Getty Images for NASCARUnder normal circumstances, I’m rarely dismayed by anything athletes say, but the exception came Sunday in the appalling honesty of Jeff Gordon.
After finishing 10th in the Checker Auto Parts 500 and losing another 56 points to Hendrick Motorsports teammate Jimmie Johnson in the Chase for the NASCAR Nextel Cup, Gordon placed his finger squarely on the carotid artery of his championship hopes and found no pulse.
”It’s over,” Gordon pronounced, with the finality of a disconsolate surgeon calling the time of death of a patient he expected to save.
Now 86 points behind Johnson with only the season finale at Homestead-Miami Speedway standing between his teammate and the title, Gordon revealed the depth of his disappointment in the stark realism of his concession speech.
In the bitter aftermath of Sunday’s race, which Johnson won, Gordon knew that when the final results are tallied next Sunday in Florida, the Supreme Court won’t have to step in to affirm the winner. There won’t be any hanging chads in this election, though a crew chief named Chad seems destined to help his driver win a second straight Cup title.
Based on performance alone, of course, Gordon is right.
”Those guys are on an unbelievable roll,” Gordon said Sunday night. “Whatever they’ve got we’re missing; we know everything they’ve got, but man we’re just not hitting on it. And it’s unfortunate. I thought this was our year to get another one, but we’re just coming up short here at the crucial time. Those guys have just knocked it out of the ballpark.”
Roll or not, Gordon needs to know that, even if Johnson’s car is the class of the field next Sunday, he still must dodge 42 other cars at the 1.5-mile track south of Miami. If races at Homestead have taught us anything, it’s that 400 miles rarely pass without a challenge to test the mettle of the championship leader.
Gordon’s cars obviously need a performance boost, but the driver himself also needs an attitude adjustment. To help his cause, I paid an emergency visit to the Hall of Fame of Sports Cliches and Malapropisms.
It ain’t over till it’s over, Jeff. Those insightful words came straight from the mouth of Yogi Berra, one of the first athletes enshrined in Blooperstown. The Fat Lady hasn’t even begun to warm up her vocal chords—I checked her dressing room.
As for the bus in the parking lot, the driver overslept, and he has the only set of keys. And Don Meredith, a charter member, assured me that he’s nowhere near ready to start singing “Turn Out the Lights; the Party’s Over.”
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You can always fall back on what we expect to hear.
”There’s no quit in this team,” you could have said, or “We’ll just have to take the race one lap at a time and see what happens,” or “We’re not going to give up hope until we’re mathematically eliminated.”
Look, we know you expected to win this championship, especially after back-to-back wins at Talladega and Charlotte. Despite the camaraderie between you and Johnson, it has to be galling that a car assembled and set up in your shop has kicked your butt for the past four weeks.
That doesn’t mean, however, that you have to be honest about it. Where’s the suspense in that?
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