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Twice as nice: a toned-down Tony Stewart can enjoy a second Cup championship

Sporting News, The,  Dec 2, 2005  by Matt Crossman

For a guy obsessed with racing, Tony Stewart doesn't like driving much. He once said that if he had to drive the length of a Nextel Cup race in a regular car without listening to music or stopping for a Coke, he would "want to commit arson" when he got out of the car.

And it's not just regular driving that bores him. He hates testing his racecar. He drew criticism for blowing off testing before the Daytona 500, a process he described on his team website as "watching paint dry." (When he's testing at Daytona, he's going 190 to 200 mph. That's wicked paint, no?)

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You could see how much skipping testing really hurt him when he led the most laps in the Daytona 500 and won the track's July race in historic fashion, setting a race record for laps led. The controversy surrounding Jimmie Johnson focused on his using tests that didn't belong to him; Stewart's name came up because somebody else tested his car for him.

In Stewart's mind, going fast doesn't matter; winning does. What's the point of going fast if there's no one to leave behind?

Yet it was a test early in the year at Michigan that led to the best season of Stewart's career. Finishing 15th in the Ford 400 last Sunday at Homestead and winning his second Cup title cemented his legacy among the greatest racers ever. And his attitude in winning the NASCAR Nextel Cup altered his legacy as one of the most cantankerous racers ever.

The difference before and after the Michigan test was so stark, it was as if crew chief Greg Zipadelli gave Stewart an entirely different car--the No. 20 team simply had struck the perfect balance. Before the first Michigan race, the average of Stewart's finishes was 16.14. After that race--he was second to Greg Biffle--it was 5.95.

If Zipadelli gave Stewart a new Monte Carlo, a new Stewart climbed into its seat. In the offseason, he moved back to Indiana, having purchased the house in which he grew up. Out of that idyllic house's doors came a kinder, gentler, happier Stewart, a fact with which therapists could have a field day. "I don't know who that guy is masquerading as Tony Stewart, but he's a different fella," says Benny Parsons, the 1973 champion and a commentator for NBC.

The new Stewart was on display all weekend at Homestead. On Friday, he was encircled by reporters gathered on the portico of a Miami hotel--a horrible situation for a guy who is claustrophobic and disdains press conferences. But it turned out to be a fascinating 15-minute adventure to the center of Stewart's mind.

He was curt and introspective, funny and hectoring. He lectured the media for focusing on the negative, yet he answered some questions about his season with short, sarcastic answers and questions about Kurt Busch's suspension with long, insightful answers. A reporter standing over Stewart's left shoulder told him, point-blank in front of a dozen tape recorders and a few TV cameras, that she used to be scared to interview him because he was so intimidating. You're mean, she might as well have said. The old Stewart probably would have cut her to the bone with a withering response. Instead, he admitted that at times he's not the most gracious guy in the world, but reporters don't see all of him, either.

The "new Stewart" angle only goes so far, of course. Stewart was happier in 2005, but he was not lobotomized. He still got annoyed by what he viewed as overaggressive racing and blocking, and he still launched verbal bombs when he deemed them necessary. He called Greg Biffle an "idiot" at Martinsville, verbally jousted with Jimmie Johnson's crew chief, Chad Knaus, and was placed on probation for an incident with Brian Vickers after the Busch race at Watkins Glen.

Although the new Tony Stewart wasn't completely new, it was the same old Smoke behind the wheel, only better. The same things that have always driven him--a chip on his shoulder and a Jordanesque competitive streak--still burn within his firesuit. And his talent remains off the charts. Stewart's hand-eye coordination is that of a juggler who handles flaming knives. Stewart's fingers are long and skinny, and they work in concert with his feet to put the car where he wants it, when he wants it. Nobody can command a car as Stewart can.

His car control is so extraordinarily splendid he rarely gets credit for being as smart as he is. At Homestead, he bided his time, waiting for his car to come around. He fought the urge to try to cram his car into ninth place--the finish that would guarantee the championship. He drove the car that was under him wisely instead of recklessly trying to drive the car he had dreamed about the night before.

Soon after Stewart finally worked his way into ninth place, Johnson, his closest competitor, put his own car in the wall. That meant Stewart had to finish just 20th, which he probably could have done if he had steered with his knees.

But when he crossed the line 15th--a few seconds after Biffle outdueled Mark Martin to the checkered flag--Stewart's knees were knocking and his eyes were misting.