Danica Patrick. Because I can.

There’s a whole lotta nuttin’ going on in racing at the moment, with the exception of the Dakar Rally if you’re into such things. Which not that many people are, sad to say.

In what little news there is, NASCAR’s equivalent of a pre-season, a/k/a NASCAR Preseason Thunder, takes place Thursday January 20th through Saturday January 22nd at Daytona International Speedway. This three-day session provides teams with the opportunity to test out the repaved track, learn how the new nose on Sprint Cup cars makes them handle, accumulate data for when racing begins in earnest at Daytona in February, and work on their sound bytes about the tremendous advances their team has made from last season and 2011 is their year for sure. Sure…

In NHRA, all is quiet until the season kicks off in Pomona February 24th through the 27th. No one is presently working on their sound bytes with the exception of John Force, who’s a walking sound byte 24/7/365. God bless him, the grandest personality in all of motorsports.

The Series Formerly Known As IRL But Now Desiring To Be Referred To As IZOD IndyCar Series And Where Danica Is In All The Races lays low until the end of March, when things kick off in St. Petersburg. In the meanwhile, fans can occupy their time with wondering how many 100th Anniversary Indianapolis 500 collectibles they want, how the new car and manufacturers entering the series in 2012 will affect things, and will anyone not driving for Ganassi or Penske win a race in the meanwhile.

Thankfully, there is some actual racing to look forward to this month, albeit on the final weekend: the Rolex 24 at Daytona, season kickoff for the GRAND-AM Rolex Sports Car Series. Given how a sprinkling of NASCAR and IndyCar names usually find a ride for the weekend, even though it’s a road course and a tad difficult to follow at 3 AM unless one is an expert at differentiating headlights at least it’s racing. And not a minute too soon.

(Cross-posted at Liberty Pundits and Examiner.com)

Simona de Silvestro and Danica Patrick

A few — well, more than a few — questions after yesterday’s Indianapolis 500, dominated by Dario Franchitti:

What happened to Penske? Everything leading up to the race was the sole property of Penske cars, with everyone else relegated to Happy To Be Here status. However, the moment Jack Nicholson waved the green flag, most everyone and everything under Roger’s command transformed from kingpins to the Keystone Kops. Huge mistakes on pit road; subpar on-track performances. Why? Granted, you would have had to have been perfect to be within shouting distance of Franchitti, whose performance was flawless. But still, an odd off day. Especially on the biggest day of the year. No offense to Kurt Busch, but when he’s the star performer in your stable, something is off-kilter.

Why is there such a performance gap between Ganassi and Penske compared to all other teams? Yesterday (as far as Penske is concerned) notwithstanding, it is a rare occurrence when anyone other than a Penske or Ganassi driver isn’t atop the podium. Why? The car hasn’t changed in years. The cars are identical from team to team. There is no manufacturer advantage. Granted, Ganassi and Penske boast a stellar lineup of talent behind the wheel. But they don’t have a monopoly on this. So why the disparity? It’s not good for the IRL, which right now needs all the competition it can muster in order to get some attention on the national sports scene.

Who will Dreyer & Reinbold put in the #24 car? With Mike Conway sidelined for the year, someone needs to drive the Dad’s Root Beer float. While there are any number of qualified pilots, the best choice would be Ana Beatriz. She’s proven her mettle in both the Indy Lights series and with the big boys & girls. She’s demonstrated genuine potential to be in the upper echelon of open wheel. And there is the instant added publicity offered whenever a woman takes the wheel. C’mon D&R. Do the right thing.

Speaking of such… Yesterday heralded the continued gender integration of open wheel racing, in the same manner as NHRA has been. In the latter, whenever Ashley Force Hood or Karen Stouffer are in the staging area the thought isn’t “oh, there’s a woman.” It’s “oh, there is a top-notch driver.”

The issue facing Simona de Silvestro, as well as Beatriz and, yes, Danica, isn’t their lack of a Y chromosome or lack of ability. It’s not driving for Ganassi or Penske. Should their respective teams pick it up, the novelty will fade as the quality shines.

That said, female drivers will always have an instant edge in popularity over their male counterparts. For some reason, the media fails to grasp this fundamental, reacting in horror whenever slammed for slamming Danica or whoever. In its bleating how all drivers should be judged equally regardless of gender, it invariably overlooks multiple factors such as, oh, the quality of team for which they drive. As an example, has Sarah Fisher ever driven a car capable of winning? No. How, then, can we know what her true driving ability might be? We can’t. All we can do is wonder.

