A long road traveled

Danny Ings laughs, put his head in his hand and rolls his eyes.

He’s joking again about the man who he owes more to than anybody else: his dad, Shane Ings.

Along the way there are many coaches, advisors and other people in the soccer world who have helped Ings on his way to the top as a star striker for Liverpool. However, his father’s presence remains the one constant as their close relationship is both warming and indicative of the commitment and guidance needed to make it to the Premier League.

Ings, 23, has grinded his way from obscurity as a youngster in a local youth league to fighting his way up from the fourth tier to the top tier of English soccer. By his side the whole time remains one man and his partner, Sue Cooper, who have helped mold Ings into the fine man and player he has become.

“They have had the biggest impact out of everyone to be fair,” Ings says, scratching his left knee, which now has a sizeable scar on the outside of it. “When I was 10, my parents separated and about a year later my dad met Sue and ever since then I lived with her and my dad. They used to take me to every game I was playing in, tournaments, everywhere. They took me down to Bournemouth when I was younger. They have definitely been the biggest influence and kept me on the straight and narrow and on the path to where I want to be.”

Tracking the path of Danny’s journey took me down to the South Coast of England — a place where the sea salt can be smelt in the air as a stiff breeze whistled up Southampton Water.

Netley is a small suburb of Southampton close to the Solent, where a humble home saw Danny and his two sisters grow up. He lived a stone’s throw away from a local park which would help him achieve his hopes and dreams.

Those days spent on “Netley rec,” replicating the stunning goals local legend Matt Le Tissier scored, were to become the stuff of legends as the grass pitches and soccer pitch in a cage on his doorstep gave him somewhere to hone his skills and express himself.

“He had so much ability,” Shane Ings explained. “If I would pass it to him, he wouldn’t stop it with his strong leg. He would stop it with the inside of the left, not outside of the right. He would get that. We would do everything. Keep-ups to each other and there is a bar just by the rec there. It is a concrete post with a metal bar going across. When we finished our training session I wouldn’t let him come home unless he hit that bar from about 40 yards without touching the ground.”

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Telling tales of kicking a ball on a Bournemouth beach with Danny as a two-year-old and strangers coming up and asking “wait, how old is he?”, Shane knew his son had a special gift.

Growing up on a modest street in a modest part of a largely modest city in southern England, Ings’ upbringing saw his family “fight around for the pound” to try and help him achieve his dreams of going pro.

The journey was long, tough and winding. But he did it, and now look at him.

A few weeks after I met his family, Ings was grinning from ear to ear as he greeted me at Liverpool’s training complex. The heavily tattooed striker made his England debut in October, but two days later his season was all-but-ended as he ruptured his left ACL in a routine training session, his first under Liverpool’s new boss Jurgen Klopp. At first, forever the fighter, Ings believed he would play again this season, but it looks increasingly likely that his debut season at Anfield was ended in October.

“When I got the injury I said straight away I will play again before the season finishes but I think with the advice I’ve had of the surgeons and physios, I know they won’t risk me and I don’t want to risk it myself,” Ings said. “If I’m back and feel 100 percent and I am ready, I will be itching to get back to be part of the squad. If I am not 100 percent and even if I am 98 percent, with this kind of injury, I will make sure I work hard enough and be ready to come back in preseason and go again. I am hoping and I’m going to work as hard as I can to get back before the end. Time will tell.”

His untimely injury aside, Ings’ story epitomizes the rags-to-riches narrative.

Growing up, a strong focus to remain on the straight and narrow when everything else seemed to be falling down around him – and distractions lurked in every corner – got him to the top. At the age of 23, he is now overcoming the third major knee injury of his career. Looking at the determination etched over his face, you believe him when he says he’ll come back even stronger this time.

“This is all about the highs and lows of football. I was at the happiest point of my career and then, at the time of the injury, I felt like I was at my lowest point,” Ings said, furrowing his brow. “I just felt like I got my foot in the door. I was becoming established here at Liverpool, playing games and scoring goals, keeping my place in the team and had made my debut for England, then somebody took that all away from me. It is absolutely gutting because football has been my life. If I can’t do what I love doing then it is like someone having their kids taken away from them. That is how I felt. I know that I am going to come back extremely strong.”

Ings has had to be extremely strong and has battled against all the odds just to get to this point.

***

THE RISE

In October 2015 – it was the same day he scored for Liverpool against Everton in the Merseyside derby – Ings was called up by the English national team for the first time. When he got the text from England’s secretary, he thought it was a “windup” from one his friends. It was out of the blue, “completely unexpected.”

Out shopping for the day, Sue got a text message which she showed Shane. Their reaction? “Woah.” Then, predictably, some banter toward Danny arrived from Shane. Ings’ international call-up meant they had to postpone a fishing trip down in Southampton they’d arranged to take place during the Premier League break when Danny visited home.

“It was just fantastic wasn’t it?” Shane said. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed shopping so much! The old butterflies were going and I think I felt it more than he did. I phoned up Danny that night and said to him ‘do you realize I’ve had to cancel all the bait?’ Seriously though, we are immensely proud.”

As we recalled that memorable moment in the back room of the Ings household, overlooking the garden where Danny used to smash up all the solar-powered lanterns and butchered plants with a ball, Sue got up and picked a mug out of the back of a kitchen cupboard. On it read: “Danny, born to play for England.”

Thousands of those mugs would’ve been made and sold to kids up and down the country but now Danny can have a cup of tea out of it the next time he’s home knowing he’s achieved it.

“That was his dream. Always to play for England,” Cooper said. “We bought that cup years and years ago.”

“To go from Netley rec to Hamble School, knocking around with all those boys to play for my country, it is an achievement in itself,” Ings said. “But it is an achievement that I only want to be the start and I want it to carry on when I am back from this injury and hopefully become a regular one day in those squads.”

A prophetic mug used by the young Danny Ings. (Courtesy Photo)
A prophetic mug used by the young Danny Ings. (Courtesy Photo)

The rise for Ings has been a dramatic one.

Looking back to 2010 when making his way into Bournemouth’s team, Ings couldn’t drive and his family would often run out of petrol taking him to and from training 30 miles away.

Before one particular first-team game when he first broke through, his Dad drove him but they only got as far as the motorway.

“I remember once I was on my way down to a first-team game and I wasn’t driving at this point. My Dad actually broke down on the hard shoulder of the motorway. I had to get my friend to drive out, pick me up and take me to the game whilst my Dad sorted out the car,” Ings laughed. “It’s his own fault because he said ‘don’t worry it will get us there’ but every day he loses his keys, his phone. He loses everything, he is just one of those guys. The amount of times he ran out of petrol and I would have to turn up to football late. It is funny when you look back at it now. In five years to be in that position to where I am now. It is a huge step. I am extremely grateful for that and how quickly it has happened.”

A loan spell at Dorchester Town (who then played in English soccer’s seventh tier) came after he signed his first pro deal at Bournemouth, which, by the way, was only initially for three months as the club was in dire financial straits after previously battling against a hefty point deduction just to stay in the Football League.

“At every stage you would pat the nipper on the back but not too much,” Shane explained. “You can’t say ‘you are as big as Rooney!’ That is just ridiculous. We would say, ‘go with the flow Danny. Just keep working mate, keep working. It all fits into place.’ We didn’t know that.”

Ings soon made his mark for Bournemouth in the 2010-11 season in League One – the third division in England – under the guidance of young manager Eddie Howe, as he signed four contracts in his first 12 months as a pro and then turned down a fifth to make the step up to the Championship and play for Howe at Burnley.

After injuring his knee in his first training session with Howe at Burnley (sound familiar?), he went on to become a hero at Turf Moor, scoring 26 times in the 2013-14 season to get them promoted to the Premier League. Ings was also crowned the Player of the Year in England’s second tier. Eleven goals in 35 Premier League games followed last season as Burnley were relegated in the penultimate weekend of the campaign. But Ings sealed a summer move to Liverpool, less than five years after he made his debut for Bournemouth in League One as an 18-year-old.

There was a lot which came before that which made his rise to the top taste even sweeter.

