Therein lies the problem for independent operators whose back-gate revenue can’t possibly finance the weekly investment in manpower and machinery required to maintain maximum traction.
The traction gap between small and large tracks is only widening. Because, say, a Super-class racer may be unable or unwilling to adjust his or her powertrain and suspension as well as local racers who do so regularly, he or she risks embarrassment at the hands of some dialed-in, hooked-up nobody. Thus is one more weekly entry fee lost to the local drag strip.
At the extreme other end of the mechanical spectrum, most pro racers have reluctantly abandoned lucrative match racing. Regardless of the guaranteed money offered, most teams can’t take sufficient power out of a modern fueler or Funny Car to get down a typical strip, even if they wanted to invest the time and effort. Indeed, even the best-prepared NHRA track fails them as often as not, as illustrated by those up-in-smoke, early-shut-off passes that typify national events.
You’ve noticed that Saturday-night features at your home track are practically extinct. Potential fans that can’t pay national-event prices may never be exposed to nitro at night. Thus, they and their children will probably pursue some other motorsport whose star attractions are closer to home and more affordable for entire families.
Looking back on drag racing’s first 50 years, the most-interesting, most-diversified, most-competitive era had to be the early-to-mid-Sixties. Not coincidentally, the slicks were still
smoking. In Top Fuel, injected small-blocks challenged blown Chryslers, their lighter weight and quicker reaction times sometimes withstanding the fearsome top-end charge of a Hemi. An amazing variety of mechanical combinations was similarly competitive in high-powered, now-extinct classes such as Top Gas, AA/Fuel Altered, A/Gas Supercharged, AA/Fuel Modified Roadster, AA/Fuel Competition Coupe, and AA/Modified Sport.
Lane choice had not yet been adopted. After an oil-down, rice-hull ash was swept into the oil — and left on the track, challenging whomever happened to be lined up next in that lane. If the oil went down during pro eliminations, it was not uncommon for the starter to summon as many pairs of doorslammers as it took to blow off the loose grease sweep.
What altered the competitive balance, initially, was the introduction of softer, wider, stickier rear tires that benefited the more-powerful combinations. M&H Tire Company made huge performance strides starting around 1964, followed by Goodyear’s belated — but big-buck — entry into the sport. (Free “Blue Streaks” and complimentary blimp rides above Los Angeles were among the incentives tempting Racemaster diehards to switch.) Around the same time, chemical traction enhancements were introduced by resin-sweeping Funny Car pioneers. Next, pro crews started splashing bleach behind the starting line, then VHT liquid traction compound.
NHRA and some independent operators took note of the hooked-up, wheels-up launches (and, consequently, better box office) and started buying VHT by the drum. First they sprayed the starting line; then, gradually, the entire quarter-mile. Jet dryers were invented. “Launch pads” gradually grew into hundreds of feet of concrete race track. Track preparation became a specialized science of man and machine. Meanwhile, aerodynamic aids, tires, suspensions, clutches and torque converters were continuously evolving, for all applications — enabling huge increases in horsepower.
What nobody expected was all of these innovations combining to create the present dilemma: Huge personal and financial rewards now hinge on an ever-finer line between hooking up and going up in smoke. Even the stickiest starting lines are too often overpowered by fuel cars, and we’ve all seen the scary effects of top-end traction and downforce on the George Michael Sports Machine. No type of race car other than a Top Fuel Dragster breaks apart without contacting another vehicle or fixed obstacle.
I’ve always believed that any critical column should conclude with some brilliant proposed solution. However, I see no easy way out of this mess; the horse is out of the barn, and no number of Ray Alley’s band-aid gimmicks will bring it back home. Allowing ever-better tires only encourages tuners to add more horsepower, as demonstrated by 265-mph slingshots on modern 12-inch rubber. Unless and until rule-makers grow the balls to require smaller slicks and wings, you’ll continue seeing as many aborted passes as full runs — and 330-mph, single-car crashes that risk drivers’ lives unnecessarily.
Meanwhile, I’ll keep holding my breath every time a slip-tube chassis does make it to the big end under power, all coiled up in the middle like something that’s trying to break itself in half and take off. Should one of these 30-foot-long missiles ever land in the stands, slow cars at small strips may be the only game in town. 
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