Hubbub over Danica spinning out of control

On Sunday, I received a congratulatory e-mail from a reader who wanted to thank for me for writing seven paragraphs about NASCAR without once mentioning Danica Sue Patrick.

Assume the crash position, Howie R. of North Las Vegas. You are not going to like this.

She still goes by Danica Patrick. But because she's now driving fast cars with doors and tin tops, for another week anyway and then 10 more during late summer and early fall, it's only a matter of time before they give her a third name, too. Like the time somebody asked Darrell Waltrip about his pick to win the Indy 500.

"I gotta go with Bobby Ray," he said.

"Bobby Ray?"

"Yeah. Bobby Ray Hall."

The driver from the wine-and-cheese circuit Waltrip was referring to was Bobby Rahal, the 1986 Indy 500 winner. Without the "y" and the space and the capital "H." I think Waltrip knew that, but then one can never be sure.

I also think by the time Jimmie Johnson races under the checkered flag at Las Vegas Motor Speedway on Sunday, where Jimmie Johnson almost always races under the checkered flag first, people are going to be tired of reading about Danica Sue Patrick. Or, because this is Las Vegas, where we prefer one name to three, just plain Danica. Although, judging from her annual bathing suit pictures in "Sports Illustrated," there's nothing very plain about Danica.

Writing about NASCAR these days without mentioning Danica is like going to the symphony and not mentioning the violin player or going to the ballet and not mentioning the girl pirouetting dressed like Johnny Weir. It cannot be done. Well, maybe it can be done on Sunday, on the low side, but that's only because Ms. Patrick doesn't race on Sunday. If, however, there's a rain delay or the track starts falling apart, watch if ol' Darrell Waltrip doesn't mention Danica Sue's name faster than you can say Junior Johnson.

I haven't seen this much hubbub for a driver in the developmental Nationwide series since Jason Keller was named driver of the Slim Jim Chevrolet back in the days when the wives of NASCAR drivers did not resemble supermodels and when their husbands all had mustaches.

OK, bad analogy, because not all of the drivers had mustaches. Now a lot of them have beards. And some seem to be growing a little weary of Danica, or at least growing a little weary of walking around five "Entertainment Tonight" film crews and four Mary Hart look-alikes every time they need to return to the garage for a socket wrench or, in the case of the Las Vegas-born Busch Brothers, giant dark sunglasses.

It's not like that on the IndyCar circuit, where Danica has been burning rubber for five years and where she will be returning after Sunday. That's partly because women have been racing at Indianapolis since the 1970s -- there were three in each of the past three 500-mile races -- and partly because they accept Danica as one of the boys, those bathing suit pictures notwithstanding. Except, of course, Bobby Unser, who doesn't accept anything.

Danica is a pretty good (but not great) IndyCar driver. If one saw her finish third at Indy last year by driving the wheels off a noncompetitive car, or saw her beat high-profile teammates Tony Kanaan and Marco Andretti in final points, one would also understand the enthusiasm for her heavy right foot. It takes a right foot heavier than the Incredible Hulk's to beat a Brazilian and an Andretti.

Although there is a huge difference between IndyCar apples and NASCAR oranges, a lot of people from places such as Kannapolis and Hueytown and Level Cross and the South Boston in Virginia are expecting Danica to make orange juice right out of the box, not finish 31st and three laps off the pace in California. Remind me again: How many years did it take for John Elway to win the Super Bowl?

As for the off-the-track sideshow and the GoDaddy.com commercials, well, if it wouldn't have been Danica Patrick, it would have been somebody else. Or a monkey. That's just the way it is today. Or was, during the old days.

Do a Google search for "NASCAR" and "Jocko Flocko." You'll thank me in the morning.

Las Vegas Review-Journal columnist Ron Kantowski can be reached at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352.