In the underrated and altogether enjoyable film Zombieland, Woody Harrelson's undead-killing lead character motors through the apocalyptic landscape in a big black truck with a familiar-scripted number 3 on the side. He never offers any explanation, never mentions his affinity for a former race car driver, never defines the connection between himself and another intimidating figure behind the wheel. He doesn't need to. When his ride is stolen and he commandeers a new one, the first thing he does is paint the same numeral on the driver's side door.
[img_r]http://i2.cdn.turner.com/nascar/2010/news/opinion/05/01/inside.line.dcaraviello.dearnhardt.no3.dearnhardtjr/caraviello.193.jpg[/img_r]Putting the No. 3 back on the track with Dale Earnhardt Jr. behind the wheel honors his father, his family and the fans, writes Joe Menzer.
That's how entrenched Dale Earnhardt's car number is in popular culture -- clarification is no longer required. Even a movie aimed at a youthful, hipster audience doesn't have to spell out who the man was or what he stood for. His legacy has become so ubiquitous and far-reaching that there's the assumption you can figure it out for yourself. By now, people just know, just like they know that a flag with a bear on it represents the state of California, or that a helmet with a star stands for a football team from Dallas.
A vehicle with a No. 3 on the side of it represents one man -- which is why it's so easy to have so many mixed feelings about the announcement earlier this week that Dale Earnhardt Jr. will drive a No. 3 car in the July 2 Nationwide Series event at Daytona. No question, this is being done with the right combination of people behind it, with Teresa Earnhardt, Earnhardt Jr., and Richard Childress (who retains rights to the No. 3 and will technically field the entry) all on board. And it's being done in the right way, the vehicle unveiled on what would have been Earnhardt's 59th birthday, and painted in the same Wrangler scheme he used in the 1980s.
And while this effort is designed to honor Earnhardt's forthcoming induction into the NASCAR Hall of Fame -- which will be two month's past by the time the car takes to the track -- it can't help but have something of a been-there, done-that feeling to it. In 2002 when Earnhardt Jr. returned to Daytona one year after his father's death and drove a No. 3 car in the Busch race, the atmosphere was electric. Even though the vehicle was sponsored by Oreo and not Goodwrench, in the right light parts of the dark blue car looked almost black. Grown men wept when Dale Jr. won the race and returned the car to Victory Lane. It was a cathartic moment that everyone needed, proof that while the man was gone, his legacy was still alive and well.
Another effort later that year at Charlotte didn't have the same kind of juice, maybe because the vehicle had a tropical-fruit-colored paint scheme that would have made Peter Max blush, maybe because Earnhardt Jr. was caught up in an accident and was never a factor in the end. Or maybe because once was enough. Maybe because that Saturday afternoon in Daytona was the great, victorious sendoff that a fan base and an industry never got a chance to give the man himself, and anything else is going to suffer by comparison. Maybe because the timing of and the meaning behind that first endeavor was so perfect, any others feel like they're pulled randomly from the deck.
That's not to say that Earnhardt Jr. and Childress, two men who knew the Intimidator as well as anyone, don't have the right intentions. And no question, some folks are going to get goose bumps when that vintage-painted No. 3 car rolls out onto the track at Daytona. But it's precisely the opposite -- the lack of use of the No. 3 car -- that's made the vehicle so iconic that it can appear without preamble in a zombie flick aimed at 20-somethings, kids who never even saw Earnhardt compete, and everyone immediately understands. The man and the number have become so tightly intertwined that you'll never be able to separate them. It's Earnhardt's car, and it always will be, forever and ever. Anything else feels like an imitation, like somebody besides Buddy Holly fronting the Crickets.
All of this is surely to revive the now-nine-year-old debate over whether we'll ever see the No. 3 back at the Cup level, something Childress has never really ruled out, but doesn't have any explicit plans for, either. Childress' grandson Austin Dillon currently drives a black No. 3 in the Truck Series -- let's not forget, R.C. used the numeral before Big E did -- but it's a truck, not a car, and that tour exists enough below the radar that such a thing can happen without exactly stirring strong feelings on either side. That would surely change if Dillon ever carried the No. 3 with him up to the Nationwide Series, which gets more national coverage and races in tandem with the big show almost every week.
And what if Dillon, who has an average finish of 16.5 in four Truck starts entering Sunday's event at Kansas Speedway, proves good enough to advance to NASCAR's highest level? Then the polarization would begin. "I don't know that you'll ever see the 3 back in Cup," Childress said earlier this season, and he reiterated as much Thursday, although you'd have to imagine that if it were his grandson behind the wheel, he might be tempted. That would seem one of only two viable scenarios, the other being some future union between Earnhardt Jr. and RCR, and at the moment both of them feel like long shots at best.
That would leave the No. 3 exactly where it is today, in some sort of permanent hibernation, not exactly retired but with everyone respectful enough to not push for its use, either. Tributes like the Wrangler-backed effort for Daytona are nice, but honestly not necessary anymore. We've seen Dale Jr. come back to Daytona in a No. 3 car, seen him win in it, and nothing will ever top that. The idea of somebody using it on the Cup level seems too ludicrous too discuss, like the Dodgers giving Jackie Robinson's jersey number to a call-up. It's as synonymous with the man as his mustache or his heavy right foot, and because of the way he lived and died, nothing will ever change that.
Earnhardt's race team is effectively gone, having been merged into another operation. His victories exist only on highlight reels. But nine years later the No. 3 is still very much a part of him, still something people can cling to, still something that shows up on flags and bumper stickers and license plates with regularity, all precisely because of its disuse. It's Earnhardt's car. It's only Earnhardt's car. And it should ride in one place -- memory.