IndyCar Malaise Part 1: Why the public is indifferent

American Ryan Hunter-Reay put on a clinic in Alabama Sunday, but did it register with many American people?

We hear it all the time.

If only the television package was better; if only there was greater mainstream media coverage; if only people knew how good the racing was; if only we didn’t have spec cars; if only SportsCenter would pay an iota of attention to IndyCar; if only this, if only that, surely, unquestionably more people would attend Verizon IndyCar Series races and watch on television.

Yes, "if only."

Not only is such “if only" sentiment expressed on websites, message boards, social networking, and conversation within the IndyCar community, it can be seen in numerous measures that have been enacted by IMS and IndyCar in recent years. There have been attempts to stage end-of-season grand finales with drivers from other racing disciplines. We’ve seen concerts with washed-up rock stars promoted with greater exuberance than series champions. This year we’ll see changes to the Indy 500 qualifying format, the arbitrary awarding of more points for certain races, the installation of high definition monitors at Indianapolis Motor Speedway and other measures, all rooted in the hope more people will turn on their television sets, buy tickets to races, and take note of IndyCar.

To be clear, I’m not mocking such measures per se. If anything, some of the above changes have been successful. Sure, I could get all uppity and equate Carb Day to a low rent carnival, or some backwater county fair. While it’s not exactly a celebration of human excellence, when you’re looking to get people through the gates, I get it: you do what you have to do.

However, this article is not a commentary on the tried and tested formula of cheap beer and rock ‘n roll. Rather, the spectacle that is Carb Day provides a unique prism into a fundamental problem with IndyCar, the failure to understand that problem, and ultimately the flawed methods of addressing it.

See, Carb Day is successful from the perspective that it achieves its intended goal: getting people to show up. People buy tickets, come to the race track, and spend money on parking, concessions, merchandise, etc. Reportedly, the Speedway profits, people have a good time, and if they’re in fact conscious, they may witness a compelling finish to a motor race as in last year’s Freedom 100.

But if you think about it, people not showing up to the race track or not turning on their TVs aren't IndyCar's problems. Certainly, those are issues but they are symptomatic of the larger problem facing the sport. Too often, however, they are misinterpreted as the problem, and worse, treated as the problem. While such thinking is well-intentioned, the result is a flawed paradigm when it comes to addressing the actual problem plaguing the sport.

Yes, as we see with Carb Day, IndyCar has successfully formulated a one-day solution for a question they have sought to answer: how do we get people to show up? What remains elusive however, is the answer to the question: why don't people show up?

It’s simple: people don’t show up or turn on their television sets because there is no compelling reason for them to do. Yes, it may be a bold statement, but let it sink in for a moment: IndyCar's problem is not lousy TV ratings or people not buying tickets to races. IndyCar's problem is indifference; no one outside the diehards care. They don’t care not because the sport is not marketed well or covered by the mainstream media outlets. All these things are symptomatic of the larger problem: no one cares, because there is no good reason for them to care.

I’m well aware that expressing such an opinion will endear me to many. Allow me to say, that I am not referring to myself, nor AR1 readers when noting people don’t care. Of course, I care. Of course, you care.

But there are way too few of us to sustain the sport long term. And so long as IndyCar plans to remain an American-based series, it needs to find a viable solution in connecting with some of the more than 300 million people in the United States, the sport is failing to reach.

Why do those people have no interest? What needs to be done to engage them? Why is IndyCar failing to reach them? These questions and others will be explored in this three-part article, The IndyCar Disconnect.

Now, let me clear in saying the goal here is not to take anyone behind the woodshed or cast blame on this group or that. While IndyCar owns and operates the sport, this is not an attack on IndyCar, IMS, or anyone specifically. The simple truth is the disconnect we speak of permeates numerous realms of the sport, leadership being one. Further, said disconnect creates the illusion that the problems plaguing the sport exist external to it. As we shall see, this explains the flawed practice of IndyCar and IMS tactically treating the symptoms (TV ratings, lack of media attention), rather than strategically tackling the problem (widespread indifference).

Therefore, this will be an inquisitive piece that goes beyond details such as television ratings, spec cars, and other less-than-ideal realities AR1 and others have drawn attention to. Yes, those are problems, but ultimately they are symptomatic of the larger issue that plagues the sport: the fact that outside the diehard fan base, and industry itself, people are completely and totally indifferent; they simply, don’t care.

Today, in part 1, we will explore why the public is largely, indifferent, and what makes for a compelling sports entertainment product. In part 2 tomorrow, we will explore IndyCar's failure to understand the root cause of the problem, and resulting flawed method of addressing it. Part 3 will discuss practical solutions to what ails the sport.

A Product

I’ll ask in advance that you forgive the length of the next few sections. However, I do believe that a fundamental part of this piece is establishing two things:

What exactly I am referring to when I speak of a product, specifically, the IndyCar product.

What exactly makes a product, particularly a sports entertainment product, desirable for consumption? What brings people to the sporting arenas, and what compels them to switch on their television sets?