***

THE GRIND

From almost released by Bournemouth as a 15-year-old to being released by Southampton and brushed aside by Chelsea before settling to play Sunday youth football with friends, it would take a lot for Ings to get back in at the pro level.

So even when everything seemed to be caving in on Danny, his dad was there to help him through it. That motivated him even more.

“The motivation came from my dad, really. I didn’t know anything else apart from football,” Ings explained, rubbing his forehead. ”Even in school… ah, I regret it to this day. I wasn’t the best at school. Not behavior-wise. My attendance was up there but I just wanted to play football. To the point where I tried to get out of class to try and play PE with the next class doing that. I think the teachers at the school understood the amount of love I had for the game then, so a few of them would let me join in. That was probably my motivation, my dad and how much I loved the game.”

If the bond between Shane and Danny seems stronger than a usual father-son relationship, that’s because it is.

“It was all about stability when Sue arrived. Danny had some family trauma at the age of 10. His mum left us and left me with it,” Shane smirks and half laughs. “And then I was on my own for nearly a year until I met Sue. She has been a mother figure to Danny.”

Ings revealed that going through tough times personally at the same time that he was being overlooked by pro clubs all proved a bit too much.

“It was tough then, because at the same time I kept getting knocked back by clubs. So I felt like everything was coming down on me,” Ings explained. “I have never accepted who I am. I have always wanted more, really, even off the pitch. I am quite a demanding person of myself and I think when I was younger, that was probably why I used to cry and shout at myself and stuff like that. It was hard for my dad to control.”

That anger manifested itself on the pitch, too.

“He went through a hard time with his mum leaving him,” Shane said. “We’d go to tournaments where we didn’t win or I remember one time he fouled someone and he should have been sent off. It was blatant. So bad. Anyway, he went on and got the winning goal in the final but that day really got his goat. One of the other parents had to hold him back. But his ambition is a winning ambition.”

Shane took his coaching badges to try and coach not only his son but others to play the game the right way instead of being worried about winning, as the part he played in Danny’s journey to the top cannot be underestimated.

“We started off by the police training college in Hamble. They said to us, there is some ground over there, you can have it,” Andy Parker, one of Ings’ former coaches explained. “It used to be a pitch but was badly run down. We said, ‘what do you think? Can we make a pitch out of this?’ We set up the goals, measured the pitch and set it all up and that’s where it all started. We did it all ourselves.”

A young Danny Ings with his father, Shane, who coached him as a boy. (Courtesy Photo)
A young Danny Ings with his father, Shane, who coached him as a boy. (Courtesy Photo)

Scoring 11 goals in some games, winning every individual trophy going and often leaving school early to be picked up at a motorway petrol station by Bournemouth’s reserve team on the way to a game, Ings clearly needed a chance at the next level.

Even at school, he spoke about scoring in a cup final from the halfway line and as everyone celebrated all you could hear from the sidelines was Shane’s booming voice: “Danny, stop showing off.”

Speaking to Ross Wallis, who attended Hamble Community Sports College but was three years older than Danny, he echoed Ings’ view that playing with the older kids helped toughen him up and make him the player he is today.

“He was always so small and a lot younger than us but wanted to play football at lunch time and he was half decent… so we let him play with us older boys,” Wallis said. “He has the best attitude I have ever seen. He’s just a top kid who does so much for charities and others.”

Others who know Danny revealed he is cheeky but was always committed to playing. Off the pitch he’s laid back, likes to watch DVDs – Jim Carey is his favorite actor – and go out to eat with friends and family. Whether he made it in the pro game or not, you get the sense not much would be different.

He finally got a chance to go pro when a chap called Dean Mayes, who his dad – who else? – knew from taking his coaching badges mentioned that AFC Bournemouth’s youth side needed a striker. The rest is history, but Ings wasn’t sure if he had a future in the game and thought his career may have been over before it had begun after being turned down by Chelsea.

“That was when I just switched off from all the pressure and thought ‘maybe it is not meant to be,’” Ings revealed. “At the same time my dad was like ‘never give up’ and said to me ‘look, it’s never over. You are still young. For now, just enjoy your football with me’ and that’s what I did and it was the best thing that ever happened to me to be fair because I was enjoying my football and I didn’t feel any pressure. I was playing better.”

That is when Ings got a trial at Bournemouth. Rising up through Bournemouth’s academy ranks, Ings used to get up at 6:30 a.m. every morning as a teenager and embark on a journey along the South Coast from Southampton to Bournemouth.

Those lessons learned on long commutes every day when he couldn’t afford his own place have held Ings in good stead to stay grounded in the flashy world of the Premier League.

“Football nowadays, a lot of the young lads get everything given to them on a plate,” Ings said. “You don’t have to do the work for the senior boys like clean the changing rooms or the boots. That part of it has now gone. So I think I am extremely fortunate that I have experienced some of that because it has made me humble and appreciate everything that I have now.”

What Ings has now is a longterm contract at Liverpool, a club he joined from Burnley last summer after his deal with the Clarets ran out. Due to him being under the age of 23, Liverpool had to pay Burnley a transfer fee which would be set by a tribunal if the two sides couldn’t come to an agreement. Talks are still ongoing but after Ings’ quick start to life at Anfield and making his England debut, the fee is expected to be around $10 million.

That’s a far cry from his humble beginnings, something and somewhere he’s never lost sight of. After a Burnley game at Everton last season where the Clarets lost narrowly, Ings walked out of Goodison Park with his hood up but among the fans as he met his father and his friends in the parking lot.

“Ingsy, when are you going to sign for us mate?” shouted a group of Everton fans outside a pub.

Danny laughed and gave them one of his cheeky grins. No airs or graces, he just wants to be one of the lads.

“It goes back to the stuff that I’ve had to go through to get at the level that I am at now. I don’t like people seeing me as that guy, I like people seeing me as ‘Danny, that lad who walks around the rec or you see out at dinner,’” Ings said. “When I go back to Southampton there is probably a lot more attention than I get up north because of where I played Sunday league for five years, it is the same faces. They have seen my journey where I used to play with them. I think that is the reason why I probably get noticed more down south, but I try to block it out and be a regular lad who has time for everybody who approaches me.”

***

THE GOOD GUY

Danny does have time for everybody, and then some.

Ings’ reputation as one of soccer’s good guys – often staying for many minutes after games and training to sign autographs and pose for pictures – blossomed from one incident during the 2013-14 season.

A photo of Ings giving a young handicapped Burnley fan his boots at the end of the game went viral. Now, he has his own self-named foundation in Burnley to help children suffering from disabilities who want to play soccer.

“It was one young lad who started it with me,” Danny explained. “There was a picture with the lad. I was taking a corner and I was talking to him and then when the final whistle went I went over to him and gave him my boots and didn’t think anything of it. The difference it made was huge. So I just thought ‘wow, if one pair of boots can do that for somebody, what can I do for everybody else?’”

Now, Ings stages sessions for over 600 disabled children at Burnley.

“To see the parents come over and appreciate the stuff you do, the sessions you put on, it is great to be able to change people’s life in that respect and make them part of my journey. Unfortunately they are not going to have the life I am going to have through football because of the physical demands. If I can make them part of my journey it makes me happy and hopefully it makes them happy as well.”

With plans to expand the foundation to both Liverpool and Southampton in the future, Ings’ actions brought a tear to the eye of his father.

“It brings a lump to your throat sometimes,” Shane said, holding back his emotions. “Especially when he said: ‘Dad, I am starting a project for kids with disabilities in Burnley.’ It is fantastic and that’s why he wants to give back. He knows what it is like to have no money and absolutely nothing. He survived on what we gave him when he was in digs at Bournemouth in his first year. We were funding him and gave him about 40 quid ($60 a week), if that.”

Ings doesn’t like to go into too much detail about the charity work he does or what else he does for others, but it’s clear when talking to those around him that he’s incredibly generous as he tries to help out any way he can.

Where does his generosity come from? His father, of course.

“You teach him not to be selfish. There is no point being selfish. It is ridiculous. There is no need to be selfish in life so if you can help someone, help someone,” Shane said passionately. “They will help you back because one time you are going to need help. That is a good philosophy to live by. If you can help someone it does come around. Karma does come around. He is very generous, almost to a fault sometimes.”

