The fix is in, except when it comes to the real problems

Slow 'em down and keep 'em on the ground.

Sounds simple, doesn't it?

So why can't NASCAR do it with Sprint Cup Series cars at Talladega Superspeedway? How long do the powers-that-be think they can keep dodging the flying 3,450-pound bullets at that facility? How long do they think the public—and more importantly, their drivers—will sit back and accept the small Band-Aids they have applied as real efforts at solutions to problems that require more serious study and quicker action?

And while we're at it, how long does NASCAR think the healthy approach to any of its problems is to say they "have long believed in having an independent media" and that debate "is great for any sport"—and then have a highly placed executive from its governing body publicly call for the firing of a trio of broadcasters who criticize their sport? That's as hypocritical as it gets, folks.

But that's another ongoing battle sure to be fought vigorously on other days.

This is about Talladega. Or once again, what to do about Talladega?

In the aftermath of Sunday's Amp Energy 500—during which the No. 39 Chevrolet of Ryan Newman and the No. 5 Chevy of Mark Martin both flipped and went airborne—this time it's not enough for NASCAR officials to place all of the blame on overaggressive drivers and say it's all going to be OK if track officials simply add a few feet to the catch fence on the frontstretch.

Lingering questions

So much was wrong with Sunday's race that it's difficult to know where to begin, but let it first be stated that this isn't meant to be an all-out rant against the current state of racing in the Sprint Cup Series. I might be in the minority, but I happen to think much of the racing this season has been pretty darn good. I happen to agree with some NASCAR officials that there are many involved in the sport—participants as well as media—who are obsessed with how much better things were in the supposedly good 'ol days.

I just don't agree with trying to suppress their First Amendment rights to say so.

Let me also state that I've long believed that the racing at Talladega is some of the most entertaining on the Sprint Cup circuit. It is as compelling on television as it is live, but it has become a guilty pleasure—because it's not safe.

And listen, we all know racing can never be completely safe—and that NASCAR has come a long, long way in ensuring that the cars are safer and so are most of the tracks. But that's what makes the lack of initiative—or ability—to do anything about Talladega so doggone frustrating.

As long as the cars are running at speeds upwards of 195 mph and in close packs, with cars whose safety features otherwise are stout but cannot stay on the ground when bumped at those speeds, it's a disaster waiting to happen.

When Carl Edwards went airborne and came dangerously close to flying into the frontstretch grandstands in his No. 99 Ford on the final lap of the spring race at the venue, he bluntly stated that he supposed there would be no major changes to this kind of racing "until someone gets killed."

Let's hope that's not the case. But seriously, is there anyone out there who doesn't have a sinking feeling he might be right after what transpired there again in the latest race Sunday?

Time for real answers

In a well-intentioned but poorly played effort to make it safer Sunday, NASCAR president Mike Helton warned drivers before the race that they would be penalized mightily for bump-drafting each other in the corners.

This was two hours prior to the race. Um, here's a thought: how about letting the drivers and crew chiefs know about this intention to enforce a rule that actually already was in place (but universally ignored with no consequences), instead of laying it on them literally right before the dropping of the green flag?

You can't help but wonder is this was yet another misguided effort to "control the message." Tell drivers and crew chiefs about the change well in advance, and—gasp!—someone in the media might actually ask for their opinion about it. And—gasp!—someone might have been critical of it.

If that wasn't the case, did NASCAR officials really come up with this plan right before the race? That's highly doubtful, but would be just as disturbing if it were true.

All the surprise rule did was relegate the first 100 laps or so to mostly single-file racing that was as boring as it was predictable.

There also were some minor tweaking to the restrictor plates and something called the side wicker. Supposedly these were done with safety in mind, but obviously they were not enough to keep Newman and Martin earth-bound.

So what can be done? Three-time defending champion Jimmie Johnson (one step closer to winning four titles in a row after the 13-car wreck that took out Martin and other possible contenders on the last lap Sunday) had a grand idea.

"Get some tractors out here and knock down the [33-degree] banking," said Johnson, the idea being that drivers would then have to slow down through the turns and wouldn't bang into each other at high speeds so often.

I'm no engineer, but that sounds like it might work. Also, we put men on the moon 40 years ago. Can't some smart minds be hired to figure this out?

Newman has his engineering degree from Purdue and said he's ready to examine the problem. Maybe a special car needs to be designed for Daytona and Talladega, the only two restrictor-plate races currently on the circuit.

None of this can be done cheaply. But how much would it cost the sport to lose one of its treasured stars through debilitating injury, or worse?

That's the question that needs to be answered—and quickly, this time—at NASCAR's home offices in Daytona Beach, Fla. Silence not only won't be golden; it might eventually turn deadly.

The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.

Joe Menzer is the author of "The Great American Gamble: How the 1979 Daytona 500 Gave Birth to a NASCAR Nation." Click here to purchase.