Will restrictor plates keep drivers as well as fans safe at Talladega?

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This weekend, Carl Edwards will meet with fan Blake Bobbitt, whom he injured in the spring. Getty Images

As NASCAR heads to Talladega this Sunday, the Cup Series will conclude its 22nd consecutive year of "restrictor plate racing." Designed to slow speeds on the circuit's two fastest tracks, Daytona and Talladega, restrictor plate racing is a temporary solution to an age old question: how can NASCAR keep drivers safe while leaving competition and innovation intact?

Looking back, it's easy to understand why plates are in use. Speeds at these tracks are a problem, and plates are designed to keep cars from crossing the 200 mph threshold -- one that tends to turn stock car racing from dangerous to deadly. After Bobby Allison nearly tore through the catchfence in 1987, injuring several but coming close to killing hundreds, NASCAR implemented driving plates to prevent accidents like Allison's from happening again.

The first time NASCAR applied the rule, the plates slowed the pole speed from 212.809 mph in the spring of 1987 (a series record) to 198.969 one year later. This fall, that number is expected to drop to between 185 and 190 mph, with holes 59/64ths of an inch, small enough to limit the strongest engine from reaching its full potential.

Yet, as we saw this spring, when Carl Edwards' flip at Talladega injured seven and nearly sent his No. 99 car hurtling into the stands, it's a fix that's far from flawless. When a dozen cars failed to finish for the second 'Dega race in a row, garage chatter turned about as anti-restrictor plate as it's ever been. While each wreck may bring fans to their feet, for drivers, the risks outweigh the rewards.

"It's tough to race here," said points leader Jimmie Johnson, whose car got swept up in a multi-car wreck on Lap 179 last spring -- a reminder that his fourth straight Chase title won't be safe until the checkered flag this Sunday. "As long as we run restrictor plates, they're going to have these big packs and these big wrecks. There's no way to get around it."

As it currently stands, the powerplants reach their limit without much effort, and 43 drivers roll around the 2.66-mile oval with perfect handling that keeps virtually everyone bunched together in unison. Since restrictor plates keep the driver from achieving maximum horsepower, the only way a car can pull out and pass is with the help of somebody else, leading to a snarling 43-man draft that changes only when drivers choose to work together.

No wonder Mark Martin calls this race "The Lotto." Over 500 miles, teamwork and patience are required in a sport where second place is the first loser. It's also why, during the final 100 miles, fear of the Big One becomes reality. Drivers break deals and fend for themselves, making desperate moves to get to the front in packs that leave the smallest of holes. All it takes is one fatal tap on the bumper at 190 mph, and five, 10, sometimes even 20 cars can be wiped out in an instant. With everyone bunched so close together, there's no place to go but into a wreck or into the outside wall.

"So damn frustrating," says Martin Truex Jr. of the process. "You ride around all day long just waiting for the end. That is not even racing."

Despite the racers objections, the unpopular plates have gained traction amongst a crucial subset: the fans. 'Dega's Fall race has been the number two rated race on ABC/ESPN for the last two years, trailing only the Brickyard 400. With the track setting a season high number of lead changes for eight years running, it's no wonder why most are riveted to the television. Most fans claim they don't like it, but it's the only time they're guaranteed a battle to the finish without seeing the winner automatically pull away. In a touch of irony, a sport preoccupied with safety puts its best foot forward at a track that leaves its drivers exposed to serious danger.

"You want to get mad, but it's just Talladega," Jamie McMurray said back in April. "And that's what the fans pay to come see."

Would the cash stop flowing if fans truly understood the risk they take? Turns out 190 mph is plenty fast enough to do damage, as Edwards learned the hard way. His move to block Brad Keselowski in the tri-oval ended with a wreck this spring, and while his speed may have been 20 mph slower than Allison's, the end result was nearly as fatal. For this week's race, the catchfence was raised eight feet (it now stands 22 feet high), but will making it taller strengthen its resolve if an airborne car hits it?

This weekend, Edwards will take the time to visit with the fan most seriously hurt from his accident, Blake Bobbitt. She was lucky, escaping with a broken jaw that's now fully healed -- but you wonder if their memories ever will.

"That's a feeling I've never had before and I never want to have again," Edwards said. "It was a real eye-opener as to how serious this can be. We race cars, and we all wreck and we know we can get hurt ... that's something we all accept. But I don't think part of my job is people in the grandstands getting hurt."

As for the other 100,000+ in attendance while all that went on? Most of them cheered. But that's Talladega in a nutshell, isn't it? Tragedy and triumph all rolled into one.

"I guess we'll do this until somebody gets killed and then we'll change it," he claimed. "But that's the way it is."

As long as you fans pay to see it.