NASCAR Daytona photos by Getty Images

Ambrose dismisses the fact he’s the first non-US citizen to take a pole position in the main game (two, actually) or to win a Sprint Cup race, but he agrees he’s progressed further than he ever imagined. “NASCAR’s a tough sport to get your head around, but I feel I’ve been getting better as a driver and as a person. Our sponsors [tool manufacturers] De Walt and Stanley are blue chip American companies and for them to have an Australian as their ambassador means a lot to me.” Ambrose states this with obvious sincerity, something you feel may not be the case if he had to parrot platitudes about the Dixee Queen Fairy Floss, Choc Top, Swoopy Swirl and Laxative Emporium Ford.

Clearly, Ambrose appears to have accepted NASCAR’s finely balanced amalgam of circus, business and sport. “NASCAR’s continually redefining the mix to make the sport more about the man than the machine by ensuring that Sprint Cup Cars are the gnarliest to drive in the world,” he explains. Long gone are the days of the cigar chompin’, hard drinkin’, cussin’ and hell raisin’ days of pioneers such as Red Vogt, “Reckless” Roy Hall, Smokey Yunick and “Fireball” Roberts. Now, while not dressed to military precision, the drivers’ and teams’ uniforms provide the mandated marketing image. It’s all the “boy you’d let your daughter marry” look ‒ neat, tidy, polished black lace-ups, cap peak facing squarely forward and sunglasses radiating that fine line between stoic determination and macho intimidation.

Inside Sport is at Daytona to witness the 54th Coke Zero 400. That Coke Zero has existed for less than a decade is immaterial, as is the fact the race was once a 250-miler; and sponsored by Pepsi at that. The marketing gurus created a new “platform” and, in the best Orwellian tradition, the history books have been rewritten to accommodate the sponsor. For, more than anything, NASCAR is a mega merchandising combine built around a racing car championship and promoting itself as the sport most connected to its fan base. This is clearly demonstrated on the dummy grid, where entire families weave their way between the pristine race cars. Instead of hot babes in hot shorts and ageing rock stars, babies in prams and octogenarians in zimmer frames negotiate the stacks of tyres and humming generators to mingle with the pit crews as they test their airhoses and communication setups whilst politely answering questions about their charges: “No ma’am, the cars have no doors – the drivers climb through the windows.”

As the grid clears, Miss Sprint Cup Queen introduces the drivers, some of whom accept cheques for various deeds carried out in practice or qualifying – or simply the Antibacterial Hand Sanitiser Award for the tidiest tool kit. This provides the drivers with the opportunity to demonstrate their speed and dexterity by donning three different sponsors’ caps in less than 30 seconds while simultaneously shaking hands and patting the sponsor’s beaming eight-year-old on the head. Finally, Matt Kenseth accepts the big cheque for qualifying on pole and, under intense questioning, reveals his race strategy is to “get out in front and try to stay there”.

As the drivers are introduced, it’s easy to judge the crowd’s favourites by the level of decibels; on top are Ryan Newman, Jeff Gordon and Dale Earnhardt Jr. The only common denominator is that all three drive for Chevrolet, but so does Kurt Busch, who is roundly booed. Other drivers to register are Brad Keselowski and Bill Elliott, while Ambrose slips by without much of a response – though his Twitter and Facebook fans already number over 50,000. It seems only a matter of time until the #9 DeWalt–Stanley Ford and Ambrose are emblazoned on as many caps and T-shirts. In addition to the proliferation of flags, banners, jackets, T-shirts and caps, many of the women in the grandstand have blow-up cushions upon which the faces of their favourite drivers have been printed – the ultimate sign of devotion.

Before the race gets underway, the entire crowd rises, as four highly decorated Vietnam veterans – Congressional Medal of Honour winners no less – are honoured. The reverence is endemic, the applause genuine and, when a gigantic B52 bomber lumbers malevolently across the speedway at little more than stall speed, there’s an eerie silence; but the patriotism of the crowd is as palpable as the smell of unspent aviation fuel: God bless us. We are America. Land of the brave and home of the free.

In quick succession, a division of military cadets unfurls the Stars And Stripes, a national TV star agonises over Star Spangled Banner (whilst appearing to Twitter her performance to her no doubt immense fan base), the official NASCAR Padre blesses us all and someone famous utters the even more famous phrase “Genlmenstartyerinjins”.