[parallax src=”https://nbc-sports.go-vip.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/21/2015/12/151204-ings-tatoo.jpg” height=600 credit=”Ings’ tatoo of him and his father”]

THE PEAS IN A POD

“The way Danny is, you can see where he gets it from can’t you?” exclaims Parker — who helped coach Danny at a young age — as he sits in a circle with Shane and Sue. “These two are incredible. I don’t think he could get any different than he is with Sue and Shane. You can see he is just like these two. He’s like a pea out of a pod.”

The love Ings has for his family and where he’s from is strong. He admits he misses the South Coast after spending the last five years living in and around Manchester – spending Christmas at home for the first time in five years is something he can’t wait for – but his father is never far from his thoughts.

On his heart, Ings has a huge tattoo of a silhouette of a man and a boy walking hand in hand. The boy has a ball under one arm. It’s him, side-by-side, with his dad.

“It was just for him to know that even though I am at the other end of the country now and working up here, he is still the biggest influence on me,” Ings said with a smile. “Even if he watches the games on TV, when I am driving home and for example, say if I’ve not had the best of games, I know he is the first one to call me and get in to me. He’s fantastic. I couldn’t ask for a better dad to mentor me and help me become the footballer I am today.”

Shane, who played soccer locally at an amateur level, had a lump in his throat when talking about the tattoo.

“That tattoo is brilliant. That is just like it was. He came with me everywhere. Whenever I played football, he would be there, home and away. It was in my blood, playing football,” Shane explained. “Now I’m having these selfies and the Liverpool fans were telling me they really like him, his work rate and that he is giving everything. Whether you lose, you’ve got to come off that pitch having given 100 percent and saying I can’t give anymore. That’s what those fans like. Danny would play for 20 pounds a week as long as he was playing. The money hasn’t gone to his head at all.”

Ings revealed that he recently bought his family a new home less than a mile away from where they live now. He took his dad around to look at a house the last time he was home and the realtor played along with it all, showing Shane around and giving him the spiel, when in fact, Danny had already bought it for him. Later this month, Danny will get to spend one last Christmas at the house where he grew up before the family moves on.

At their longtime family home, Shane points over my right shoulder and over the fence. A small slither of a park is visible in the pre-dusk sky. It was there at “Netley rec” that a future England international was nurtured. With barely room for one pitch let alone two, there was also a small pitch in a cage which became Danny’s Wembley.

Ings described it as “his patch” and Sue would often have to drag him home – Danny still in school uniform – in the evenings from the cages when it was time for bed.

“It was walking distance from my dad’s house and every day he used to take me out and we used to knock around down the park,” Ings said. “When I was younger it was great. Having that park so close to the house I could go out and practice and that was where I got my work done. He used to set me challenges. The metal bar… he used to beat me at all the time and I would never live that down. He never used to let me come home until I did it. I remember I used to beat myself up and get upset if I didn’t do it, but I had to make sure I did do it. Those are the little details that have helped me on my journey to where I am today and person I am off the pitch.”

Lounging back in sofas in the lobby of Liverpool’s Melwood training ground with the Reds’ fifth, and perhaps most famous, UEFA Champions League trophy on show in a glass box behind us, he’d gone a long way from the rec and being teased on building sites by his dad during a brief stint to see if he could cut it as a brickie. Every Liverpool employee who passes us says hello to Danny. He winks, nods and chats back.

Going back to the building site, he admitted it wasn’t for him to stay in the family trade – Shane owns a small construction company called “Build Ings,” which Danny mercilessly makes fun of him for the name – and he didn’t last a week on site, something he calls “an experience” which made him realize how hard he had to work to get the most out of his talents on the pitch.

Sue told stories of how Shane used to tease Danny “terribly” as he’d wake him up while he slept on the sofa and tell him he was late for a game and going to miss kick off. Then Danny would rush to get his boots on and then realize it was 10 p.m. on a Thursday night and there was no game to go to. He would often fall asleep on the sofa after a long day training and traveling to Bournemouth, with hilarious tales of sleep-talking playing into his father’s hands for numerous pranks. Two peas in a pod, always ready to laugh and joke around.

They look incredibly alike and Shane told a story about going to Old Trafford and sitting among the Liverpool fans to watch them play Manchester United earlier this season, as Danny made his first start in the Premier League for the club.

“I could see eyes on me and someone plucked up the courage to say ‘are you Danny Ings’ old man?’” Shane explained. “Then they asked if they could have a selfie with me. So I’m getting all of that now.”

Recalling that story, Ings laughed hard and revealed his dad recently got an offer to play for an over-40s team just because his son plays for Liverpool and England. He then put on a deadpan expression and delivered the following.

“You’ve seen what my dad looks like, we look the same don’t we? He has that smile. Spitting image,” Ings laughed as I nodded my head in agreement. “I think people recognize him and he sort of plays up to it. If I ever see him getting a picture with someone I will slap him on the back of his head! I will.”

With Ings currently going through a tough time with his ACL injury, his dad, predictably, is right there alongside him.

“I am on this strict diet at the moment where I am trying to get cut up and my dad rang me the other week and he said: ‘I am on the same diet as you now. I’ve lost about seven pounds.’ And I just said to him: ‘why they hell are you doing it? You’re not coming back from anything.’ Then he said: “Well, I am part of you aren’t I?” All I could say to him was ‘you are a loon mate.’”

Always laughing. Always joking. Always in it together.

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    Once more, with feeling

    NEW YORK — Again and again, over and over, they ask him how he FEELS. Well, this is the question to ask, isn’t it? The bus crawls through New York traffic and takes Jimmie Johnson from office building to office building. People wait inside. Kelly Live waits. Charlie Rose waits. USA Today … Mad Dog Radio … NFL Radio … TMZ. They wait for him on top of the Empire State Building. They wait for him outside the Time Life Building.

    How does it FEEL, Jimmie?

    How does it FEEL to come from nowhere to win your seventh NASCAR Sprint Cup championship, Jimmie? How does it FEEL to tie the two enduring legends of your sport, “The King,” Richard Petty and “The Intimidator,” Dale Earnhardt? How does it FEEL to be the best at what you do, to be inside a race car, rushing at the speed of chaos with 39 maniacs around you barely holding on? No, really, break it down for our audience, how does it feel to be you, Jimmie Johnson, championship race-car driver, part-time triathlete, millionaire philanthropist like Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark, loving husband, adoring father, everybody’s best friend and somehow, still, the nicest guy?

    How does it FEEL, Jimmie?

    “Insane,” he says. “It feels insane.”

    “Awesome,” he says. “It feels awesome.”

    “Wonderful,” he says.

    “Surreal,” he says.

    “Incredible,” he says.

    “I don’t know that I have the words,” he says.

    We’ve known each other a long time, Jimmie and I. We’ve talked about a lot of things through the years, about family and sharks, about food and dreams, faith and football, about kids and ice cream and how hard it is to not care when people boo.

    “Let me ask you something,” I say as the day crawls on, and he has been asked the question two or three dozen times, and his eyes begin to close because he’s worn out. “All these people keep asking you how you feel.”

    “Yeah,” he says. “Part of the job.”

    “I know,” I tell him. “But if you keep talking about how it feels, how do you keep anything for yourself?”

    He smiles at that and shrugs and looks out the window of the bus.

    * * *

    There is a giant hill near the small house where Johnson grew up. People tend to know he grew up around San Diego and so they might think about the sun and the beach, colorful sailboats and yachts. He gives off the impression of royalty. But that’s not the San Diego where he grew up. His town was called El Cajon. There are no yachts in El Cajon. His father operated heavy machinery. His mother drove a school bus. They made do. Jimmie would escape down that hill on his bicycle.

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    That hill — El Cajon mountain — is a road that seems to go straight down. Even in a car, it is a bit daunting. And for the young Jimmie Johnson it held all the secrets worth knowing. He would rush too fast down that hill, then faster, then faster still, until his parents would tell him to chill, and his friends would nervously call him crazy. Then he went faster again. At that speed, he found that he could feel everything. Fear. Breathlessness. Joy. Hope. Love. Pain. Oh, sure, there was always some pain. There was always another crash. Jimmie Johnson was the kid who showed up for just about every class photo wearing a cast or leaning on crutches.

