Ryan: Redundant, irrelevant All-Star Race needs makeover

The overarching flaw of the NASCAR All-Star Race — and there are many failings with an event that has lacked an indelible moment for years — is redundancy.

Every Sprint Cup race already is an all-star event. That's been a major selling point for years in NASCAR, which cites the omnipresent starpower as a primary plank in the six-point "Industry Action Plan" for rebuilding its audience.

And this year's races have more in common with all-star exhibitions and the go-for-broke, lack-of-points appeal than ever before.

If you subscribe to the party line pushed hard by NASCAR, points hardly matter under the new structure tying victories to Chase for the Sprint Cup berths.

So, why does the All-Star Race matter?

It doesn't in its current shape, which reeks of irrelevance.

The tired refrain for hyping the stock-car showcase is "It's the best all-star event in sports! Because the athletes play for something!" It's true to some degree: A $1 million winner's share posted by Sprint is hugely significant.

Despite the big money, though, the brutal truth is this has become the most banal of professional sports exhibitions.

Yes, they don't play defense in the NBA All-Star Game or the NFL Pro Bowl, and Major League Baseball added a carrot to make its showcase matter again — giving homefield advantage in the World Series to the league victor. But those events still have a uniqueness that spawns resonant stories.

NASCAR's All-Star Race once had an endless supply of highlights, from Dale Earnhardt's incredible save in 1987 to Davey Allison's last-lap crash for the win in 1992 to Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s rookie breakthrough in 2000.

But the most memorable thing in the last decade has been ... what?

A case could be made the best memory of any recent All-Star Race happened after it ended: When Carl Edwards ripped the front of his Ford apart with a celebratory spin through the grass in 2011.

In eight Sprint All-Star Races since Charlotte Motor Speedway was repaved, there has been one lead change during the final five laps. It's a function of the smooth asphalt, which produces heavy grip, high speeds and minimal tire wear. That's a recipe for follow-the-leader racing in short bursts, and that's what the All-Star Race has been for much of its recent existence.

In the past two editions, Jimmie Johnson scored wins by dominating a new fifth segment of 10 laps — the latest in a plethora of incessant format changes intended to add juice to an event desperate for it.

What's left?

"If they have us run the first two segments going the correct direction and then the final segment we run backward," Johnson said with a laugh. "That is about the only thing we haven't tried. It hasn't been from a lack of effort.

"I say all that not trying to knock the track or the format, but there is unfortunately a level that the fastest always finds its way to the front. The faster we go, the harder it is to pass. Charlotte is a very fast racetrack so the groove gets narrower and narrower. So there are some things we just can't overcome. Unless we mix it up and run it backward."

Or add a flaming hoop on the backstretch.

Or a Figure 8-style demolition derby.

There is inherent gimmickry with any pro sporting exhibition. Thankfully, the All-Star Race can be repaired without drastically cartoonish measures.

But a major reinvention is needed for an event with a long-term and severe identity crisis. Some ideas on how to address it:

Move it: Charlotte Motor Speedway is a storied track with a temperature-sensitive surface that makes it perfect for hosting a day-night marathon for 600 miles. Its 1.5-mile length and breakneck speeds also make it one of the worst locations for hosting a no-holds-barred sprint.

A short track is the best venue for the event, and there are some attractive options (Iowa Speedway?) whose layouts are much more conducive to the slam-bang style that is billed as its appeal.

The downside is Charlotte would lose an event, but it still would retain two Cup races, and this would offer a way to repackage the run-up to the Coca-Cola 600 (heat races?), which also could use some more luster.

Differentiation is dandy: Find a way to accentuatethe talents ofdrivers and teams outside the confines of a typical race weekend. Defunct skills events such as the pit-crew challenge and burnout competition delivered some of that, but bigger risk-taking is needed.

A Twitter follower suggested a car swap in which a lottery would determine the drivers' rides ("Hi Jimmie, here's your No. 40 Chevrolet."). That's a little extreme, but it's the sort of fresh unpredictability that would attach some special meaning.

A dirt race as a main event warmup? A duct tape duel in which crews try to repair a heavily damaged car?

Anything that doesn't smack of what fans already tune in to watch every week.

Get goofy: Besides being articulate and accomplished spokespeople for brands and corporations, NASCAR drivers also have an ability to poke fun at themselves like few other athletes. Bristol Motor Speedway tapped into some of this by letting drivers choose songs for their prerace introductions.

The All-Star Race can take it to the next level. Which star can deliver the most glib rendition of sponsor recitations in a timed victory lane speech (graded on volume and charm)? Which driver-crew chief relationship is simpatico enough to win a Newlywed Game-style event?

Being a little irreverent can't hurt — particularly when trying to stave off irrelevance.

Follow Ryan on Twitter @nateryan