As for point #1, many make the mistake of equating the racing in IndyCar with the product itself. Granted, such thinking isn’t illogical. IndyCar is a racing series, and is selling racing to the public. If the racing is good (in IndyCar it’s excellent), then the product must be good. Further, if the product is good and people aren’t consuming the product, a logical conclusion might be there is a shortcoming in showcasing or presenting the product.

Again, there is likely some truth to this. However, to equate the IndyCar product simply with the actual racing itself is gravely mistaken. The racing is part of the product, but far from the entire product, which is so much more.

To help better illustrate this, allow me to use the example of a well-known consumer product, Coca-Cola.

A lot of people may not know this but Coke is regularly beaten by Pepsi, and other lesser-known cola brands in random taste tests. When people don’t know they’re drinking Coca-Cola, the product becomes simply another cola soda amongst many.

Still, that doesn’t deter consumers, as more than a billion cans of Coke are consumed each day. Clearly, Coke, the product, is more than simply the taste of the soda. Could it be the company’s unique bottling and distribution practice where it delivers all Coca-Cola products to the stores in which it is sold, giving it broader market share? Could it also have something to do with the company’s overall presentation and unique advertisement campaigns? If I knew for sure, I’d be a much wealthier man.

Fine. But what on earth does IndyCar have to do with Coke v. Pepsi blind taste tests?

A lot, actually.

For our purposes, the above narrative establishes the premise that a product encompasses more than that which is physically consumed. Blind taste tests show there is a lot more to the product Coca-Cola then how the soda tastes.

While IndyCar’s racing is entertaining, could there be some sort of shortcoming with the IndyCar product? For example, it’s not controversial by any stretch to assert IndyCar’s racing is better than NASCAR or even F1. Yet, both series blow the doors off IndyCar in terms of viewership. Could both the F1 and NASCAR products be more compelling, even though IndyCar has better racing?

I think we know the answer.

What makes a product compelling?

Having established there is more to a product than that which is simply consumed, the next step is looking at what makes a sports entertainment product compelling.

In team sports like football, people will tune in to watch their alma mater in college football, favorite NFL team, or baseball team. There are some exceptions to this. For example, the Chicago Cubs have sold cheap beer, day baseball, the notion of lovable losers and the ambiance of Wrigley Field for about a century.

But generally speaking, studies show human beings have great affinity for attaching themselves to organizations, particularly successful organizations and being part of something larger than themselves. We see people wearing sweatshirts, t-shirts, caps, and such aligning themselves with Notre Dame football or the Boston Red Sox. In forming such attachments, people join others in the shared experience of their team winning or losing.

With IndyCar, we can almost immediately cross this off the list, as there little or attachment to the teams. In other words, you probably haven’t met a lot of Dale Coyne Racing or Schmidt Peterson Motorsports fans. Nor do people attach themselves to Honda or Chevrolet, as you see with Ferrari in Formula 1. While there may be brand loyalty to Honda or Chevrolet, such loyalty is largely divorced from the race track nowadays, and not a compelling storyline outside the diehards. Plus, engines are inanimate objects anyway, which do not foster emotional attachments.

Compelling Human Interest Stories

While there are teams in IndyCar, we’ve established those teams do not draw viewers to the race track or television set. That leaves the other element that fosters people’s emotional attachments: people

To highlight this, I’m going to use a sporting phenomenon from the late 1990s and early-mid 2000s, I imagine most AR1 readers are familiar with. Granted, it is now tainted by a major doping scandal, which resulted in Lance Armstrong being stripped of his seven straight Tour de France victories from 1999-2005. However, as Armstrong was dominating the world’s most prestigious bicycle race, America watched in record numbers.

And let’s be clear: it wasn’t for the action-packed excitement of watching dudes in spandex ride bicycles up a mountain.

Rather, America tuned in for the compelling human interest story that was Texas-native Armstrong, a cancer survivor, a living, breathing testament to the triumph of the human spirit. Yes, in a competitive endeavor that places immense physical strain on man, Armstrong went from chemo-treatments to a seven-time Tour de France winner, American hero, and global icon in less than a decade. And while I can use superlatives to describe Armstrong’s capturing of the American imagination all day, let it be known Armstrong was, on no uncertain terms, a fascinating human drama story, worthy of the public’s emotional investment.

Another such example would be 22-time Olympic medal winner Michael Phelps.

Similar to Armstrong (pre-doping scandal) Phelps was/is a bad ass, iconic, American, winning machine; an instantly recognizable name, who’s Everyman persona carries broad appeal from macho jocks to tabloid reading housewives. Further, like Armstrong Phelps fits an archetype. While he has had some news making setbacks (Phelps had a DWI in 2004, and was photographed using a water pipe in 2009), he is generally perceived as a wholesome slice of Americana. You get the sense listening to Phelps talk that well, he’s not much different than you and me, just a lot better at swimming. And even the way in which Phelps has managed his transgressions has arguably added to his Everyman appeal, and the sense that as accomplished as he may be, he is again, flawed like the rest of us mere mortals.

Using Phelps and Armstrong as examples, we’ve established a clear premise that people watch sporting events to witness compelling human interest stories play out. Of course, the fact both Phelps and Armstrong are American, and bad-ass, record-breaking, winning, American heroes, who defeat others in international competitions, clearly compels the American viewing audience to share in the experience.