    Well, he couldn’t help it. He needed that speed. He needed to race. There was something about being on the edge — barely in control and barely out of control — that called to him. He would do ANYTHING for that feeling because being on that edge was the thing that made him feel most alive. As the years went on, he realized that to get that edge, he needed to make connections. So he made connections. He realized that to get to that edge he needed to know people. So he met people — the Herzogs, the Chevy people, Jeff Gordon, Rick Hendrick, the people who could help him get where he so needed to go.

    He is just one of those people who cannot leave his fears alone. He needed to explore the fears, dance around them, poke at them if he can. It’s still true. Even after he made his name as a race-car driver and could do more or less anything he wanted, he still spent a vacation diving into the water so he could be thisclose to sharks. Why would a sane person do that?

    “Because I’m absolutely terrified of sharks,” he says, as if that explains it.

    * * *

    Richard Petty. Dale Earnhardt. Jimmie Johnson. It does boggle Johnson’s mind that he’s now in that company, officially and inarguably, one of NASCAR’s holy trinity to win seven championships. People can argue who is, in fact, the greatest of all time — and there will be those who believe it isn’t ANY of the three but instead is an Allison or a Gordon or a Richmond or someone like that. Johnson doesn’t care. He’s so happy to be in the discussion.

    Johnson never did race against Petty or Earnhardt, though he raced plenty against their sons. He did meet the legends. Well, he has met Richard Petty quite a few times, but he doesn’t really have any good stories about it. “What can you say about him that hasn’t been said a million times?” Johnson says. “He’s the King. He treats everyone with respect. He’s our greatest champion. He’s always been very nice to me, but he’s nice to everyone, you know? I don’t really know that I have more to add than that.”

    Johnson does have good stories, though, about the two times he met Dale Earnhardt.

    As part of Johnson’s effort to know people, he became friends with Ron Hornaday Jr., a four-time World Truck Series Champion, and a friend of Earnhardt’s. And one day, Hornaday sees Johnson and says, “Hey, you want to meet Earnhardt?” And of course Johnson says yes because Earnhardt was a legend by then. “People my age,” he says, “there was no one on earth cooler than Dale Earnhardt.”

    They walk in together, and Hornaday introduces Johnson. Earnhardt sizes up the kid; Johnson was 21 years old then. And then Earnhadt reaches for a little box and gives it to Johnson. “Here,” he says with no warning or explanation. Inside is a little pocket knife with Dale Earnhardt’s name on it. Johnson is overwhelmed.

    “OK,” Earnhardt says. “So what did you get me?”

    Johnson kind of stumbles around. “Um,” he says, “I didn’t know …”

    Earnhardt growls, “You know it’s YEARS of bad luck if you give somebody a knife and then don’t get a gift in return.”

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    Johnson begins to turn red, “I mean …”

    Earnhardt goes on: “I don’t need your bad luck. I still haven’t won Daytona. I give you a knife and you don’t have anything for me, and now you’re telling me I have to walk around with your bad luck …”

    Johnson panics. He rushes outside and, using all the ingenuity he could muster up, gets a penny. He goes in and gives it to Earnhardt saying, “It’s a heads-up penny for good luck.”

    Earnhardt doesn’t say a word.

    “You know,” Johnson says now, almost 20 years later, “I wonder if he was messing with me.”

    * * *

    Did you see Johnson going crazy?  In the minutes after Johnson won that race at Homestead on Nov. 20, the one that clinched the seventh championship, he lost his mind. He danced. He jumped around. He hugged everyone and everything in his path. He screamed — screamed so loud and with such force that even days later he did not have his voice back.  He had won six championships before this one, and he celebrated those heartily, too. But this was different. This was unchained. This was Spinal Tap’s eleven.

    “I don’t even know who that guy was,” Johnson says as he looks at footage of himself going bananas.

    Shock, of course, had something to do with it. Johnson went into Sunday’s race needing to finish ahead of three drivers — Carl Edwards, Joey Logano and Kyle Busch — to win the seventh championship. And all race long, he could not beat any of the three. They all had better cars. They all had better track position. Johnson’s crew chief, Chad Knaus, had tinkered and gambled and even tried making a few rather desperate changes, but none of it mattered. Johnson just didn’t have enough car. Those three guys pulled away, and Johnson was left sitting in his car thinking of ways to be gracious when the inevitable loss happened. “I knew I wasn’t going to win,” he says. “I accepted it.”

    (All the while, his wife, Chandra, was a mess. Chandra is famous around the track for her relatively serene approach to watching Jimmie race. On Sunday, she admitted, she was in the fetal position).

    And then in the final 10 laps of the race, suddenly, a whole series of wacky things happened. Carl Edwards was in command of the championship when the caution flag came out. Poor Carl Edwards. He’s had a glorious NASCAR career, winning 28 races and more than $80 million in prize money, but something has always blocked him from being THE GUY. There was the time he tied Tony Stewart and lost the tiebreaker. There was the year he won nine races, including the last one, but fell short on points. And then there was this one, the time when he had the championship in his hand but a caution flag came out with 10 laps to go and it all went to hell.

    Edwards restarted on the front row, and he had Joey Logano behind him. Jimmie Johnson was behind Logano. And for the first time all day, Johnson thought: “Well, hey, maybe there’s a chance.”

    Logano, as is his style, made a bold move inside to try and beat Edwards on the restart — nobody in NASCAR restarts quite as aggressively and forcefully as Logano. He went so far inside that his car rolled over the painted area near the interior wall. And it was a winning move — his move would trap Edwards between cars, and there’s no escaping that spot. Edwards knew it, knew his race was over if he let Logano by, and so, in a desperate effort to block Logano, he swerved left. “I was a bit optimistic,” Edwards said ruefully afterward. He bumped Logano, and then lost control, leading to a fiery wreck that ended Edwards’ hopes and shut the race down for 30 minutes.

    “As soon as I got by that wreck,” Johnson said, “I thought, ‘Wait a minute. What’s happening here? I might actually win this.'”

    Well, that was certainly the thought in the Johnson camp, where Knaus was pumping his fist and Chandra was losing her mind and so on. During that 30-minute, red-flag delay, Johnson’s crew, his fans, and the many people around NASCAR hoping to see a bit of history were going out of their minds. It was going to happen! Jimmie Johnson! Seven championships! Impossible!

    And, inside the car, Johnson fell asleep

    “I guess I was calm,” he says, and even now he’s surprised.

    There was one more break to come Johnson’s way — he expected to be lined up in the third position, which would have been him on the inside lane with his championship competitor Kyle Busch on the outside. If there was one thing that was clear all day in Miami it was this: You did NOT want to be in the inside lane. That was the lane where Carl Edwards AND Joey Logano saw their dreams end. “You just can’t hold your speed on the inside at Miami,” Johnson says.

    But, NASCAR determined that Busch, not Johnson, should be in the third spot. Johnson broke free from Busch on the restart and took the lead.

    * * *

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    There’s an irony about NASCAR: It is the ultimate thrill ride — 200 mph on sheet metal and horsepower and all that’s left of your tires — but you don’t get to NASCAR and you don’t win championships through daredevil feats. You get to NASCAR through great racing, yes, but also by building relationships, by impressing sponsors, by pitching the Lowe’s-Budweiser-M&M’s-FedEx-Napa Parts-Chevrolet-Toyota-Ford car and by working within a team. You win championships by driving like the devil when your car is loose and seems to be on a sheet of black ice, yes, but also by understanding what you don’t know and trusting your crew to handle things. You win championships by controlling your car, but also by relinquishing control. It’s the shakiest of balances.

    And balance is what Johnson does better than anyone in the sport.

    So when everyone asks Johnson how he feels after the seventh championship, well, he tries his best, he uses the balanced words that come closest, but really, in a private moment, he will tell you: He doesn’t really know HOW he feels. It’s all too much to take in.

    “All my life,” he says, “I just wanted to race cars. It was never about the numbers. I didn’t want to win seven championships. I didn’t really want to win one championship. I mean, yeah, I wanted to win, but what I really wanted was to drive a race car.”

