The Big One (TBO for short) rarely happens at the front of the pack, where a single string of cars follow each other, daring not to break the string, unless they enjoy seeing others cruise by.
Instead, TBO happens in the middle and the rear of the pack. There, cars go three- and four-wide in a massive pack. All it takes is one bobble, or something seemingly small, to create major mayhem.
One driver checks up because a guy in front of him gets loose for a split second. The next driver can’t react fast enough and punts the guy who checked up. He spins, collecting the other lanes and the people behind them who can’t react fast enough.
One bobble. Major mayhem.
And all of that while the drivers out front steamroll ahead. Their only clue to the mayhem is the flashing yellow light when the caution flag is displayed.
The standings have been in enough upheaval lately. Imagine if Jeff Burton or Denny Hamlin or Mark Martin finds himself in the midst of that smoke field and, not long after, plowed into the side of a competitor. If all three did, it would essentially reset the standings a second time, turning a 10-race Chase into a seven-race dash.
That probably won’t happen. Even if there is no TBO, which happens from time to time at Daytona and Talladega, at least one of them will qualify well enough (and run in the front at the right time) to keep the standings from becoming a quagmire.
Because if the circumstances — running for a title, keeping foes at bay — aren’t enough to justify an intense qualifying effort, the looming threat of TBO should be.
• ONE FINAL COMPLAINT about NASCAR 07, then I’ll stop. I promise.
There is almost no consistency between what constitutes a yellow flag in real life and what constitutes a yellow flag in the game.
In the game, a car needs to be turned in the opposite direction before the caution is displayed. I know because I’ve tried it. In a dry run at Talladega, I tried to institute a TBO with limited success. Though I managed to get 20-some cars to run into the back of each other, only when one spun did the yellow come out.
But in another instance, a car came kind of close (only kind of) to hitting the wall and a yellow was thrown. Compare that with a race at Atlanta, where a car darted through the grass on the way to an angry meeting with the inner retaining wall. That somehow didn’t merit a caution.
One aspect is consistent, however. After the induced TBO at Talladega, a number of cars came away looking rather ugly. After that, not a lap went by where the yellow didn’t fly because someone dropped a spring onto the track.
In real life, an errant hot dog wrapper on the backstretch is sometimes enough to bring out the yellow.

It never happened. Those four wispy hairs barely multiplied by the time I graduated from high school. Same goes for my friends. We were all stuck in anti-facial hair purgatory.

My how times have changed. I visited several local high schools about a month ago and thought I had stumbled into a Chewbaccaian paradise.

It’s amazing. When I was in high school — which was only six years ago — there were two kinds of people with facial hair: The kid who never, regardless of how scraggily he looked, shaved his face; and the kid with the full beard, the guy who nobody really knew and nobody really wanted to know because it looked like he might be stashing an ice pick under all that fuzz.

That’s why I’m amazed today. In August, I made the rounds to all the Cardinal District schools for our preseason football tab; I was greeted by players with mustaches and goatees and chinstraps and beards. It was unbelievable. At one school, I actually thought a sophomore tailback was the defensive coordinator!

(Actually, it was unbelievable and slightly embarrassing. After all, I still couldn’t grow a full beard if you watered me every day.)

I’m not sure how things have changed in such a short period of time. But it’s almost laughable in comparison to my high school days. I remember guys holding onto a few strands of hair under their noses like they were Magnum PI before a hot date. I remember guys brushing tiny patches of hair on their cheeks like it wasn’t giving them skin abrasions.

Frankly, it was pathetic…and I’m proud to say I can finally admit it.

Because right now, it looks like that’s the only thing keeping the No. 48 from a Cup title.
In years past, Johnson’s slow starts played a part in keeping from finishing the season at the top of the points. He and crew chief Chad Knaus corrected that this year, winning the Daytona 500 and earning four top fives in the first six races.
The problem now is Johnson is struggling at the end of the season — when it matters most.
A tire rolled out of his pit at Dover, an automatic penalty. Though he finished 13th, more than respectable, the finish would have been far higher without the penalty.
And yesterday at Kansas, Johnson was assessed another penalty for speeding on pit road, which relegated him to a 14th-place finish. And for his part, of course, Johnson didn’t think he was speeding.
Again, 14th is not a bad day, unless other title contenders zoom by you in the standings. Johnson’s now in eighth place, 165 points behind Jeff Burton and just ahead of Kyle Busch and Kasey Kahne, who have already conceded the title to someone else. (Kahne has since backtracked on those comments, but he’s 273 points behind and in deep, deep trouble.)
That must be the most frustrating aspect for Johnson: That he continues to run well yet is undone by some bizarre circumstance. At Kansas, he qualified third and was among the leaders in practice speeds.
But for him to win that elusive title, he’s got to put that frustration aside and pray for better luck.