Mark is pleased by his success and won't bemoan the near misses.The question lingers briefly before Mark pounces. A quiet Sunday morning is disrupted by a voice raised in pride and anger.
Does not winning a Cup title weigh on him?
"What do you think I am, a 2-year-old sitting on the floor crying, demanding something?" Mark says, sitting in his motor home hours before the start of the DHL 400 at Michigan International Speedway. "That's what I think you're asking. I should be sitting on the floor crying like a baby screaming, 'Get me what I want!' I've worked my [butt] off and I got what I got, and it's been **** good. That's what I think.
"When people ask me, 'How bad does it tear you up?', I've worked as hard as I can work. I've done as much as I can do. I've been as committed as I can. I've been very successful. I'm not a baby."
Mark has finished second in the Cup series points race four times, putting a Buffalo Bills-type asterisk on an otherwise brilliant career. He has nothing to apologize for, but in a world where second place often gets relegated to the obituary page -- where most recently you will find the ashes of the Los Angeles Lakers -- Mark is missing the pièce de résistance for mainstream validation.
Time is running short. Close associates on his race team are assuming that Mark has just one more year beyond 2004 on the Nextel Cup circuit.
Opportunity beckons again in a few hours. Mark is 93 points away from the tier of 10 drivers who will advance to the "Championship Chase" in the latter part of the season. He cannot afford many 36th-place finishes like the one at Pocono on June 13.
Mark spends the night before the June 20 race alone in his motor coach. He expected to be on the cell phone most of Saturday night with his wife, Arlene, and son, Matt, who was scheduled to race in the FASTRUCKS series at New Smyrna Speedway. But rain washed out the races, and Mark spent the evening watching the Busch Series race.
Pre-race duties
Sunday morning arrives, and Mark prepares for a series of meet-and-greets
for the Ford and Roush Racing families. It's nothing more than a few autographs,
pictures and handshakes at each of the scheduled stops. Each will take
about 15 minutes, with a number of other impromptu requests met with the
quick flick of the Sharpie in his right hand.Mark, like most drivers, has perfected the art of walking and signing. "The weirdest thing I've signed was a sweaty bald head -- twice," he says. "It might have been the same guy."
A mandatory drivers' meeting is followed by a non-denominational service in the garage area, where Mark sits next to Kurt Busch. Children of racing families are handed a microphone to tell the audience why they are appreciative of their dad on this Father's Day.
"I'm thankful for my dad because he buys me stuff," one of the kids says.
It reminds Mark of a few years ago, when Matt -- asked the same question -- answered, "I'm thankful because he buys me tires and engines for my quarter-midgets." As the green flag quickly approaches, Mark prepares for the 200-lap, 400-mile grind by placing a silver boot over his right foot to keep the heat off his heels. He clasps a chaplain's hands for a brief prayer after scooting in the car to begin what Mark hoped would be a long, rewarding joyride.
"Take 'em one at a time," crew chief Pat Tryson says over the radio. We'll go get 'em and wear 'em out at the end."
The enthusiasm vanishes immediately.
Transmission dies early
A transmission blows on the first lap, and Mark is forced to make an
excruciatingly slow ride toward the garage area, where his crew will
install a new one.The process would make your average I-4 commuter ecstatic: Less than a half-hour later, Mark is up and running. But 23 laps down, he has absolutely no chance of making a competitive run.
"No other sport is like this," says Kevin Woods, Mark's media liaison. "If a quarterback gets hurt, you put another one in. You don't just lose."
Reflective of his competitive spirit, Mark continues to race hard. Mark's pit crew -- recovering from the debacle in the opening minute of the race -- continues an occasional frantic whirl of pit stops. As the race continues, they videotape each pit stop and go over every nuance in hopes of improving on the next go-round. The next-go round is the only thing they have to look forward to this day.
"We've experienced a lot of different things," Tryson says over the radio, reflecting on a frustrating season. "Most of them haven't been very good."
"Thank God for Dover," Mark shoots back, referring to his only victory this season, on June 6.
Finally, the roar of the engines dissipates. Randy Triplett, Mark's personal assistant, has a cold face towel and a bottle of Gatorade waiting for Mark.
Mark changes into street clothes quickly and catches a short ride on a golf cart that takes him to a helicopter pad. The copter, in turn, whisks him away to his private jet.
Mark eats a turkey sandwich in the helicopter as the 10-minute ride takes him over the farmlands of Michigan. Finally, there is quiet comfort in the privacy of his six-person private plane.
"This business can be a pain in the [butt]" Mark says succinctly.
Now munching grapes, Mark allows a few minutes to beat himself up over a
streak of tough luck this season. He feels the squeeze from sponsor Pfizer
to have more competitive runs."A lot of pressure is being put on me by my sponsor," he says. "All I can deliver at the very best is performance, and that's what we've done. These mechanical failures I don't have any control over. I don't feel that it's enough.
"I'm afraid what's going to happen next."
His moment of self-loathing doesn't last long. Mark asks a visitor for a piece of paper and starts to jot down a list of things to do the next day. He is thinking of going to his race shop in Concord, N.C., early in the week to try to cheer up the crew after another deflating run.
Soon, the plane readies to land in Daytona, but pilot Jason Simpson diverts the scheduled landing at the Spruce Creek Fly In -- where Mark owns a home -- to Daytona International Airport because of thunderstorms in the area. The smaller airstrip may be too dangerous to attempt a landing.
A long day has just become worse. Mark will have to catch a 20-minute ride with Simpson to the hangar. There is nothing but silence in the car, broken only by the steady splash of windshield wipers.
Mark goes inside the hangar -- also home to an office and workout facility -- and has a brief conversation with Simpson. Minutes later, he starts his golf cart for the short ride home in the rain.
The list of things to do is in his pocket.