    Before this race, he said the thing he wanted was to feel like he did when he was a kid, to strip away all the money and all the fame and all the past glory and just feel that thing he used to stay up all night dreaming about, that thing that pushed him to go down El Cajon Mountain just a little bit faster than felt right.

    Did he?

    “When people ask me how I feel,” he says, “I tell them best I can. I want people to share in this feeling i have. … But I don’t tell them everything.”

    * * *

    The second time Johnson met Dale Earnhardt, well, it’s a much shorter story. Johnson was hanging around with some buddies at Earnhardt’s garage when they all saw The Intimidator’s car roll slowly by with its windows pulled up. Suddenly the car stopped, and it backed up, and the window came down.

    “Hey,” Earnhardt said to Johnson. “You work for me?”

    “No sir.”

    “Then get the hell out of here. I don’t need no lawsuits.”

    And the window rolled back up and Dale Earnhardt drove away.

    At the end of that magical race at Homestead, there was one final restart, and after that Johnson heard “Clear” from his spotter, meaning the race and that seventh championship was his. Then came the disbelief and the crazy dancing and screaming and joy and hugs from his wife and children and the greatest compliment a driver could ever get.

    “Jimmie,” Dale Earnhardt Jr. would say to his friend as he pulled Johnson close, “Dad would think you’re such a badass.”

    The fourth wheel

    MIAMI — Carl Edwards has to know that he’s sort of the odd duck in this year’s Chase. Here, you have Kyle Busch, defending champion, force of nature, superstar. There, you have Jimmie Johnson, six-time champion, legend of the sport.  And third, completing the triangle, you have Joey Logano, 26 years old, phenom trying to insert himself into the story, everybody’s favorite young villain, the future of NASCAR.

    And here is Carl Edwards, 37 years old, a former dirt-track driver who ground out 28 victories in an excellent 13-year career but has never quite crashed through, never won a championship, never quite broken out of the pack of those excellent and professional drivers who make up the heart of NASCAR. People who know him probably know him as the guy who does a backflip when he wins. That’s fun. But it isn’t exactly what he wants.

    When you look at a list of the drivers who won the most races without winning a championship, you see this:

    1. Junior Johnson, 50 wins

    2. Mark Martin, 40 wins

    3. Fireball Roberts, 33 wins

    4. Denny Hamlin, 29 wins

    5. Carl Edwards, 28 wins

    Edwards knows this, knows it better than anyone. He knows there’s a difference in how people look at you when you’ve won a championship — knows there might even be a difference in how you look at yourself.

    Watch: NASCAR Sprint Cup Championship (Sunday at 1:30 p.m. ET on NBC, NBCSports.com and NBC Sports App)

    “Winning a championship,” he says, “it just means that, you know, you go to bed Sunday night and know, hey, you did it. You beat the best in the world. And we’re the champions … at least until they start racing again. I guess that’s what it comes down to. That’s about the longest a win can last in this sport.”

    Edwards has had his share of championship heartbreak, beginning with his loss to Tony Stewart in 2011. The two were actually tied in points after an epic duel at Homestead, but the championship went to Stewart because he won more races than Edwards that year. NBCSN has shown that race this week, and Edwards admitted that he watched maybe 10 minutes of it. After that, he was so motivated he was ready to jump in a race car immediately.

    There were other close calls, but now, he’s back, and he will not pretend that it’s just another week. When someone asked all four drivers if they were going to try and treat this week differently from other weeks, the other three guys said, “No.” They talked about how you have to treat this race like any other, prepare the same way. Edwards had a different answer.

    “For me,” Edwards said, “I’m going to be honest, this week does feel different. I mean, yes, we do have to go do the same job, like these guys said. But for me, each moment, I almost have to pinch myself, like, ‘Hey, this is really it, we’re getting to do this.’ So this is more excitement for me personally.”

    “Would winning a championship change your self-perception?”

    “Well, yeah, it would be great. I think it would be great … you can print that. It would be great for a different reason for me at this point in my career, though. I’m starting to just realize how difficult this is.

    “As far as self-perception, probably like most race car drivers, I kind of have an ego problem already. So that could put me over the edge, honestly.”

    Edwards’ advantage could be the track. He has won the pole twice at Homestead and has won the race twice, finishing top five five times in his 12 starts. He just won at Texas, which is a similar track that uses a similar tire setup. “There’s not a better race track,” he says. “Statistically, this is as good as it gets for me.”

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    And his dirt-track background sets him up well too. The toughest part of competing in a winner-take-all race is that you have to find a way to win no matter what gets thrown your way. In other races throughout the season, you just do the best you can with what fate deals you. There is always more than one winner in a regular season NASCAR race. There’s the driver that takes the checkered flag, but there are also those who had to overcome numerous problems, mechanical issues, tire trouble, poor pit stops, whatever, and somehow finished seventh or 10th or something like that. Every week, you will hear drivers and crew chiefs say happily, “We got the most out of our car today.”

    But for the four drivers left in the Chase, that’s not really an option on Sunday. It’s all about winning.

    “Carl’s real good at driving through the limits and being able to compensate for something not being right the with the car,” his teammate and competitor Kyle Busch says. “He’s able to make more out of it. So that sets him up pretty well.”

    “I think that comes from his dirt background,” Johnson says. “He’s used to dealing with cars that just weren’t exactly right.”

    “Yeah, that’s nice for people to say,” Edwards himself says. “But this is NASCAR, you have the best drivers in the world, they’re ALL good at making the most of their car. The other three drivers in the Chase are incredible. I don’t really think I have an advantage in that. All of us are good at that.

    “I do feel like, yeah, I like the challenge. I feel like if they would spray the track down with water and said, ‘OK, everybody race,’ I would enjoy that struggle. … But I’ll enjoy this week no matter what. It’s fun. This is what I like.”

    One for the history books

    MIAMI — There is a funny thing about sports dreams. You know, the kind you have when you’re a little kid. You dream about hitting the game-winning home run. You dream about catching the game-winning touchdown pass, or swishing the game-winning basket, or scoring the game-winning goal, or making the putt that wins you the Masters.

    Few of us ever get to do it, of course. But that’s not the funny part.

    The funny part is that the people who DO get to do it, well, they find that it isn’t exactly like the dreams. Take Jimmie Johnson. He has won six NASCAR Sprint Cup Championships. Six. Only two men — Richard Petty and the late Dale Earnhardt with seven — have any idea what that’s like. But to be realistic, even they don’t know EXACTLY what it is like because the sport has grown so much bigger, the money has grown so much bigger, the pressure has grown so much bigger. So many people are counting on you. So many people are rooting against you. Gigantic companies have many millions of dollars at stake.

    And so even though this is all Jimmie Johnson ever wanted — to be the best race car driver — those first five championships felt nothing at all like his childhood dreams. He didn’t even ENJOY them, not in the way we understand the word “enjoy.” Yes, he was very proud of what he and his team did. Yes, he thrilled in the racing, the speed, the challenge, the victories, the opportunities that came with being the best stock-car driver in the world. But it wasn’t fun, if that makes sense. It wasn’t that innocent joy that went along with all those childhood daydreams, that feeling of the world going in slow motion, that intoxicating blur of champagne and happiness and wonder. He would stay up at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how he could stay on top.

    In 2013, when Johnson was 38 years old and won his sixth championship, the feeling was closer to what he had hoped. By then, Johnson had let go of a lot of things, a lot of the insecurities. He had stopped worrying so much about pleasing everyone. But even that wasn’t EXACTLY what he had dreamed about.

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    “You’re like, ‘Wow, this is nutty, this is stressful, can I do it?'” Johnson says. “You have all of these things weighing you down. When I won those first few championships, it wasn’t fun AT ALL. There was always more to do, you know? In ’13, it definitely felt different. I felt different. That was the most fun I’ve ever had racing for a championship by far.

    “Still, some days, you wish you could feel that thing you wanted as a kid, you know, that place you see in the movies or hear about in stories, and it is surreal, and the world stops and time stops, and it is perfect.”

    So that’s what this time is about. Johnson is 41 years old. He’s a legend of the sport. He has won six championships and 79 races and more than $150 million in prize money. He has won multiple races every year since he was a rookie. The legacy, if such a thing matters, is secure.

