Michael Jordan’s day at the races

TALLADEGA, Ala. — The 20 or so square feet around the pit box of the No. 23 car is the most diverse spot on a NASCAR track in 2023, and, probably, ever. Black and white, young and old, golf-shirt-and-Hoka-wearing bros and sunburnt, logo-slathered NASCAR lifers — they all gather here in the shadow of the pit box

They’re not here to see Bubba Wallace, the driver of the 23. They’re not here to see Denny Hamlin, Kyle Busch or any of the other 35 drivers who started Sunday’s GEICO 500. They’re here to spend a little time in the vicinity of the 23 car’s owner, the guy who made that number 23 famous.

Michael Jordan is at Talladega to watch NASCAR, and NASCAR, in turn, is watching Michael Jordan.

How Michael Jordan got into racing

In North Carolina, racing is in the air and in the blood. James Jordan, Michael’s father, was a lifelong gearhead, constantly tinkering with his own car and even working on Cup cars owned by longtime NASCAR owner Hoss Ellington. James took young Michael and his siblings to tracks like Darlington, Rockingham, Charlotte, Daytona and Talladega. Michael would go on to play a little basketball, but he never lost the fire his father had sparked within him.

After Dale Earnhardt broke his record for merch sold on QVC in the 1990s, Jordan and Earnhardt met at Jordan’s restaurant and joked about teaming up for a souvenir endeavor that would have printed money for both of them. That never came to pass, but decades later, Jordan would dive full-scale into NASCAR in a way that would have made Earnhardt proud.

During one NBA game, the long-retired Jordan, now owner of the Charlotte Hornets, summoned Hamlin, who’s enough of a basketball junkie that he’s often courtside at Hornets games. Jordan stunned Hamlin by asking high-level questions about racing strategy. Soon afterward, Jordan began investing in Hamlin’s racing career, putting the Jumpman logo on Hamlin’s firesuit and turning up at races to support Hamlin.

In September 2021, Hamlin and Jordan announced that they were taking the partnership to a new level, creating what would become known as 23XI Racing. (“XI” is the Roman numeral for 11, Hamlin’s car number.) They signed on Wallace, and in announcing the team formation Jordan explicitly noted his intention to improve NASCAR’s record on diversity. Wallace is NASCAR’s only Black driver, and the Jordan imprimatur has helped make him one of the sport’s most marketable faces.

The challenge, though, is this: Jordan is synonymous with winning, and 23XI is, well … not. Through 128 races as of Sunday, the team has four wins — two by Wallace, one by Kurt Busch, one by Tyler Reddick. As a team, 23XI has an average finish of 18.9. In his two-plus years at 23XI, Wallace has averaged finishes of 18.3, 19.4 and 21.3. Frustration is starting to boil over, especially as Reddick, a new teammate, is running well out of the gate.

A month ago, the frustration did boil over when Wallace wrecked out at Circuit of the Americas — a race that Reddick would go on to win. “Two weeks in a row of making rookie mistakes six years into Cup?” Wallace seethed in a postrace interview. “Need to be replaced!”

Racing with a higher purpose is important … but so is winning.

Celeb at Talladega who wants to just blend into the racing scene

One of Wallace’s two wins for 23XI came at Talladega. Yes, it was a rain-halted race in October 2021, but the numbers all look the same in the record book. Plus, given the random nature of Talladega, virtually every driver in the field has a chance of winning if the fates go their way and the wrecks don’t.

Given that, and given his connection to old-school NASCAR as a whole, then, it wasn’t entirely a shock when Fox cameras found Jordan in the pit box shortly before the start of the race. Clad in a white 23XI hoodie, white Jumpman baseball cap and Jordans the deep blue of the ocean floor, he settled in for the entire race, headphones on, eyes focused on the monitors ahead of him.

NASCAR has its fair share of celebrities show up to races. Sometimes they’re legitimate Tom Cruise-level Hollywood stars, though those tend to make their appearances at the Daytona 500. Sometimes they’re of-the-moment influencers who look like they’re wondering where Max Verstappen is. Usually they’ll do a quick turn on the grid before going to a suite far removed from the action, safely behind glass.

