Listen up

Get inside the race while eavesdropping on Ricky Craven

What do you get when you listen to a race radio?

A better question might be, what are you really hearing?

Junkies listen for strategy, a favorite driver's voice, broadcast play-by-play; the morbid channel-chase for wreck reaction. Truthfully, a soundtrack renders any event more palpable, but only if you listen with purpose, and for more than just entertainment.

The next time you're radio-equipped at a track, pick a team and stick with it from green flag to checkers (no fair choosing drivers because of haircuts, or because your dad drinks a certain brand of beer). At Richmond, I committed to the No. 32 Tide Ford (before you ask, I buy whatever detergent has the most lucrative coupon) and I earned a new appreciation for the phrase, "Seeing is believing."

Why? Pairing drama with conversation is the best kind of reality show.

Here's a synopsis:

On Saturday night, May, 4, the Pontiac Excitement 400 begin two hours late because of rain. Driver Ricky Craven starts 10th. Drizzle won't dry up, and neither will never-ending warmup laps.

"Green?" Craven finally asks, hopeful.

"No," says crew chief Mike Beam. "They called it off. The lights are broke on the pace car, they said." A few laps later: "One to go."

Spotter Donnie "Fatboy" Epling warns about an area of the Richmond International Raceway as Craven drives through it. "Right there," says Fatboy. "There's a little blind spot right there."

"We'll get through it." replies Craven.

"You be careful," warns Beam. "Just tell us what's going on. We'll work on that hot rod all night." Craven agrees, and Beam adds, "Coming to you, Fatboy."

As the flag flies, Fatboy calls, "Green, green, green!" He immediately switches to narration: "Two by two. ... Hole behind, closed up, closed up. Clear low, clear low. Outside. Still there. Still there, outside corner -- clear! Clear! ... There you go ... clear, still there. That's it ... nice."

To Craven, who only knows what he sees and feels, the words are a road map. He relies on Fatboy's eyes-in-the-sky, sometimes only by inches. Early, Craven jumps as high as sixth; falls to 24th with 355 laps remaining. His words form a different sort of map.

"At the beginning of the race, I could really, really get in the corner ... " he says during the first caution. "Would lose the front end, and it would just chatter up the track."

Beam orders corrections. Another caution, this one for rain, spawns a merry-go-round for the No. 32; Craven comes in twice, with Fatboy reminding him of pit-road speed and Beam coaching driver and crew: "Come on down, come on down -- here we are, here we are, here we are!"

Thirty-eighth after the tinkering, Craven sounds forlorn as the field circles under caution: "In the middle of the corner, I'd just go in a four-wheel drift ... "

At 9:43.20 p.m., on lap 334, NASCAR surrenders to Mother Nature.

The race resumes at noon Sunday, with 66 laps complete. Pit road opens on the third warm-up lap, and Craven's crew can't snag a rear wrench before he leaves his stall between Rusty Wallace (in front of him) and Ricky Rudd (behind him). He falls to 40th (has to return to have it removed), but there's no audible grousing, blaming or cursing. Beam simply says," What happened, guys?" to his crew. "Talk to me."

By lap 148, Craven has climbed to 26th. A smoother stop, under the race's fourth caution, revives everyone's hopes.

"Good job, boys," exults Fatboy. "Good job, Ricky." Back under green, the spotter continues, "Way go to, Ricky. You're up on the wheel, you're starting to haul."

"This car's really come back to you, Rick," says Beam.

"Yeah," replies Craven. "Ten-four. We'll get 'em."

Fortunes yo-yo: he climbs to ninth during caution No. 8, drops to 15th on a bad restart. Around lap 240, a door-bang with Rick Mast bumps him to 18th, and Craven curses. During caution No. 9, Fatboy relays apology from Mast's spotter. Craven fumes, but keeps his cool. "You're doing a fine job, Donnie," he says. "You're doing a fine job."

Fatboy says Craven has a great car and lousy luck; he waxes graphic on the latter. Yet for all the conversation -- Craven's team is one of Winston Cup's more verbose -- extended silences also punctuate a clear, sunny afternoon. Sometimes, they're broken only by Beam's recitation of lap times, or Epling's travelogue.

At caution No. 10 -- Wallace and Rudd's tango in turn 2, coupled with Robby Gordon's water-barrel crash at the pit-road entrance -- Craven is back in the top 10.

"Ricky, you just want to go down on air pressure?" asks Beam. Craven says yes.

"You got an open pit, buddy -- get all you can," says Fatboy. After the stop, another smooth one, he says, "Good job, boys -- way to kick that ass!"

Craven concurs with, "Good job, guys,"

"Way to spank that ass, Ricky!" Fatboy gives some directions, then calls, "Look up here!" Everyone in Craven's pit does, and Beam, perched atop the pit box, waves.

During the red-flag period to clean up Gordon's water-barrel mess, Craven asks Beam, "What's going between the 2 and the 28?" Beam summarizes the incident. After a silence, then he asks, "Are you sitting there with your foot on the brake?"

Craven: "No!"

Back under green, near-disaster strikes on lap 334. Cars wreck in front of Craven on the backstretch. He dodges most, but absorbs a minor whack on his right front end.

"Good job, good job," Fatboy says of Craven's ability to avoid more harm.

Beam is on his feet on the pit box, watching the No. 10 Ford. "It's just a hole, Ricky, just a hole."

Craven isn't so optimistic. "I think the water's running out of it."

Once pit road opens, they confirm only cosmetic damage. A second stop means more repairs. "Where's the pace car?" Craven demands before re-entering.

"I'm watching him every time, every time," replies Beam. "Come on down." Amid the cacophony of suggestions, Beam calmly says, "OK, let me do this, guys." He stands on the box, gives fix-it orders as Craven swoops back in.

Team engineer Roy McCauley reports that the right front tire is unscathed. Still circling under caution, mired in 17th place, Craven debates strategy with Beam.

"Let me just drive the $%!#* out of it," he says of a possible third stop. "I don't want to lose a lap in the pits." Beam agrees.

After the lap 344 restart, Craven hovers at 16th. The day's final caution, on lap 378, prompts another, crucial decision. "Let's get four," he says of a tire change. "I'm trying to figure out how many cars are behind us ... "

"Three cars are behind us on the lead lap," Beam says. "We may as well put on four."

"Yeah. Ten-four." Minutes later, post-pit stop, Craven says, "That was cool. We didn't give up much."

"No."

"Where're we running, Mike?"

"Sixteenth."

The field restarts on lap 384. By lap 392, Craven stands 10th. Fatboy counts down the remainder, and Craven finishes ninth thanks to fresh tires, attrition (a track-record 14 cautions), and general team relentlessness. People in bright orange fire suits exchange high-fives.

"Everybody, great job," says Beam. "Proud to work with you."

"Man, what a great job," says Craven. "Pit stops, everything. Man, I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

Beam offers more congratulations; Craven pays homage to his spotter.

"Thanks, baby," replies Fatboy. "You drove your ass off and I'm proud of you."

As he heads toward the garage, Craven radios one last request:

"Can somebody get me a cold drink?"

"It'll be waiting for you," Beam promises.

Denise N. Maloof covers NASCAR for CNNSI.com.

 

Related information

Stories

Stewart defends title in Pontiac Excitement 400

Multimedia

Visit Video Plus for the latest audio and video