Thrill Of Victory, Agony Of Defeat In NASCAR This Week

By ESPN

"The thrill of victory ... and the agony of defeat."

It was spoken by broadcaster Jim McKay in the introduction on ABC's "Wide World of Sports" and is absolutely associated with my generation, an expression etched into my brain for the rest of my life.

It captures the meaning of winning and losing, and it speaks to the moment experienced by Austin Dillon winning his first NASCAR premier series event in his 133rd attempt.

It also speaks to the deep disappointment we heard from Jimmie Johnson running dry of fuel while leading the race, 2½ miles from the checkered flag, and of Helio Castroneves falling short of his record-tying fourth Indianapolis 500 triumph.

The thrill of victory was very evident in Takuma Sato as he transitioned from sipping his 2 percent milk to bathing in it. How many times do you think a driver rehearses in his or her mind how they would celebrate an Indy 500 or Coke 600 victory?

There's no definitive number, but I assure you it's a lot.

The thrill of victory dominates race car drivers, it also dilutes the reality of risk which accompanies the profession. But it doesn't eliminate the risk. Visualizing your next win helps build the firewall between your love of competing on the edge and the consequence that exists on the other side when you fall off of it.

Scott Dixon is among IndyCar elite. Dixon woke on the morning of the 101st running of the Indy 500 with ambitions of his likeness once again being immortalized on the Borg-Warner Trophy. What he likely didn't give consideration to was the agony of his car becoming airborne, rotating 180 degrees and impacting the inside wall at perhaps the most vulnerable angle imaginable.

Race car drivers don't think much about their mortality. They think often about the thrill of victory, but they seldom think of the risks that separate effort and results.

For a few years now, Austin Dillon has been regarded as a driver capable of contributing to NASCAR's youth movement. Dillon, like most having graduated into NASCAR's top series, had success in the lower levels and that gave reason for many of the sport's aristocrats to endorse him.

High expectations, praise ... they feel good in the early stages of your quest for greatness, but they become a liability if you're unable to capitalize in a reasonable amount of time.

I know. It took 174 races for me to win my first, roughly 130 more than I felt it should have considering I battled Dale Earnhardt, Dale Jarrett and Jeff Gordon for wins in my sophomore season.

That same year I suffered the agony of defeat at the hands of Talladega ... aka "Medusa" if you dare look her in the eyes. I did!

I suffered the agony of defeat for it.

The longer I went, the heavier the weight felt, but the dream of winning still exists and continues to drive you.

Here's a crazy thought ...

If an agony gauge existed for human beings, I believe Brad Keselowski's would have matched, perhaps exceeded, Scott Dixon's in terms of max reading Sunday.

In the simplest terms, you're fueled by the potential of winning and you're often devastated by the realization of losing.

Scott Dixon fell victim to the small percentage of this profession you have absolutely no control over. All of his experience, reference and wisdom directed him to turn left.

It was the correct decision and reaction under the circumstances, and would be, say, 90 percent of the time. On this occasion the 10 percent prevailed. When Jay Howard's car (front suspension disabled) drifted from the outside wall, Dixon became compromised and reached a point of surrender.

Keselowski slammed Chase Elliott, also disabled from damage in the Coca-Cola 600, but Brad probably felt he had an escape, perhaps an ounce of chance, that Dixon didn't appear to have. That's how drivers think, and the self-deprecation can be brutal.

Drivers almost never surrender, they fight an ill-handling car, a dirty track, even a hint of moisture on the track to the bitter end. It is the purest form of driving on instinct, where you download all factors, process the information, instantly move your hands feet and eyes at a speed that can't be measured.

It's what qualifies you to be referred to as a professional and as long as you have this advantage, the livelihood you've chosen is relatively safe.

Where the job choice becomes compromised, potentially unsafe, is when you lose control of your car, when you blow a right-front tire on corner entry, lose an engine midturn, or find yourself (like Dixon) with no escape at nearly 200 mph. At this point you are a passenger, along for the ride.

What allows a driver who survived an incident such as this the ability to return and compete at full capacity, with the enthusiasm required to dismiss risk, the desire to compete as though you've never won a race?

I can't say, because the answer is different for everyone. The answer for some is why we admire athletes overcoming extreme adversity.

They become Cinderella stories, they represent upset winners like Dillon or Sato on the greatest day in auto racing.

The answer for some is a dichotomy. They actually benefit from cheating death, galvanized by surviving a horrific wreck resulting in a confidence they may not have otherwise existed.

For some, the answer leads to retirement. Among those, it often takes years to realize they subconsciously surrendered taking risks years ago, but remained behind the wheel longer than they should have because their brain said they were still willing. Their right foot suggested otherwise.

No matter what the conclusion, my experience is this: I've never replicated the feeling, the euphoria, the level of satisfaction I experienced after winning an automobile race.

It's not an experience measured in duration. Duration is actually captured in the agony of defeat, because any driver having competed for any length of time has lost more than they've won.

Winning, for most, is brief, its effects fleeting. But it's significant enough to leave a lifelong impression.

The definition of winning is difficult to frame, or measure ... difficult to describe. So let's go with "thrill."