Switching over to Danica, she started at Rahal Letterman — second tier team — and from there moved to Andretti which has been struggling to be in the same ballpark as Penske and Ganassi. Consider her teammate Tony Kaanan. It’s been a long time since he has won. Has he forgotten how to drive? Is he an overrated hack? No. And neither is Danica.

It’s difficult to escape the conclusion that an alarmingly large number of writers covering auto racing do so not from the aspect of sport, but rather from the unholy trinity of entertainment, pop culture and personality. None of which can drive a car or turn a wrench worth a lick. These writers don’t know the sport itself, from either the mechanical or competitive aspects. And it shows.

Bob Dylan said it best when asked about whether he noted what critics said about his work: “You can’t listen to critics.” Listen to those who know by doing, or at the least have obtained genuine knowledge by listening to those who know by doing. Making things personal via obsessing over personality is journalism done on the cheap. Actually, it isn’t journalism at all.

Okay, off the soapbox and back to racing.

About Andretti Autosport… Considering the miserable time all members of said organization had at the cathedral of speed during practice and qualifying, the race results were very positive. Kaanan’s charge from the back was especially noteworthy. However, this alone doesn’t negate the fact that there are issues at AA needing to be addressed. IRL could use someone stepping up to challenge the Penske-Ganassi stranglehold. Who better, from the PR aspect if nothing else, than Andretti?

So what’s next for the IRL? In the immediate future, it’s Texas this Saturday night. This race needs to be a good one. Usually the host to awe-inspiring action and fantastic finishes, last year’s event was a snoozefest with zero excitement. Given how this coming Sunday finds NASCAR at poke-along Pocono, Texas is a golden opportunity for the IRL showcase itself. Here’s hoping it won’t blow it. Long term? To be discussed at a later time.

P.S. A personal note: thank you to everyone for your condolences over my mother passing away last week. Very much appreciated.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

Life’s juxtapositions can create quite bizarre scenarios. Such was the case last Thursday morning.

There I was, heading down south to Auto Club Speedway in Fontana, California for my first time as an accredited media member covering NASCAR. Me. Diecast Dude. Accredited. Whodathunk.

Excited? Most definitely. Nervous? You betcha. Determined to do my absolute best? Absolutely. I had dreamt of, prayed for this opportunity. Living the dream? No way to know. Pursuing the dream to see where it may lead? Yes.

Then my brother called.

Our aunt was dead.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

My brother had taken the lead in tending to our aunt since she had become unable to take care of herself last year. Dementia had set in, robbing her of her dignity even as she was mercifully unaware her mind was going. Now she was gone in body as well.

Throughout, my brother had demonstrated strength by every right he shouldn’t have. Wracked by diabetic neuropathy and the onset of MS, nevertheless he did the work and then some needed. His faith in Christ empowered him. It encouraged me. My brother in every sense of the world; in blood, washed by the Blood, fellow right wing outlaw.

If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

I already had much on my mind heading into the weekend. Now I had even more alongside what had been laid on my heart and soul. Turning back and returning home wasn’t an option. The opportunity laid out before me had to be seized and seized now. I would need to postpone my grief. There were no other options.

I’ve occasionally noted for my own edification that for me, Diecast Dude is more than an oddball pen name. It’s an aspect of my persona. I haven’t been Diecast Dude very often for quite a while. Too busy with other things. Arguably more important ones, such as the book. Still, I rather missed mixing entertainment plus information centered around NASCAR along with sardonic combativeness and digressions into Spirit-desiring sentimentality. Now I needed to be that like never before.

I also needed my right hand to hold up under the ton of typing that awaited as I pounded out blog posts and tweets about the weekends events. Otherwise, I’d be all thumbs. As in writing everything on my iPhone, tapping away with my thumbs since that was the only way to avoid the sharp pains stabbing their way along my fingers. Which is slow going indeed.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

I logged on to Twitter and mentioned my aunt passing away. A few people responded with consolatory messages. To each of you, thank you. To those on Twitter who follow me but missed it because they weren’t logged in at the time, I know you would have said something.

