Temperament plus talent make Johnson a champ

He argued with his crew chief on the way to an uncharacteristic 29th-place finish early in the year at Las Vegas, griped at some of the lapped traffic late in his run last weekend at Kansas. Jimmie Johnson admittedly has his moments, those times when the frustration spills over to the open radio waves, and anyone with a scanner and headphones can bear witness to his discontent.

But they're relatively rare. Johnson, fast on his way to staking a legitimate claim as the greatest driver of his generation, stands out for so many reasons. He's won the past two championships in NASCAR's premier series, and has a good chance to become the first driver to win three in a row since Cale Yarborough did it in the late 1970s. He has more race victories than any other driver the past five years. He's finished first or second in almost half (19 out of 43) of all the Chase events contested since the playoff format was implemented in 2004.

And in a racing series where so many of the most-focused, talented drivers on the planet turn into raving screamers, whiners, complainers and cursers the instant they're faced with adversity, Johnson has shown a sustained knack for keeping his cool. Maybe that's the laid-back Californian in him, the guy who wears blue jeans and flip-flops -- yes flip-flops -- when HBO stops by to do a profile piece. Maybe it's a conscious effort to always appear under control, another savvy move from someone who crafted business proposals and networked with sponsor reps to claw his way to the top. Maybe it's no coincidence that the driver who appears the most poised from green flag to checkered is the one winning the most races.

Now, this isn't a knock on anyone else. As a red-headed half-Irishman who can throw a telephone-hurling tantrum with the best of them, I understand that temperament is something that's often embedded deep within the DNA, as much a part of a person as his height or skin tone, as involuntary as a heartbeat. NASCAR history is filled with drivers who were able to turn rage into greatness on the racetrack, people like Tony Stewart and Dale Earnhardt and A.J. Foyt who won not in spite of their hot-headedness but because of it. Likewise, there are innumerable nice guys who have ventured out into the Cup circuit only to be eaten alive. This is no place for the meek.

But every once in a while there comes along someone like Johnson, who seems able to place himself above the fray. Like Richard Petty, a man whose record for championships he may one day seriously challenge, Johnson can cut the heart out of the competition and emerge with the vanquished patting him on the back. Other drivers carry on like they're calling in a house fire to 911. With Johnson, there's rarely any panic. You don't see him trying to bump Brian Vickers and spinning himself out in the process. You don't see him going after people on pit road. You don't hear him talking about how much his car stinks or how his pit crew gave one away. His keel is so even, you could drop a marble right in the center, and the thing wouldn't budge. (Continued)