The 8 should have stayed with Junior

By Marty Smith
ESPN.com

(I love Marty Smith for the simple fact that no matter what, as a columnist he has stood up for Dale Jr no matter what. He's blunt about what should have happened with the #8 and I think all of Junior Nation agrees with the headline of this article.)


From the time I was in grade school I chose jersey No. 9 for all possible athletic exploits. Every kid in the South fought like hell over No. 3 (Dale Murphy), and we were no different. Once my buddy Bones (still my best friend) secured it, I chose Mama's birthday, Dec. 9.

There were 85s and 34s and 7s sprinkled in there sporadically when an older kid wanted the 9-er, but nothing else ever felt quite right. I had a vanity plate in college pronouncing my beloved digit, and in the mid-90s fast-food joints all over the New River Valley were devoid of window statics proclaiming 99-cent tacos or the $3.99 value meal.

To this day, my personal e-mail address centers on the numeral 9. My wife and I went to the Vatican last year and I stopped on the ninth floor just to pose by the marble block inscribed "IX."

Courtesy Marty Smith
Can you guess Marty Smith's favorite number? The ninth floor of the Vatican revealed all.

I bore you with all this mess to illustrate how important jersey numbers are to most dudes. It sounds completely ridiculous, but it's part of an athlete's identity.

Washington Redskins running back Clinton Portis bought No. 26 from a journeyman defensive back for 40 grand; he even got sued when he didn't pay up on time. When Tom Glavine was traded from the Atlanta Braves to the New York Mets, he financed a nursery in teammate Joe McEwing's home in exchange for jersey No. 47. Brian Jordan bought a $40,000 motorcycle for a Braves third-base coach to score the No. 33.

You get the idea.

Too bad Teresa Earnhardt was too stubborn to be bought.

That AMP car would look sick with a big ol' red 8 slapped on the side. Dale Earnhardt Jr. designs a gorgeous race car, and has settled well into the 88. But for me he'll always be No. 8.

It fit him perfectly. His grandfather's number, it was part of the family lineage. His ol' man drove it some, too. And from the very second the Budweiser Chevy was unveiled at Dale Earnhardt Inc. in 1998, it became Junior's identity.

It was one of the three most famous race cars in NASCAR history: the Petty blue 43, the black Earnhardt 3 and Junior's red 8.

It's more famous than Pearson's 21 or Darrell's 11 or Rusty's 2. Just is. You can't convince me otherwise.

The (Junior) Nation proves it. From Spokane to Sebring, there are slanted 8s tattooed on arms and legs and posterior regions and heaven knows where else. Budweiser made a commercial once joking about the phenomenon, how people would completely freak out if he were to change his number. As if that would ever happen.

You just don't see that with 24s or 48s or 18s or anything else. Occasionally, sure, but not to that degree.

And you don't see it in other sports. Because for fans, in other sports it's not about numbers. It's about team logos.

NASCAR is numbers. In NASCAR it's not the DuPont car. It's the 24. It's not the Office Depot car. It's the 14. In stick-and-ball sports there might be 30 No. 12s across the league. In NASCAR there's one.

That makes the relationship between driver and number even more identifiable.

And that makes the fact that the 8 is now dormant even sadder.

Earnhardt Ganassi Racing reportedly will suspend operations of the No. 8 due to lack of sponsorship; further proof, as if any were needed, that the number should have gone with Junior to Hendrick Motorsports.

But Teresa Earnhardt was having none of it. Her stipulations for forking it over? A portion of the licensing revenue and guaranteed return of the number when Junior was done driving, among other things.

Ultimately, the divide was too great.

It was a shame then. It's an even bigger shame now.

Even if Junior wanted the number now, he still couldn't get it. EGR told me it's not for sale.

When Tony Stewart left Joe Gibbs, folks wondered if he'd take the 20. It was all he'd ever driven in NASCAR, and was part of his competitive identity. But as it turned out it wasn't much of a story, not nearly as dramatic or passionate as whether Earnhardt would keep the 8.

That's because Stewart got to go drive a childhood hero's number.

Earnhardt already was.