    And so, this race is for him.

    “I feel different going into this championship than I have ever felt before, there’s absolutely no doubt about that,” Johnson says. “As weird as it may sound, I’m more comfortable in my own skin than I’ve ever been. And that’s a major player. I have nothing to prove to anyone, and I don’t care what other people think. I really don’t. I’m racing this weekend for me and my family and my team. I don’t have any outside baggage that’s on me. That was other years. There was plenty of that stuff. None of that matters to me anymore.”

    He endured an odd year. It began like most Jimmie Johnson years do — he won in Atlanta in the second race of the year and followed that up three weeks later with a win at Fontana. And then he and his team went into a bit of slump. In a 15-race span, he finished in the top five four times while finishing 20th or worse six times. He and his crew chief Chad Knaus struggled week to week. There was the talk — which has grown louder the last couple of years — that Johnson was close to the end. “I definitely missed driving up front,” Johnson says.

    Watch: NASCAR Sprint Cup Championship (Sunday at 1:30 p.m. ET on NBC, NBCSports.com and NBC Sports App)

    Then came the Chase and it has been absolutely perfect. He breezed into the second round, then won the first race, Charlotte, to automatically move into the third round. He promptly won the first race of the third round, in Martinsville, to qualify for Sunday’s final four. Johnson’s team has had two stress-free weeks to prepare the car for this final race, and while nobody knows if that will make a difference, well, it can’t hurt.

    And Johnson is just enjoying it. “I’m excited,” he says. “And I’m fresh. I don’t know if it will change as we get closer to the race, if the nerves will come. But I don’t think it will.”

    He is well aware, of course, that winning this title would tie him with Earnhardt and Petty for most championships — so aware of it that ever since he won the race in Charlotte he has been wearing a helmet with Petty and Earnhardt’s photos on it and the words “Drive for Seven.” He says that if he could tie those two legends of the sport, it would mean the world to him because it would connect him to history.

    But, again, he promises not to let that inflate into pressure.

    “I never race for stats,” he says. “I’ve never raced for stats, for fame, for money. I’ve just always loved racing. I feel like I’m more in touch with that, in tune with that, than I’ve ever been in my career.

    “I think about those dreams I had as a kid, dreams all of us have in our own way I suppose. I guess I want that moment. I’ve done this for a long time. And I’d love to have that moment.”

    Promises, promises

    MIAMI — Two years ago, Joey Logano showed up for his shot at destiny … and he was scared out of his mind. He doesn’t like to say it that way. He would prefer to just say, “I was nervous. Because I didn’t know what was happening. And I think that’s where nerves are going to come from.”

    He was just 24 years old then and he was trying to join Jeff Gordon and Bill Rexford as the only two drivers to win a championship before turning 25 years old. But it was different for Logano. He’d been preordained to be NASCAR’s next superstar ever since he was a teenager. “Sliced bread,” they called him — as in “best thing since …” — and while he sort of got a kick out of the nickname and the expectations when he was a kid, those things soon felt like an anchor tied to his waist.

    “Sliced bread,” people would mutter savagely every time he finished out of the top five.

    “Sliced bread,” people would taunt him because he won just three races in his first five full seasons.

    “Sliced bread,” other drivers would mock when they felt like Logano pushed his aggressiveness too far.

    Then in 2014, it finally came together for Logano. He won five times. He came to Homestead with a real chance to win the championship … only he readily admits that his head just wasn’t in the right place. “I couldn’t settle my mind down,” he says. “I was thinking about what could happen … or what’s going to happen … what’s the week going to look like … what’s the feeling on Sunday going to be … what is it going to feel like like getting in the car … do I have what it takes?”

    Here Logano smiles. He’s famous for that smile.

    Watch: NASCAR Sprint Cup Championship (Sunday at 1:30 p.m. ET on NBC, NBCSports.com and NBC Sports App)

    “I think that’s the big one. ‘Do I have what it takes?’ I didn’t know then. I know now.”

    “What do you know?” 

    “I know the challenge ahead. I’m prepared for that. I’m ready for that, ready for the pressure. I’m more than ready, I’m excited about it. I’m genuinely pumped. It’s like a complete 180 from last time I was here.”

    There are times when it feels like Logano has been racing forever — and he HAS been racing full time since 2009 — but he’s still just 26 years old. He’s five years younger than Jimmie Johnson was when he won the first of his so-far six championships, three years younger than Dale Earnhardt when he won his first of seven. And he’s five years younger than any of the other drivers in the Chase this year.

    And it’s the combination of youth and experience that makes him unique … and dangerous. NASCAR people will tell you: Young drivers go FAST. The great Junior Johnson used to say, “They don’t know no better — they haven’t hit the wall yet.” So younger drivers push closer to the edge than might be prudent out of youthful exuberance and daring. That makes them go extremely fast, yes, but then they tend to burn out (or spin out or get spun out).

    Logano has that speed. But he has more or less stopped burning out.

    “When you’re flirting with the edge, you’re going to step over it from time to time,” Jimmie Johnson says. “And he has. I think he’s figured out how to inch his way up to the edge instead of flying over it like he did three or four years ago.”

    “For me,” Carl Edwards says, “a switch has gone off the last couple of years for Joey. He’s just so fast everywhere. I have a feeling he’s going to be VERY fast on Sunday. He’s hungry. He wants this very badly. You could argue that he doesn’t have a lot of experience or whatever but I’ve been around long enough. I’ve watched how he’s been approaching this. I think he’s got a ton of confidence.”

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    The other three drivers talk a lot about handling whatever adversity comes this week, being patient, always, in the immortal words of NASA legend Gene Kranz, “Working the problem.” Logano talks about these things too, but more he talks about being aggressive … and being aggressive … and when that doesn’t work, to keep being aggressive.

    “Attack all day,” Logano says of the gameplan. “That’s it. It’s the way our team is. It has been for the last three years or whatever. That’s what we found to be successful for us. Race aggressively. Attack every minute. I start the race and say, ‘I’m here to win,’ and I have that ‘I will not get beat’ attitude throughout the race. Whether that’s good or bad, well, it’s different for other people. Probably it’s a lot different. But it works for us.”

    And when you ask him how he will deal with the frustration that might come with a poor pit stop or a car that won’t quite adjust to conditions or the ever-changing conditions of the track, he smiles again.

    “Frustration is OK,” he says. “It’s OK as long as it’s channeled in the right way. But there’s never that feeling of ‘We’re just not going to win today. It’s just not our day. We suck.’ There’s never that feeling. Because I know we don’t suck. I know I’m a very good race car driver. I know I have a very good race team. And I know we can handle this.”

    The Magic Man

    MIAMI — The wonderful thing about the press conference for the NASCAR Championship Four — just three days before the big race — is that you have all four of the contending drivers sitting on the stage side by side. And because they are sitting next to each other, you can get just a small feel for how they feel about each other and their chances and everything else coming into the winner-take-all final race.

    Joey Logano, for instance, is totally pumped up, super happy. Why not? He won last week to become one of the four drivers to have a chance to win a championship Sunday. This is the dream, man.

    Jimmie Johnson seems calm, beyond calm, like he’s done this whole thing a million times before, which is pretty close to true.

    Carl Edwards looks a bit dazed, but in the best of ways. He’s 37 years old now and he has won 28 races and more than $80 million, but he has never won a Sprint Cup Championship. He looks like a guy in a dream.

    And then there’s Kyle Busch. He looks, um, lethargic.

    “Do you guys like each other?” someone asks the group.

    “Kyle,” Logano says, “we’ll let you answer that.”

    Watch: NASCAR Sprint Cup Championship (Sunday at 1:30 p.m. ET on NBC, NBCSports.com and NBC Sports App)

    Busch looks out with a bit of a bewildered expression, as if someone has just woken him up from a nap. “I am exhausted,” he would say later. And when asked why, he would say, “I am always exhausted.”

    “Do you like each other?” was the question to the group.

    “Right now, yes,” Busch says. “In about 25 seconds, no.”

