This is taken from ESPN at http://espn.go.com/rpm/wc/2001/0218/1094217.html
I'm sure it's how Dale would want everyone to remember him. Someone finally
said it the way I would have.
NASCAR lost more than a seven-time champion Sunday afternoon at Daytona. It
lost its identity, its swagger and its personality.
Dale Earnhardt drove stockcar racing into the American mainstream during the
past 20 years with his combative style, unapologetic attitude, relentless
desire to win and that wicked little grin.
Richard Petty gave NASCAR a hero, but Earnhardt gave this struggling, regional
circuit an edge and a reason to watch, because fans either detested or
worshiped him. Either way, he got them to respond and was the single most
influential race driver this country has ever produced.
He had a nickname (Ironhead), a sidekick (his black No. 3), a calling card (his
front bumper) and a penchant for intimidating his competition.
But what this second-generation racer possessed that Yarborough, Allison,
Pearson and Petty didn't was a national following that rivaled any rock star.
The Rolling Stones and Bon Jovi didn't sell as many T-shirts (combined) as
Ironhead did in the '90s. Every other Chevrolet pickup truck carried a No. 3
decal. And the Ford pickups sported a decal of someone taking a leak on that
same No. 3.
Earnhardt was big in Des Moines, Spokane and Little Rock. He could galvanize
and polarize the same audience and leave them talking about him until the next
race.
If 130,000 people showered him with boos at Bristol for spinning out Terry
Labonte on the last lap, he could shrug, smile and say he was just trying
to "rattle his cage" and get away with it.
Petty said 'aw shucks', while Earnhardt said damn the torpedos.
He wasn't physically imposing, yet for some strange reason he could beat and
bang on people and they took it. A few fought back but, as his victories and
championships grew, so did his reputation and he became almost untouchable.
With his dark glasses, black car and bullring aggression, Earnhardt had fellow
drivers looking in their mirrors before they disappeared in his. Nobody ever
got into people's heads like he did.
He also bridged the old, tough NASCAR with the new wave of politically-correct
drivers and had legions of followers from both factions. He only had eyes for
camshafts and dirt tracks while growing up in awe of his father, Ralph, and was
pretty raw when he hit -- literally -- the NASCAR scene in 1979.
But he gradually grew comfortable with the media and became one of motorsports'
best quotes. He seemed to enjoy the fact so many people wanted to hear what he
had to say and got the most out of that forum.
Whether he was holding court in a garage, mingling at a corporate party for GM
Goodwrench or addressing the media, Earnhardt could captivate an audience.
He was a great story, the backwoods rube who became a multimillionaire by
wrestling a 3,500-pound metal monster every Sunday, and it was the combination
of his heritage, spirit and success that made him a winner with corporate
America.
Nobody had ever transcended Tobacco Road to Wall Street before he did.
As Jeff Gordon shoved Earnhardt out of the headlines from 1995-on, the old war
horse suddenly became a popular underdog. His quest to break out of a tie with
King Richard for the most Winston Cup crowns continued to drive him towards his
50th birthday.
Before he finally won Daytona in 1998, he was in a prolonged drought and many
feared he'd hung around too long. But last year he was again formidable and
came home second in the point standings. He was back, in black, and looking
fashionable.
He wasn't taking up space and driving around like Darrell Waltrip or Petty in
their final years on the track. Earnhardt was still gassing it and mixing it up
and throwing his Chevy up and down Daytona's banks when everything got quiet.
There has never been a bigger loss in American racing. Sure, Fireball Roberts
and Bill Vukovich were on top of their game when they died, but their sport
still hadn't captured the public's attention. And Greg Moore, Kenny Irwin and
Adam Petty hadn't been around long enough to forge a legacy.
Dale Earnhardt represented everything that stock car racing used to be and has
become. And, as the NASCAR family grieves this week, they all know more than a
champion racer died Sunday.
Their collective heart stopped beating.
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