As a boomer I’m old enough to remember when politics didn’t really matter all that much. Sure, we all did our civic duty, went to the polls, checked the boxes, handed over our ballots. But, beyond that it didn’t really matter who occupied a big old white house. Because most of us were affected far more by waiting on our tax refund to come so we could buy a new pair of bell-bottom jeans and earth shoes than anything some old person way off in Washington could do. D.C. was the Land of Oz, and the chief executive, whoever that might be, the wizard.
And if for some reason we didn’t like that wizard we could just wait a few years and try again. Vote. Rinse. Repeat.
The only time I can remember getting involved with politics was tagging along with my dad when he spoke at a local city council meeting. He wanted the city to install a stop sign at an intersection near our house. I still fondly remember seeing him standing at the podium delivering an impassioned plea. It was a scene plucked straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, with me in the background wearing a tie for the first time in my life.
Of course, politics were still ‘civil’ then and the podium was a physical one. Today that podium is virtual. Anyone can pull a phone from their pocket, step up and shout whatever they want, civility be damned. You don’t have to wear a tie; you can even shout in your underwear. If he were still alive Norman Rockwell would no doubt hang his head in shame.
Our ability to shout pretty much anything we want, anytime we want, has created a chasm that makes the Grand Canyon look like a spec of dust on a camera lens. If space aliens landed here right now they’d probably wonder why we hate each other so much. They’d likely be met by people making fun of them who would then trudge back under a bridge to feed goats. God help us if they asked someone to take them to our leader. In the end the aliens would likely climb back aboard their flying saucer, leave, and never look back.
It’s only when we are all together in one place that we seem to see a measure of that thing we once knew as civility. Unable to hide behind a keyboard we can smile without using an emoji, listen to what someone else actually has to say, and enjoy a collective experience, together.
Sadly, those things that once brought us together in-person have become rarer than Kyle Busch in a good mood after finishing second. Thanks to the covid era when leaving our house and coming in contact with another human being meant certain death, we’ve seemingly grown weary of gathering, enjoy a collective experience of just being together, and a rare moment of civility.
This past Sunday’s Daytona 500 was one of those rare moments. Some 100,000 people gathered at a sporting event. Yes, there was the incoming presence of a sitting president of the United States, which meant more security than the infield at Talladega on a Saturday night—though just barely. But in the end, after a flyover by Air Force One, everyone rose, men removed their hats, Veterans rendered a hand salute, and the National Anthem echoed across the grounds as the Thunderbirds shot across the sky like Ross Chastain on the final lap at Martinsville.
That sitting president led the field for a lap and there were cheers from the crowd. Sure, not everyone cheered, some may have even grumbled under their breath, but there was a display of that rare thing we call civility; a graciousness that the person holding the highest office in the land was there with us. There wasn’t an aisle with people on one side or the other. It’s almost as if those who don’t like the current wizard realized that they can’t change it but can wait a few years and try again. Vote. Rinse. Repeat.
Maybe the fact that the race was delayed by rain for over three hours was a good thing. It allowed everyone to simply enjoy that rare element of civility a little bit longer.
There’s good reason it’s called The Great American Race. It allows us to become that which we all are at the end of the day, Americans (with a few representing other countries scattered in the seats). For that one Sunday we were not right, or left, liberal or conservative… just Americans, being civil towards one another.
The sun rose Monday morning and William Byron was still celebrating. Everyone else was back behind the keyboards, the trolls back under the bridge feeding the goats. I’d like to think that some of them were still smiling as they remembered the collective experience of the day before.
Sadly, I doubt that’s the case.
The good thing about NASCAR though is they do the same thing just about every Sunday during the year. It might not be The Great American Race, nor will the field led by a sitting president, but everyone will rise, men will remove their hats, Veterans render a hand salute, and the National Anthem will echo across a speedway. People will enjoy a collective experience of just being together, and a rare moment of civility.
Maybe there’s something to be learned from a race like Daytona, or other races throughout the season. That for a few hours, differences don’t matter. That we can still stand together, even if we’re cheering for different drivers. It won’t last forever, but for one Sunday, it’s proof that maybe—just maybe—we’re not as far gone as we think.
Greg is the author of "The Nuts and Bolts of NASCAR: The Definitive Viewers' Guide to Big-Time Stock Car Auto Racing" and has been published in major publications across the country including the Los Angeles Times, the Cleveland Plain Dealer and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He was also a contributor to Chicken Soup for the NASCAR Soul, published in 2010, and the Christmas edition in 2016. He wrote as the NASCAR, Formula 1, Auto Reviews and National Veterans Affairs Examiner for Examiner.com and has appeared on Fox News. He holds a BS degree in communications, a Masters degree in psychology and is currently a PhD candidate majoring in psychology. He is currently the weekend Motorsports Editor for Autoweek.
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