earnhardt Jr."
The Earnhardts and Eurys embrace Daytona and all that the track signifies: money and pressure, the chance to grieve and the chance to be great. Junior himself said as much the other day, after winning the Budweiser Shootout: "This is where we lost him and I want to keep whipping it. You know what I'm saying? I want to make it a special place."
If the last two races make Junior a favorite to win the 50th Daytona, so be it. "We got a great shot," he said after Thursday's qualifying race.
That's the truth, no sense hiding from it. False modesty is as bad as a braggart's conceit. The truth is, Senior's son has a great shot. A win would be good for the family, as victory is palliative for everything from enduring sorrow to outsized expectation. It'll be good for the sport, too, for everybody from those guys in green to the Man in Black.
"I know he's proud of us," says Eury. "Every time we win here it's a tribute to him. It makes us feel better."
