From time to time we like to open up the blog to let other people have their say. The following was written by a fellow motorsports columnist that has worked his tail off for years to get the word out about the supermodified DIVISION. He has asked that his name be concealed until he makes his choice to publish this work outside of “On the Soapbox” or Wing Side Up. I applaud him for his passion and concern. Enjoy!
The Year the Music Died
By A Very Concerned Fan
I am a racing fan. I have been a racing fan for fifty seven of my sixty three years on this planet. I have attended races in virtually every year since my sixth birthday. I didn’t inherit this love of racing engines at full song from anyone in my family. I was introduced to the music by the father of a neighborhood playmate. In the early years, I begged family friends and my playmate’s father to take me to anywhere from one to ten races per year. By the age of fifteen, I was attending as many as sixty races a year by driving myself (illegally of course) in the family sedan or my motorcycle to two races a weekend. I would sit high in the grandstand near the start-finish line and stare in awe at the beauty and awesome power of the works of art circling the track and at the skill and bravado of the drivers. I grew up on names like Vukovich, Boyd, Reece, Pombo, Sargent, Hutton, Secrist, Kaeding, Scott, Mims, Ward, and Prickett in places like Fresno, San Jose, Clovis, Merced, Atascadero, Bakersfield, Gardena, Vallejo, and Sacramento.
College and marriage limited my attendance to but a few shows a year in my late teens and early twenties, but jobs and business travel later took me to new venues in places like Hialeah, Orlando, Tampa, Daytona, New Smyrna Beach, Barberville, Atlanta, Daytona, Bristol, Jacksonville, Pensacola, Montgomery, Birmingham, Mobile, Las Vegas, Carson City, San Antonio, Houston, Phoenix, Tucson, Darlington, and Nashville. Over the years the cars first grew wings and then later fenders and full bodies. There were local modifieds, early supermodifieds, sprint cars, midgets, late models, street stocks, mini-stocks, Winston Cup Cars, Grand National cars, Indy cars, and all types of local classes in the reticule of my experience. But there was always the music. Whether it was the high pitched whine of a turbo charged Ford, the growl of an Offy, the angry buzz of a four banger midget, the strange rasp of an inline six, or the full blown howl of an eight hundred horsepower small block Chevy giving its all, it was the most beautiful melody to my ever aging ears.
In my later years, I have become more involved in racing by taking up a press card and covering racing in my home state of California with some forays into neighboring states. I have pretty well restricted myself to open wheel classes including Midgets, Sprints, and Supermodifieds. Oh, can I describe to you the music of the Supermodifieds? Huge methanol gulping V-8’s sans mufflers with so much power that a single car can rattle the grandstands and send a rumble streaming from your feet to the top of your head. Two or more running together can literally make the ground shake. The categorization of Ground Pounder fits the Supermodified superbly. These have been my favorite symphony orchestra since I first heard them come to life between my ears over forty five years ago. Not only do you hear the melody of the Supermodifed, you feel it throughout your being and into the depths of your spirit. For me there is no sound as beautiful.
Now for the sad news. The music is growing dim. The National Economy, nee the World Economy, has, since 2007, been on a rapid decline. Motorsports, being an expensive sport has begun to shrink. Monetary sponsorships, the very lifeblood of the sport have dried up. In 2009, I have attended only five races so far. My own economic situation is but a minute reflection of the overall situation. These have all been open wheel shows with midgets, sprint cars, and my beloved supermodifieds as the main attractions. The most midgets I have seen at any single venue have been fourteen. The most Sprint cars have been twelve, and the most Supermodifieds have numbered but fourteen. I have been to one race with only five Suermodifieds. And although the melody is as sweet as ever, the volume is rapidly diminishing. Race promoters are cutting purses because of poor car counts. Point fund monies have dwindled and indeed, disappeared. What is to become of the fabulous, fantastic ground pounders whose races resemble a ballet of jet fighters performing in a gymnasium? Is the symphony coming to an end? Will the oval shaped stages go silent? Will 2010 be the year that the music died?
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