    Kyle Busch has the aura now. For so many years, he was the guy with unlimited potential, the impossibly talented driver who won a lot of races but always should have won more. Busch himself bought into the hype. He lashed out. He got into numerous dust-ups. Fans loathed him. He beat himself up continuously. In the words of his team owner Joe Gibbs: “He always felt like he was letting himself and his team down, like he wasn’t living up to his great talent.”

    Last year, it all changed. What a year that was. Busch got into a wreck at Daytona that threatened to end his entire season — for a brief time it seemed like his career might be in danger. Even once the doctors got a handle on his condition, Busch was supposed to be out for a minimum six months. Three months later he was standing — wobbly but standing — in the hospital room when his wife Samantha gave birth to their son Brexton.

    Then he came back to the track … and he was essentially unbeatable. In a beautiful five-week span, he won at Sonoma, at Kentucky, at Loudon and finally at the Brickyard 400 in Indianapolis — his first major victory. He won so much that he easily qualified for the Chase even though he’d missed 11 races. Then he made it to the final four, and he ran away to victory at Homestead for his first championship. In the last few laps, he was singing the theme song for “Vocabularry” — his infant son’s favorite TV show.

    A magical year like that, yeah, it changes a person.

    “No,” he says now, “it doesn’t feel a whole lot different.”

    A magical year like that, um, it sort of changes a person?

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    “Well, look, it hasn’t been terribly different on the racing side,” Busch says. “Personally, with Brexton at home and stuff like that, that’s different. Having him come to all the races, that’s pretty fun. We certainly enjoy the time that we have on the road. But, you know, I’m just me.”

    So, OK, maybe a magical year like that doesn’t change a person — but don’t tell the other drivers that. They see a different Kyle Busch. There was always a saying in the garages about Kyle Busch during those years when he could not quite put everything together: If he ever wins a championship, watch out.

    Now that he’s won one, yes, watch out.

    “He just has so much confidence now, you can see it,” Johnson says. “I mean, he was always a confident guy, but it’s different, I think. Now, he’s a champion. Now, he KNOWS.”

    That is exactly the thing that is apparent as Kyle Busch sits off to the side during the press conference — it’s like he’s separate from the other three. He knows. He’s the defending champion. He’s the closest thing this Chase has to a favorite. He’s the guy in the best position to take over this sport, to be the new Dale Earnhardt, the new Bobby Allison, the new Richard Petty. A year ago, after he won his championship, he boldly said he’d like to win 10 in a row. When people laughed, he made it clear that he wasn’t joking.

    “It’s not about what we did last year,” he says. “We’ve already got that one. It’s in the bag. This is about going out there THIS one. It’s one race. It doesn’t matter what the situation is this week, doesn’t matter what comes your way, you have to figure out a way to win.”

    That, more than anything, might be what makes Kyle Busch the favorite. Right now, there is no stock-car driver anywhere who can make more out of less than Kyle Busch. Just last week in Phoenix, he had a tepid car that was running around 15th for most of the race. Through sheer relentlessness, a few adjustments on the car and a bit of driving brilliance — especially on restarts (Busch is a wonder on restarts) — they somehow finished second and could have won.

    “Oh, Kyle can make some magic,” Johnson says. “And knowing him, I’ll bet he will on Sunday.”

    No more fun and games

    Cam Newton, at his best, is a magical player. He does things that blow minds. He throws 30-yard darts that slip by defensive backs before they can react. He avoids sacks not so much by eluding them as by simply standing up through them, a brick house in the Big Bad Wolf’s wind. Newton takes off running and in the open field he is both halfback and fullback, able at times to split defenders in two the way Gale Sayers could, able at other times to blast through a defender, not unlike the way Neo blasts through Agent Smith at the end of “The Matrix.”

    This is Newton at his height, when the conditions are right, when his team is playing great and the opponent is in retreat and, as the Magic 8-Ball says, “All signs point to yes.”

    This was Newton last year for a 15-1 Panthers team that went to the Super Bowl.

    Something has changed this year, of course. That part is obvious. It isn’t that Newton is playing badly. His numbers are down, yes, and the Panthers are 3-6 and in last place. But he’s still among the top five or 10 quarterbacks out there. And there have been a few familiar moments. He threw for four touchdown passes against San Francisco. He has had a couple of dazzling runs. He has put his team in position to win for the most part, including last week against Kansas City. It isn’t like Newton suddenly forgot how to play football … he’s still Cam Newton.

    But something has obviously changed.

    What? There are a few clear possibilities. The Panthers’ defense was otherworldly last year, forcing turnover after turnover, setting up Newton and his offense with golden opportunities time and again. That has more or less stopped this year. The Panthers are starting inside their own 20-yard line more often. This has affected the Panthers’ offense generally and Newton specifically. He’s thrown only 10 touchdown passes this year. All the numbers are down.

    On offense, the line has been beat-up and inconsistent, and that has knocked Newton off his game. He has thrown off his back foot more often, and that usually leads to bad things. It did last week when the Panthers seemed about ready to put away Kansas City — a retreating Newton threw a pick-six that put Kansas City back in a game that should have been over. Newton has dealt with injuries, too — he missed the game against Tampa Bay, and he wasn’t himself in others.

    Watch: Saints vs. Panthers on Thursday Night Football (7:30 p.m. ET on NBC, NBCSports.com and NBC Sports app)

    And, perhaps most of all, teams have been taking their free shots at him at every turn. Newton is 6-foot-5, 245 pounds and a great runner, so teams obviously have to tackle him hard. But there’s no question opponents have taken this to an extreme this season. They have hit Newton late a few times, stolen some shots to the head, unloaded some knockout blows. And, for the most part, there have been no penalties to accompany the hits, possibly BECAUSE Newton is so big and powerful.

    This has driven Newton to distraction. Newton seems to believe the whole world is ganging up on him. A couple of weeks ago, he flatly said that the late hits are “really taking the fun out of the game for me. At times I don’t even feel safe.”

    Newton has a beef. But more to the point here, all of this leads to this rather simple theory that I have about Cam Newton.

    He needs to be having fun to play his best football.

    And this year, he’s just not having any fun.

    Great athletes tend to feed off different motivations. Some want to be loved. Some seem to get a huge kick out of being despised. Some are motivated by fear, others by anger, still others by fame and fortune. Tom Brady, for instance, STILL seems to motivate himself by disrespect (you might have heard that he was selected in the sixth round of the NFL draft) even though it has been years since anybody disrespected him (Roger Goodell aside). Meanwhile, a player like Carolina’s impeccable linebacker Luke Kuechly seems to motivate himself through the daily challenge of figuring out how to break up an offense — it is like a puzzle for him.

    Newton apparently grazes off joy. He wears the hats. He does the dances. He gives away the footballs. The bigger the lead, the more fun he has, the better he plays. The louder the crowd, the more fun he has, the higher he soars. This is part of what makes Newton such a joy; through it all, he PLAYS football the way kids PLAY football. It’s a game. And it’s so much fun when everything is working and everyone has come together.

    This is something people around the Carolina team have noticed for years. There have been times that people inside the organization have wondered if Newton could be serious enough to become a great NFL quarterback. Soon enough they realized that it was the wrong question, realized that being serious doesn’t suit him or his play. You probably noticed how serious Newton looked in the Super Bowl last year. That didn’t turn out well.

    Marty Schottenheimer is one of the many coaches who noted that you can’t have fun in the NFL if you lose. The Panthers are coming off one of their worst losses in recent franchise history, a complete giveaway to the Chiefs. Their playoff situation looks pretty dire — Carolina might have to win out. The key will be getting Newton to start having fun again.

    The remarkable rise of Andy Murray

    For years, there was this fun argument going on about Tiger Woods and Roger Federer. The argument assumed that both men are the best who ever played golf and tennis (an open debate, obviously). And it led to one question: Who is better at their sport?

    The argument never really went anywhere because for every point (golf requires beating the WHOLE field rather than one opponent at a time), there was a counterpoint (one mediocre/bad day in golf does not sink a golfer’s chances, but it can end a tennis player’s tournament).

    For every factor that points to the difficulty of golf (it is so mentally challenging that even the great golfers will miss cuts with some regularity — Phil Mickelson missed 11 in his career) there is another that points to the difficulty of tennis (it is so physically grueling that many of the greatest players — John McEnroe, Bjorn Borg, Martina Hingis, Justine Henin, Mats Wilander, on and on — won their last Grand Slam singles title by the time they turned 25 years old).

