Championship material

Little things make Gordon a winner on and off the track

Three weeks hence, the Winston Cup circuit will crown its 2002 champion, and those of us who have documented it for the past nine months will say, "Hurrah!"

Then we'll hibernate.

But before NASCAR trumpets its forthcoming champ, here's a thought or two about the outgoing one. Unlike Miss America, Jeff Gordon won't get an honorary goodbye lap whenever this year's winner clinches the title. He'll retreat to the offseason and numerous categories in next season's media guide, and his fourth championship in 10 seasons will become yet another biographical footnote.

The Kid is not, anymore. Last week's NAPA 500 meant he's officially done his thing for a decade now (Atlanta was the site of his first Cup start). It also means he's 30 years old. One of the sport's titans. A car owner, even.

He's had some rough times, too. He's lost momentum, a pit crew, a crew chief and, more recently, a marriage. Two weeks ago, he lost whatever abbreviated shot he had at this year's title.

"When I hit that wall at Martinsville, I pretty much knew," Gordon said of the late-lap crash that contributed to a 36th-place finish.

Heading to Rockingham, he's all but mathematical toast, even with last Sunday's sixth-place performance at Atlanta Motor Speedway (he's seventh in the points, a distant 301 behind leader Tony Stewart). The testing he's doing this week at Phoenix is fodder for rookie teammate Jimmie Johnson, whose own title hopes took a blow with a 22nd at Atlanta. Gordon's also returning a favor.

"We can gather a lot of information for Jimmie," he said. "Just like he gathered a lot of information when he did all his tests earlier in the season for both teams."

For some fans, Gordon is easy to hate and always will be. For those of us who interact with him over a course of a season, the viewpoint isn't grandstand-dictated. I can't speak for everybody, and I'm sure some of us get really sore when we can't get to him, or when he refuses to feed weekly controversy, or he pulls a boneheaded stunt on the track.

But how do you dislike someone who sits down with a cup of coffee at 8:30 on a damp Saturday morning and talks about anything that anyone in the media center would like -- thoughtfully -- until his public relations representative prods him away for his first practice?

Well, you don't. You appreciate the time, the fact he didn't just do it; he interacted. And oh yeah, he stopped in a back hallway to accommodate a few radio people, answer the handful of questions some of us didn't want to blurt to the world.

"Got a little coffee, had a little fun, now we're going out there and run 190 miles an hour," was Gordon's smile-rendered benediction.

Have I gotten irritated at him? Sure. He's difficult to get to, period. That's due to demand, appearances, not being able to walk through the garage like 99.9 percent of his peers. He'll usually hold court once a weekend on his hauler's back steps, and if he's in the top three in qualifying and the race, he's NASCAR-obliged to be available. But if you want his exclusive attention, you have to ask weeks in advance, then cross your fingers.

On the other hand, if you need him, and there's no spare time, he's more apt than some of those aforementioned peers to give you five hallway minutes, or a walk-and-talk back to the truck.

All of which is a long-winded way to say this: Sometimes it's the little things that make a champion.

Denise N. Maloof covers NASCAR for CNNSI.com.

 

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