For example, I may not have much in common with the office secretary who works down the hall. However, when we’re at the water cooler, Phelps or Armstrong might provide the platform for discussion. Because we’re both American, we both aspire to achieve, we both have endured hardship, we both can relate to the struggles and triumphs of Armstrong and Phelps.

Let the record show there is nothing in IndyCar currently that comes anywhere close to providing a compelling human interest story in the Phelps/Armstrong mold

Let the record show there is nothing in IndyCar currently that comes anywhere close to providing a compelling human interest story in the Phelps/Armstrong mold.

Also, let's be clear that if Lance Armstrong were Ubekistani, we wouldn't talk about him. We wouldn’t care much about his record-breaking performance, doping scandal, and the subsequent decision to strip his Tour de France victories. Granted, there are rare exceptions. However, Americans are not going to invest large amounts of emotional energy in non-Americans. For example, do TV networks show Lithuanians and Venezuelans during The Olympics? Yes; in Lithuania and Venezuela. What do they show in America? Americans.

The above is not provincialism, it is not xenophobia. It is not an attack on anyone, nor is it an attempt to disenfranchise. It is an acknowledgement of the reality that people are overwhelmingly more likely to invest emotionally in those they feel a common connection to, nationalism being a quintessential element.

Further Understanding the Appeal of Armstrong and Phelps?

Another element in the appeal of both Phelps and Armstrong is acknowledging that both came from relatively humble beginnings. Phelps’ father was a Maryland state trooper, his mother an educator. Armstrong was of course, abandoned by his father at a relatively young age, and raised by his mother, who worked as a secretary.

Again, the mainstream public can relate to struggle, overcoming odds, fulfilling dreams. While humble beginnings are not a prerequisite for capturing the public’s attention, they make it more likely. For example…

Think about a Generation Ago

Let’s take some of the most popular American drivers from a generation ago: Rick Mears, Mario Andretti, Al Unser and A.J. Foyt. Between their multiple championships, race wins, Indianapolis 500 victories and iconic status within the sport, what do all share in common?

Humble beginnings.

Yes, Andretti was the son of Italian immigrants, who survived Nazi occupation in World War II, immigrated to American and settled in tiny Nazareth, PA. Their son would become a charismatic embodiment of The American Dream, rise to international fame and fortune, and the name Mario Andretti synonymous with racing and winning to this day.

Mears, Unser and Foyt represent different, although similar examples of humble beginnings. While there are good American drivers in IndyCar these days, there is nothing remotely close to those mentioned above. Nor is there a supporting cast a la Danny Sullivan, Tom Sneva, Gordon Johncock, Johnny Rutherford, Bobby Rahal, Al Unser, Jr. Michael Andretti, and others.

Now, think about this: in 1992, each and every one of the 11 men listed in this section attempted to qualify for the Indianapolis 500. All made the field with the exception of Rutherford.

Granted, the 1992 Indy 500 was a historic one for this reason and others. But also as we will see later, IndyCar isn’t even giving itself a chance for such an occasion.

And more recently…

Who is the most popular, well-known American IndyCar driver of the 21st century? I don’t think there’s any debate. Danica Patrick.

In addition to being attractive, American, and winning in the top-level IndyCar Series, what else is part of Patrick’s appeal? The novelty factor, relatively humble beginnings and an impression upon the public that she overcame great odds to succeed. Yes, while you and I view Patrick as a mid-level racing car driver, that is not what the public sees.

Rather, the mainstream public views Patrick as someone who rose to the top-level against long odds. This made her worthy of the public’s investment of time and emotional energy. While Patrick has her critics, no one can dispute: the public found her to be a compelling human interest story, and they were willing to emotionally invest.

Looking Ahead

Of course, the Danica ship has long sailed. And it’s not as if you just clone A.J. Foyt or Rick Mears. Nor is the next Mario Andretti or Al Unser just standing on some street corner. Rather, iconic, bad-ass, American racing heroes—or for that matter temperamental, attractive female racing dynamos– that captivate the public’s imagination need to be identified, nurtured and properly developed.

And given the landscape today is so fundamentally different from the generation those men ascended to the top of the sport and into the hearts and minds of the American public, different thinking (21st century thinking, if you will) will be a prerequisite if IndyCar ever hopes to have a fourth four-time American winner of The Greatest Spectacle in Racing. But as things stand now, the M.O. of IndyCar is working counter to this, by actually furthering the sport’s disconnect from relevance to the public and mainstream media.

Exactly what solutions are necessary will be the focus of part 3.

Tomorrow, in part 2 we will discuss IndyCar itself. Specifically, we will look at the fundamental source of IndyCar’s flawed tactics in creating a product the public finds compelling and worthy of its emotional investment. Remember the earlier statement that IndyCar tactically treats the symptoms, rather than strategically addressing the problem. In fairness, the problem is not particular to IndyCar the organization, rather pervasive throughout the IndyCar community, if you were.

This systemic failure will be explored tomorrow.

Brian Carroccio is a columnist for AutoRacing1.com. He can be contacted at BrianC@AutoRacing1.com.