    Anyway, it was fun to talk about, even if it never really led anywhere. But there is something that does seem to be emerging about the wonderful dominance of Woods and Federer. You might call the two effects “dishearten” and “hearten.”

    All of this, eventually, will take us to Andy Murray. Hopefully.

    Tiger Woods was such a force in golf that he disheartened his opponents. He broke their spirit. They could not beat him, not when he was on his game, not when he was slightly off his game and, quite often, not even when he was very much off his game. There’s an old Jack Nicklaus line that is even more true for Woods: He knew he would beat you, you knew he would beat you, and he knew that you knew he would beat you.

    FIfty-eight times, Woods was either in the lead or tied for the lead going into the final round. He won 54 of them. He won the first 14 major tournaments he led after 54 holes.

    And how did this uncommon mastery of a sport that is supposed to defy mastery affect other golfers? It crushed them. Sure, there were supremely talented golfers in Woods’ time, several who are in the World Golf Hall of Fame. But let’s put it this way — from the time when Woods broke onto the scene and breezed to the 1997 Masters title to when he won the U.S. Open on one leg, there were 46 major championships.

    Tiger Woods won 14 of them, as mentioned.

    The other 32 majors? Well, 25 different golfers won those 32 majors. Vijay Singh and Phil Mickelson won three. Mark O’Meara, Retief Goosen and Ernie Els won two each. Those five terrific players — four already in the Hall of Fame with only Goosen waiting — won fewer majors than Woods COMBINED. And the other 20 majors were won by 20 different golfers. It’s a clear pattern: Everyone would show up at the majors with the hope that Woods was way off his game. Then, and only then, did they have a chance.

    His magnificence was unassailable. It was meant to be enjoyed and feared but not challenged. The best golfers on earth not named Tiger Woods had to console themselves with the huge sums of money that Tiger brought into the sport and the hope that maybe someday he would stop winning everything and leave some tournaments for everyone else.

    So, yes, Tiger Woods was disheartening.

    Roger Federer, somehow, was the opposite. He was every bit as dominant as Woods — the numbers are even more striking. From 2003, when Federer won his first Wimbledon to 2010 when he took the Australian Open, there were 27 Grand Slam tournaments. Federer won 16 of them, more than half, and reached the final in another six. The only other tennis players to win Grand Slams in Roger’s time: Rafael Nadal, who won six, and five others who managed one each.

    But it was different somehow. There was something magnanimous about Federer’s beautiful game, something that opened up possibilities in the minds of other tennis players. Golfers would see Tiger Woods hit miracle shots out of trouble and make every important putt he looked at and they would think: NO SHOT. But Federer would hit some implausible running forehand winner or spin a drop-volley with such touch that it would not even bounce, and the other tennis players would think: I WANT TO DO THAT!

    That begins with Nadal, of course. He seemed to be just the latest in a long line of Spanish and Latin American clay-court specialists — Sergi Brugera, Gustavo Kuerten, Gaston Gaudio, Albert Costa, Juan Carlos Ferrera — who would show up at the French Open to win and then disappear like top-spinning swallows of Capistrano.

    Nadal, though, was stirred to take his game to a higher place. He has spoken eloquently about how the inspiration of Federer took him there. Nadal has won all four major championships and 14 Grand Slam tournaments in all — he has his place now in the inner circle of all-time tennis greats. His rivalry with Federer might just be the greatest in tennis history. Nadal has controlled it for the most part with shots that kick up high and attack Fed’s backhand like wasps. Still, their tennis has lifted the sport.

    Novak Djokovic was next. He had both Federer AND Nadal to contend with, something that certainly could have left him entirely discouraged. At times, he did indeed seem discouraged. Djokovic does not have quite the grace or touch of Federer nor the ferocious power of Nadal. He found his own path — foot speed, instincts, hitting balls on the rise, imposing return of serve and sheer ambition. He has now won 12 Grand Slam titles, including the career Grand Slam. He has a winning record against both Federer and Nadal. He too has a place in tennis’ inner circle.

    All of which brings us to Andy Murray. He has been around a long time. It is tempting to think that Murray is younger than he is, but he was born in the same month as Djokovic (Murray is actually a week older). He is less than a year younger than Nadal. He played in his first Wimbledon in 2005. He has endured more or less the ENTIRE period of Roger and Rafa and Novak’s dominance.

    He did not just endure that dominance, he was repeatedly smacked down by their dominance. The first 10 times he reached at least a Grand Slam semifinal, he was knocked out by Nadal (four times), Federer (three times) or Djokovic (two times)*. If anyone had good reason to grudgingly accept that he was born at just the wrong time, it was Murray.

    *He was also beaten once in a semi by Andy Roddick, another slap in the face — he couldn’t even be the best ANDY on the court that day.

    And Murray seemed, well, to put it delicately, just the type of person who would grudgingly accept that he was born at just the wrong time. Murray in 2008, when he was 21 years old and had not yet won a single significant tournament (no offense to the Qatar Open) nor reached the final of a Grand Slam event, wrote an autobiography called “Hitting Back.” Nobody was entirely sure WHY he wrote an autobiography at that time, but he did indeed hit back — at British tennis, at the media members who doubted him (he was refusing to even talk to the BBC at the time) and at the unfair obstacles he seemed sure that everyone was putting in his way and his way alone. He came across as a very angry young man, though nobody was entirely sure why.

    Then, maybe the answer why was obvious. Federer was majestic then. Nadal was ascendant. Djokovic won the Australian Open that very year. There seemed to be no room in the tennis world for Andy Murray, and he seemed to know it.

    So what happened from there? The book kept getting updated as Murray began growing up. The paperback version of that book was called “Coming of Age.” And then the book title was updated and titled  “Seventy-Seven: My Road to Wimbledon Glory.” That happened in 2013, after Murray broke the 77-year British drought and won Wimbledon. By then, he was a different tennis player and a different man. He had won the Olympics in London. He won the U.S. Open that year. He had found himself.

    And I would argue that it was, once again, the inspiration of Federer, who inspired Nadal, who inspired Djokovic, who inspired Murray. Andy improved everything about his game. And he did it by building up every single part of his game. He doesn’t really do anything specifically better than the rest of the world. But you know those Sprint commercials where Sprint basically admits it’s not QUITE as good as Verizon, but it’s 99 percent as good for half the price?

    Murray doesn’t quite have Djokovic’s return of serve (no one in tennis history does) or his pure speed — but it’s probably 99 percent.

    Murray doesn’t quite have Nadal’s bullfighter tenacity — win or die with honor — but he’s probably at 99 percent.

    Murray doesn’t quite have Federer’s ability to hit the “gaga shot” that tilts an opponent’s head the same way shaking a pinball machine does — but he’s probably at 99 percent.

    In other words, at least as I see it, Murray created a game that is like an homage to those masters he has been trying to beat. He does a little bit of everything, and he brings along some of that youthful rage and intensity, and here he is: Murray is now the No. 1 player in the world.

    It is unclear if he will stay at No. 1 for very long. Djokovic seems worn down by his own extraordinary rise, but he has still made the final of nine of the last 11 Grand Sam tournaments, winning six of them. Djokovic also dominated the head-to-head matchups between them, winning 24 of 34 matches and eight of the 10 times they played in Grand Slams. It seems a pretty good bet that he will be back, and so this could be just a Murray blip, a fluke of timing.

    Or it could be more. Either way, for Murray to reach No. 1 after all these years is an extraordinary thing.

    When Tiger Woods hit the golf scene, you will remember there was a lot of talk about the generation of golfers he would give rise to, the young golfers who, seeing what he was doing, would find a way to take golf even higher. We might be seeing that with golfers like Rory McIlroy and Jason Day and Jordan Spieth, though it is too early to tell.

    Federer’s impact is clearer. He came into the sport during a lull, just as the Pete Sampras-Andre Agassi era was ending, and he played sublime and previously unimaginable tennis. And his tennis genius has helped create three of the greatest tennis players who ever lived. I’m sure he didn’t mean to do that. But, hey, who DOESN’T want to be Roger Federer?