Whenever there’s a fatality in auto racing, I’m inevitably asked:
Why follow a sport that is almost inevitably a death sentence for some?
Why cultivate and share passion for a sport that is at times unspeakably cruel?
In light of Justin Wilson’s death following a large chunk of debris hitting him in the head in Sunday’s IndyCar race at Pocono, I was again asked this question. Not by a fellow race fan – but by those who don’t follow motorsport and who, by their own admission, don’t understand.
The simple answer is: we don’t pick our passions. They speak to us. They reach out for us, grab us by the scruff of our necks, and refuse to let go for the duration of our lives. For some of us, that passion is speed and competition. It’s barreling into a turn as fast as possible, going for that extra inch, staring death in the face and daring to laugh.
When death laughs back, it’s brutal. It’s devastating. Losing Justin Wilson feels like losing Dan Wheldon… which felt like losing Jules Bianchi… which felt like losing Dale Earnhardt… which felt like losing Adam Petty… and Tony Roper… and Kenny Irwin… and Greg Moore… and so on and so forth throughout the entire history of motorsport.
Make no mistake: defying death is, and has always been, part of racing’s draw. When we see a car spin out of control north of 200 miles an hour, parts sheering off everywhere, and the car in an uncontrollable roll, we hold our collective breath. And when the driver emerges from the cockpit, waving to the crowd, we exhale and scream our lungs out.
True race fans don’t root for wrecks; we root for drivers to come out the other end with the same bravery and don’t-give-a-damn attitude that most of us wish we had. We understand that on occasion, death will come calling. Sometimes, death will send us a warning – a James Hinchcliffe, a Kyle Busch.
We understand that. We accept it. We know that any given race day can end with heavy hearts, teary eyes, and shattered dreams. Yet we keep cranking those motors. Because this is who we are. Racing is our passion.
Some are passionate about football. Others, hockey. Others still, the arts. Racing is my passion. Has been since I was a child, and even today, in the heartbreak of Sunday, that passion is still there. IndyCar will be at Sonoma this weekend to crown a champion. NASCAR will be at Road America and Canadian Tire Motorsports Park. I will watch all three, and I will do so with Justin Wilson on my mind.
That’s the thing about motorsport: no matter what discipline we follow – whether we have a preference or we run the gamut – a death in one racing family is a death in every racing family. That passion binds us all, regardless of stock car, dragster, open-wheeler, or sprint car. We’re all racers, every last one of us.
I have a lot of interests, but only two true passions: auto racing and writing. These two things, more than anything else, are what fuel my life, and while outsiders look at Justin Wilson’s death and wonder why anyone would subject themselves to that sort of thing, I see it as yet another painful affirmation of all we as a motorsport community hold dear.
We race to affirm life. We race because it is who we are. It is what we do. Racing will never be safe, but it can be safer. That is an ongoing discussion that will never, ever, be resolved – but we can keep evolving. Earnhardt’s death in 2001 led to a safety revolution in motorsport, and over the years, more and more steps have been taken. Too many of those steps have followed tragedy or near-tragedy, but the evolution is constant.
What evolution will come from Wilson’s death? Closed cockpits in open-wheel race cars? There’s no way to know yet. That conversation is on-going, and racing as a sport will be better for it. Just because racing is inherently dangerous, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive to make it better.
I read last night that four years between fatalities in IndyCar is a relative eternity. While it may be true – especially when compared to the old days – it’s still a sad statement and everyone involved should work to improve that. We will never completely rid racing of fatalities, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a worthy goal.
In the meantime, the racing will go on. Not just because it’s what Wilson and those who have fallen before him would’ve wanted, but because it’s what we want.
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