All-Star Race missed memo on holding line on change

Refresh my memory.

Is it two segments, three segments, or four segments? Is the finale 10, 20, or 25 laps? Is a green-flag pit stop still mandatory? Is the inversion still around? Does the fan vote still count? Are there one or two preliminary events? Are the slowest cars eliminated? And how do drivers qualify for this thing again, anyway?

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When it comes to the exhibition now known as the Sprint All-Star Race, who knows. The event has been through more mutations than Oprah's waistline, and requires an examination of manuals and flowcharts just to figure out. The race has been around for 25 years, and been through almost that many rule changes. Every season brings another tweak to the distance, or the qualifying criteria, or the format. Today's convoluted, made-for-television extravaganza bares absolutely no resemblance to the simple 70-lap race Darrell Waltrip won when an event called The Winston debuted at Charlotte Motor Speedway in 1985.

Soon afterward, the tinkering began, starting with an expansion of the race distance -- and a short-lived move to Atlanta -- in 1986. The next year, the event was chopped up into three segments, and a qualifying race was added. Two years after that brought a three-lap qualifying format, complete with a pit stop. In 1990 the race was reduced to two segments, in 1992 it was expanded back to three, and the dreaded inversion and 10-minute segment breaks were added. In 1998 yellow-flag laps were discounted and a random draw to determine the inversion was implemented. The year 2000 brought the addition of a second qualifying race, which was axed after two years. Then there was an elimination format, which itself was eliminated. A fan vote was added, the inversion was ousted, and by 2007 the race had been expanded to four segments.

And now, for this year, the distances of those four "quarters" have been changed yet again. Rather than four 20-lap segments (as in 2007) or four 25-lap segments (as in 2008), the 2009 edition will feature segments of 50, 20, 20 and 10 laps in length. Three drivers not already qualified will get in, the top two finishers in the preliminary event and one voted in by fans. Got all that? Good. After Saturday night, forget it. Because next year's will surely look different.

All this is done to maximize the entertainment value of an event that's become weighed down by its own complication. This is supposed to be a race that mimics a Saturday night at the short track, with heat races and guys banging fenders to get into the big-money main event. But local short trackers don't exactly have to worry about things like a mandatory green-flag pit stop that must come in the first segment and must be followed by a crossing of the start/finish line while on the race track (an actual rule). This race is a great idea, a no-pressure, no-points free-for-all that's produced some fantastic moments, like Dale Earnhardt's pass in the grass in 1987 or Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s gutsy victory 13 years later. But it needs to get out of its own way.

Did the folks running the All-Star Race miss the memo about holding the line on change, which has been the NASCAR mantra the past two seasons? Did they forget about going back to basics? Have they not noticed how big race fans are on history and tradition, and how averse they are to something new every time they turn around? Evidently, those rules don't apply to this event, which is in desperate need of being stripped down and simplified. What we have now is the equivalent of the Major League All-Star Game being seven innings one year, and 15 the next. And then, hey, why not play two six-innings games with a 10-minute break in between?

The money being paid out for this event is, in a word, awesome. It's staggering to think that $1 million will go to the winner of a race that doesn't even count. It's the money that sets this event apart, that provides it with whatever level of importance it has, that makes it a big deal to the competitors. Kyle Busch may have won $25 million through the course of his NASCAR career, but that doesn't make the idea of taking home a cool millie in one night any less appealing. Crewmen, who each get a slice of that lucrative pie if they win, are going all-out as well.

But let's be honest -- the money does nothing for the person sitting in the grandstand or watching on television, who may be thrilled to see Kevin Harvick or Carl Edwards win another million bucks, but isn't going home with any of that in his pocket. That's why race promoters have relentlessly tinkered with the format, trying to find that elusive combination that provides green-to-checkered thrills. That's why they've turned the night into a big, gaudy show, with wrestling-style introductions of not only each driver but also his entire over-the-wall crew, and musical acts that don't always take a back seat to the race. In 2006, the All-Star box score could easily have read: Caution, lap 71 (Red Hot Chili Peppers).

The intent is in the right place, to make the All-Star Race as exciting and entertaining as it can be, for the competitors as well as the viewers. But this event needs to stop confusing people; how many race fans are going to walk through the gates of Lowe's Motor Speedway on Saturday, for instance, looking for an inversion that will never come? Simplify, simplify, as that noted naturalist and motorsports enthusiast Henry David Thoreau would say. And while we're at it, can we keep the same format for more than one year in a row? Like Dale Earnhardt's black paint scheme or Jeff Gordon's brand of pinot noir, some things only get better with time.

The opinions expressed are solely of the writer.