Fueled by devotion is the three-hour morality play that evolves in fast forward every weekend. Cheer the hero. Boo the villain. (And in many cases, that's interchangeable, depending on your favorite.) Who will fate smile on this week? Will it be the favorite? The underdog? Will it be a rout or a last-lap shootout? The storyline is different every time the green flag falls, and yet it plays out in a comfortably familiar way, no matter if it's the Daytona 500 or the night race at Bristol.

Some claim fans come just to see the wrecks. But it's more likely they come to see common men do uncommon things, to escape imminent danger with the flick of the steering wheel, the touch of the brakes, the feathering of the accelerator. It's the opportunity to watch the most accomplished artists perform high-energy choreography from the center stage, whether that's in person or from the comfort of the couch. And the show never loses its ability to astound or amaze.

Fueled by devotion is the bond between the man on the track and the man in the stands. Who's your driver? He may be from your hometown. He may be from another country. Maybe you chose him because of what he's done in the past, or what he'll do in the future. Maybe you like his style. Maybe you like his attitude. Maybe you like his looks. He may be a peach-fuzzed kid or a grizzled veteran, a virtual unknown hoping for his first victory or a superstar who lists Victory Lane as his home address. He may even be a she.

But once a NASCAR fan decides on a favorite driver, it's a long-term relationship, through thick and thin, happiness and heartbreak. From that point on, the world can't be viewed by anything but rose-colored glasses, or perhaps shades of blue, orange, red or green. The team is not just a driver behind the steering wheel, a crew chief on the pit box and a pit crew behind the wall. His fans are definitely a part as well. And when a driver reaches heights perhaps thought to be unattainable, his followers are there to climb up there with him.

Fueled by devotion is a tip of the cap to acknowledging the history of the sport. It's a relationship forged on a first-name basis: Lee. Buck. Fonty. Joe. Richard. David. Cale. LeeRoy. Bobby. Donnie. Dale. Darrell. Rusty. Jeff. Jimmie. Tony. Mark. Kasey. Juan. Joey. Nicknames are part of the secret code that links fans across the generations. The King. The Intimidator. The Silver Fox. The Alabama Gang. Awesome Bill. The Rapid Roman. The High Plains Drifter. Jaws. Swervin' Irvin. Wonder Boy.

Cars long since relegated to museums and junkyards remain fresh in the memories of the fans who witnessed their successes and failures. The Fabulous Hudson Hornet. The Red Devil. The Gray Ghost. The Chrysler 300. The Purple Hogs. The Black Widows. The Chrysler Hemis. The Torino. The Superbird. The AMC Matador. Thunderbird. Monte Carlo. Mercury. Buick. Oldsmobile. Pontiac.

There are moments etched in the minds of NASCAR fans that can never be erased by the passage of time, particularly in the sport's premier event, the Daytona 500. Lee Petty and Johnny Beauchamp in a photo-finish in '59. Richard and David in '76. Yarborough and Allison in '79. Waltrip's victory dance in '89. And Earnhardt, finally overcoming two decades of bad luck and ill fortune with his win in 1998.