Not Jordan. He hasn’t been to many races — when you’re Michael Jordan, you tend to attract attention wherever you go — but when he does, he has sat right on pit road. He doesn’t do prerace interviews, doesn’t make a big show of himself. He’s here to watch racing, not to be seen.

On Sunday, with Wallace spending substantial time close to the front of the pack, Jordan is engaged, talking strategy and pointing at the monitors with others in the box. Other times, he simply sits alone, one of the world’s most famous men watching the sport his father taught him to love.

Jordan has picked a hell of a good day to show up. Wallace is looking strong, his fish-emblazoned Toyota working its way to the lead time and again. Talladega is always anyone’s race, and on this day, it’s looking a whole lot like it could be Bubba’s.

An MJ surrender cobra — 'Hey, that’s part of Talladega, buddy'

All of the iconic Jordan moments — the shot over Craig Ehlo to defeat Cleveland in 1989, the shot over Bryon Russell to defeat Utah in 1998, dunk after spectacular dunk — they all begin with the ball in his hands. He needs the ball in his hands, needs the control that brings. But here, at Talladega, he can only sit and watch.

With about 10 laps remaining, the drivers of the two executive limos near the pit box step out of their cars. It’s an overcast day, but one is still sporting sunglasses. They may well be the only two people within a 10-mile radius of Talladega Superspeedway wearing suits.

In the waning laps of a race, the camera will often find the car owner or the family members of the race leader, and they’re almost always fidgety messes, nervously twitching, hands clasped to their mouths. But Michael Jordan didn’t become Michael Jordan by dissolving into a fidgety mess when the pressure ratchets upward.

Wrecks send the race into overtime, when every twitch of the steering wheel can bring disaster, and even Jordan can’t resist the pressure. He leans forward, the same way he used to wait on opposing guards to bring the ball upcourt, and fixes his eyes on the screen ahead of him.

The field comes around, racing toward the start of the final lap, and Jordan looks out to watch Wallace blur past at 180 mph. Wallace crosses the start-finish line in the lead. Below Jordan, the crowd is cheering, watching on a massive video screen. It’s looking good for Wallace, so good, less than two miles to go, it’s all coming together perfectly …

… and then it all falls apart.

While trying to block Ryan Blaney, Wallace loses control of the car and knifes toward the infield, setting off a chain reaction of carnage that ripples backward through the field. The ohhhhh from the crowd is a physical thing, a deflation, a sense of inescapable defeat all too familiar to fans of the Cavaliers or Suns or Knicks or Sonics or Jazz.

Jordan raises his arms to his head — it’s a strange image, Michael Jordan making the surrender cobra — and then slumps backward in his seat. He watches as the cars spin to a halt and Kyle Busch takes the checkered flag just by being in the right place at the right time.

NASCAR officials and NASCAR lovers, don't read this next paragraph. It'll depress you.

Imagine Michael Jordan in victory lane. Imagine the GOAT, there with confetti raining down and a checkered flag in his hand, bringing a heavy dose of that Jordan magic to NASCAR. A Bubba Wallace victory would win headlines, a Michael Jordan appearance in victory lane would win the entire news cycle. That's what's at stake here, and that's why a whole lot of people beyond those loving crowds around the 23 pit box are pulling hard for Wallace and 23XI.

Out on the track, Wallace climbs out of his car and stands on the grass waiting for the tow truck. He hurls his HANS neck restraint device straight down onto the grass in frustration.

“Just hate it. Hate it for my team … That was our best by far plate race we’d ever done,” Wallace will say at the infield care center after the race. “I thought it would play out a little different.”

Up in the pit box, Jordan shakes hands and embraces members of Wallace’s pit crew. He climbs backward down the ladder and makes his way through the gathered crowd. He offers up fist bumps and acknowledges well wishes, but doesn’t stop moving.

“Hey,” one security guard says, “that’s part of Talladega, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Jordan replies, ruefully, “I know.” He shakes his head in frustration as he climbs into the back right seat of the Denali.

Four minutes after Busch is declared the winner, Jordan’s two-car entourage wheels out of the track, passing beneath the 40-foot-high video board as Busch climbs out of his car for an interview.

Two minutes after that, a tow truck hauls the wreckage of Wallace’s No. 23 along the same path. By then, Michael Jordan is long gone.