To those on Twitter who follow me but either missed it or ignored it because they were too busy at CPAC…

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Well, it’s on me to forgive you.

It’s also on me to say, “Hey. What are you doing?” There’s nothing that can be done about what happened. Yeah, it hurt, but it’s over and gone.

What about the next time, though? What about the next person who makes public mention of loss? Will you treat that person the same way you treated me, so absorbed in yourself and whatever you’re doing at the moment you can’t take a moment to write a simple ‘I’m sorry’?

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

I had to put all that aside. Friday morning, there I was at the race track, press credentials and garage pass dangling from my neck in an improvised holder attached to a temporary lanyard. I got a real one at the end of the day. But back where I was: there I was, walking into the media center looking at people who before that moment were merely names on bylines. Now I was one of them.

As the weekend unfolded, while there were moments of pure fanboy fantasy (“Jeff. Gordon. Is. Sitting. Three. Feet. Away. From. Me. JEFF!!! GORDON!!!”) for the most part my time was spent doing what I’d come to do: observe, report, interact with other journalists and online with my fellow fans. Which I did as best I could. The hand pain delayed some writing, but it was all completed.

I met a few journalists, some of whom I’d had different levels of contact with online. They were all polite, some far above. Dustin Long is a true gentleman in every sense of the word. Nicole Manske helped me get in close enough to Jimmie Johnson when he was doing a brief presser behind his trailer in a noisy pit area so I could record the conversation. was gracious and friendly during Sunday’s race when we sat next to each other in the press box. Didn’t do as much one on one with drivers or crew chiefs as I would have liked, but I was able to find Robby Gordon and get a scoop.

Fundamental truth of the matter was even with the turbulence that enveloped me, I was savoring the experience of being where I had longed to be for years and finding it did not disappoint. Moments such as this are scarce commodities for most of us. Now I was in the midst of one. Nothing could steal my joy. The sorrows would be there to be dealt with upon my return. This was a time to celebrate.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

During the weekend, something that had been percolating since 2008 came to full brew. Racing news for the thinking unimpaired has returned. I’ve teamed up with my main man Bram Hume at Backstretch Motorsports. Our goal? Beside total world domination, it’s to be THE go-to site for racing news, information and opinion. A major task to be sure, and one that will involve much work. But if I want to pursue this dream, there is no option to doing the work. Bring it on.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

The weekend, of course, had to end. After the frenetic fun of Friday’s press conferences, the Nationwide race on Saturday during which I politely informed one and all on Twitter I’d be more than happy to repeat my defense of Danica Patrick in person, and Sunday’s torrent of tweeting during the race it was over. Time to pack up and head home to office demands and deadlines.

And funeral arrangements.

For we know in part and we prophesy in part,

None of us have a complete grasp on what’s going on, or why. We know as best we can the moment we’re in. But even that knowledge is extremely limited. Everything else may as well be lollipop dreams in a cotton candy sky. We are totally, wholly, utterly reliant on God.

Whether we know it or not.

but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.

I don’t know why everything shook out the way it did this past weekend. I don’t know why this was the appointed time for my aunt to go to heaven, which is where I believe she is for she was a believer in Christ. I don’t know why a beloved online acquaintance went to the hospital Friday. I don’t know why the sister of my wife’s best friend, someone we knew, finally finished drinking herself to death Sunday. I don’t know why all this took place even as I was fulfilling a dream and started work toward making it my daily reality. I don’t know why one day I was in Disneyland and the next was at a funeral home.

I don’t know.

I know God knows, though.

That’s good enough.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

In the days of my youth I was a voracious reader, often reading the same book several times over. One of these was The Runaway Robot by Lester Del Rey. In it, the referred to runaway robot recalls a line he either heard or read once: ‘After a taste of freedom, captivity is no longer the same.’ While referring to my day job as captivity is ludicrous melodramatic bunk, now that I’ve sampled being a full-time NASCAR writer… ‘nuff said.

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

It’s ironic that what is most feared in life, namely its conclusion, is in fact our greatest liberator. No one in their right mind wishes to hasten their demise. Yet in death not only are we promised eternity with Christ, we are promised the answers we could never know nor understand during our tenure on this planet. What’s more, we are promised the full embrace of Christ’s love for us.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

There was magic and loss this past weekend. I could have done without the latter. The former, though… the former made the latter a little easier to understand.