Before the full-bore weirdness set in during yesterday's New Hampshire Cup race, which really wasn't all that weird -- over the years we've all seen lots of races with jumbled finishing orders as cautions + pit strategy = how'd he get up there -- what struck me was the genuine comforting normalcy of it all.

The names we're accustomed to seeing up front were there: Gordon, Johnson, Stewart, Earnhardt.  Every once in a while we'd see real live passing and stuff.  Even listening to the insider banter between Kyle Petty and Wally Dallenbach felt... well... normal.  It was NASCAR again.  No new car equals no passing angst; no lengthy diatribes about falling attendance.  It felt familiar.  It felt comfortable.

It felt good.

Isn't that the point of the whole thing?  How for a few hours every week NASCAR is supposed to feel both comfortable and exhilirating?  We know the tracks; we know the drivers; we know the sponsors.  We have more open access to the performers in NASCAR than any other sport.  Sometimes it seems like the drivers have a microphone in their face more often than a steering wheel in their hands.  And yet more than a few drivers go out of their way to have even more communication through satellite radio shows and the like.

With this familiarity there is the excitement of racing itself in a rough and tumble format.  At least there's supposed to be; the alarmingly large number of dreary races this year have been enough to suck the life out of the most fervent fan.  This past Sunday, there was action.  Real action.  Even during cautions, and I propose a statue be built in Juan Pablo Montoya's honor for his post-race comments about the incident between him and Kyle Busch: yes I spun him and yes I meant to.

The action was the key.  Although much of the beginning and middle stretches of the race were not exactly thrill ride material, when things heated up and so many storylines came into play -- who'll pit when, who'll try to stretch it, can Stewart break the jinx that's been haunting him all season and get his first Cup win -- the race became what we want in a race.  An escape, a release providing relief from the ordinary as we were absorbed in every lap, wondering if the rain would come, wondering how it would all play out.  And in the end, with Kurt Busch taking over the title of rain king from Jeff Burton (remember Busch's last win before this past Sunday was last year at Michigan in a race that was delayed two days due to rain) and winning a race with a rear brake duct hose dragging underneath his car... well, might not have been the finisher you wanted, or even the finish.  But it was fun.  And fun is something that has been sorely lacking thus far this season.

Here's hoping this Saturday in Daytona continues the fun.