Ryan: Talladega turns to Heavy-Metal mosh pit

• "The Big One" impacts Talladega again but fewer fans were there to see it
• The 88,000 who attended Sunday's race was the fewest at Talladega since 2003
• Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Jeff Gordon were among those who left frustrated

TALLADEGA, Ala. — Fewer people flocked Sunday to Talladega Superspeedway than to any Sprint Cup race there in at least a decade.

The star that most of them come to cheer is envious of those who have stopped.

"If this is how we raced every week, I would find another job," Dale Earnhardt Jr. said. "It's not safe. Wrecking like that is ridiculous. It's bloodthirsty, if that is what people want."

If a gladiatorial spectacle is what was sought by the remaining throngs that mostly were dressed in the green and white garb of NASCAR's most popular driver, the Good Sam Roadside Assistance 500 delivered Sunday.

Watching a restrictor-plate race is akin to completing a book of Mad Libs. Just insert the number of cars in the defining pileup and the name of the offending driver who triggered it.

That blank was filled Sunday by defending series champion Tony Stewart, who took all the blame after he tried to block Michael Waltrip's car and ended up flipping his own Chevrolet — but hardly seemed
culpable for the wreckfest that has become commonplace here.

Matt Kenseth zipped away to his second victory of 2012 and 23rd of his career while chaos erupted in the final turn of the 2.66-mile oval synonymous with massive doses of mayhem, whether it's infield camping debauchery that rivals Mardi Gras in New Orleans or the inherently dangerous brand of racing that produces heaps of smoking, twisted sheet metal and cars that are launched skyward with spellbinding regularity.

Earnhardt is no stranger to the dangers of restrictor-plate racing. His seven-time champion father was killed on a last-lap scramble in the 2001 Daytona 500. "There has been a last-lap wreck in like 90 percent of these things for the last four years with this car," said Earnhardt. "Somebody needs to change it."

No other races make NASCAR seem more like circus than sport, and the resultant attention proves it. Sunday's 25-car wreck led SportsCenter and had NASCAR creating a stir on social media.

That's good, right? Perhaps not when considering the downside: seriously injuring or killing drivers or fans, who were harmed when Carl Edwards' Ford sailed into the catchfence here three years ago, while costing teams millions in rebuilding cars.

"For the longevity of the sport, that ain't healthy," Earnhardt said of Sunday's finish. "I don't care what anybody says, it's good for the here and now and it will get people talking today, but for the long run that is not going to help the sport. I don't even want to go to Daytona or Talladega next year, but I ain't got much choice."

It's a familiar refrain among NASCAR and its biggest stars: The racing at Talladega and Daytona International Speedway — the two tracks where restrictor plates are used to harness horsepower and ostensibly keep cars from going fast enough to get airborne — must remain a white-knuckle endeavor in which drivers put implicit trust in their safe equipment and hold their breath for 500 miles while racing inches apart in packs that stretch three and sometimes four wide and 10 deep at 200 mph.

In some ways, that's the appeal and epitome of auto racing: daredevils who cheat death while doing extraordinary things with a steering wheel.

But Talladega takes it to an absurd extreme. In the past five seasons, a new chassis and new rules have limited the ability of drivers to tune their cars in a way in which talent can make a difference. Restrictor-plate aces such as Earnhardt, who won a record four consecutive races here from 2001-03, no longer can separate from the pack consistently.

The homogenization of the equipment virtually has turned them into 43 crash-test dummies.

"I remember when coming to Talladega was fun," four-time champion Jeff Gordon said. "I haven't experienced that in a long, long time. I don't like coming here. I don't like the type of racing that I have to do. But if I'm a fan, I would love that."

Fans seem to be voting no, though.

The economic downturn certainly was a major factor in crippling the disposable income of NASCAR's largely middle-class fan base and leading to precipitous attendance declines across the circuit since 2008.

Still, they don't seem to be returning as the economy slugglisly recovers. Sunday's crowd of 88,000 was the
smallest since NASCAR began putting estimates in its box scores in 2003 -- a drop of 17,000 from last fall's previous low and a plummet of more than 50% from the 190,000 who watched Earnhardt win in April 2003.

"From an entertainment standpoint, they should be lined up out to the highway," Gordon said. " If I'm a race fan, I want to see the big (crash) at the end because guys are being so aggressive and sort of defying danger."

Maybe it's a sense of sameness? The last restrictor-plate race at Daytona in July ended exactly as Sunday's — a multicar melee in the last corner.

Yet that seems to be what fans wait to see. "I mean, do we have a choice?" Gordon asked. "You have to accept it."

The main attractions didn't at Talladega's first Cup race Sept. 14, 1969. Richard Petty led a loosely formed driver's union that boycotted because of concerns over high speeds and tire wear. NASCAR founder Bill France filled the field with repalcement drivers, and the stars quickly returned.

Earnhardt probably will be back anyway — maybe with one caveat.

"If this is how we are going to race and nothing is going to change, I think NASCAR should build the cars," he said. "It would save us a lot of money."