Patches, we're depending on you son

DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. – This is the season that NASCAR was going to get it right. And this, the Daytona 500, is the race that was going to start it.

And then comes: THE HOLE THAT SWALLOWED NASCAR!

On the 122nd lap of the 200-lap race, a hole is discovered on the track. The hole is located between Turn 1 and Turn 2. It initially is about 18 inches long and 8 inches wide.

The hole is not big. But it is big enough to put the Great American Race on hold.

Nothing happens on the track for half an hour, then an hour, an hour and a half. Silence at the race track is like cold weather in Florida. It’s not right.

Although drivers don’t start their engines, fans start theirs. Thousands drive away from Daytona International Speedway.

After an intermission of one hour and 48 minutes, the race finally resumes.

Here we go. Cars race two wide, three wide, for 36 laps.

Then the hole returns. This time the race is postponed 44 minutes.

This is not A HOLE LOTTA LOVE. This is bizarre.

This is like delaying the Super Bowl because of a tear in the artificial turf, like delaying the NBA Finals because of a crack in the court, like delaying the Masters because of a divot.

This is the most famous hole in NASCAR history, and I want to see it. I attempt to hike to it during the first delay. A NASCAR official suggests taking pit row, and I do, but I can’t get close. I cut left and right and climb the steps in a nearly empty suite. But I can’t see it from there.

As I return to the infield, a security guard stops me.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“The hole,” I say.

“What hole?” he asks.

“The hole that swallowed NASCAR.”

"I don’t know about a hole,” he says. “But you ain’t gonna get there this way.”

I backtrack, move left, and then right, see an opening – a hole if you will_ and cut through it. The deeper I go, the more interesting the race track becomes.

A drunken guy tips over.

An angry white dog clutches a red ball between his teeth.

Two seagulls fight over a pizza crust, and three more join the fray.

A guy with a ZZ Top beard walks past a trailer called The Rattler.

Finally, between a motor home and a trailer, I see a group of fans with faces pressed against a wire-mesh fence. They see two employees work feverishly. They see 11 other employees watch.

Seriously. I count them. I feel as if I’m driving down a street back in Charlotte.

When you finish here, fellows, how about you return to I-485?

Meanwhile, day turns to night, warm turns to cold, the faces of NASCAR officials turn red and the hole turns twice as large.

No matter what Darrell Waltrip tells you on TV, no more than half the fans remain. One, a woman awaiting the infield tram, holds a red rose.

In honor of Valentine’s Day:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

The 24 Hours of Daytona

Are almost through.

The hole is plugged. The race resumes. The conclusion is frantic.

Whether the delays are good for the stock car racing, I guarantee this is a race people will talk about.

We crave the unusual, and you could not have an afternoon, and evening, more unusual than this.

More than six hours after the Great American Race begins, Jamie McMurray crosses the finish line. But he doesn’t win.

The hole does.