Time was when NASCAR race names were wonderful, reflecting the spirit of their places and often the nature of the races themselves.

There was the Firecracker 400, a title full of sound and fury, signifying everything-the noise, the frenzy, the holiday - about the Fourth of July race at Daytona. But that became the Pepsi 400.

There was the World 600 at Charlotte which, if somewhat overstated, was named and numbered in direct defiance of, and conflict with, the Indianapolis 500 itself on Memorial Day weekend. But at Charlotte, both the race and track names were sold, obliterating sense of place with the Coca-Cola 600 at Lowe's Motor Speedway.

From the late 1970s into the '90s, nearly all dignified race titles - the Atlanta 500, Virginia 500, Golden State 400, Volunteer 500, on and on - were sold to sponsors. Even the Daytona 500 was compromised commercially, '91-'93, as the "Daytona 500 by STP." But it didn't work because the media stuck with the pure name only, and the sponsor didn't get enough exposure for the money.

Then in 1994, Indianapolis Motor Speedway began hosting a NASCAR race, naming it the Brickyard 400 to reflect the old track's nickname.

It was a refreshing throwback to easy identification of a race and its place. This, out of a confusing era when there had often been, for example, two different Pepsi 400s or Miller 400s at two different tracks in the same year.

Somehow above the Pop Secret Microwave Popcorn 400s of the tour stood the two biggest races with the purest names, the Daytona 500 and the Brickyard 400.

Now the Brickyard 400 is no more. Sunday will mark the first running of the "Allstate 400 at the Brickyard."

The price, I'm hearing from sources, is $4 million. Neither Joie Chitwood, the Speedway's president, nor Karen Uhler, senior manager of sponsorship and promotions at Allstate Insurance, would confirm or deny the number in telephone interviews.

Leave it to Tony Stewart to go ahead and say what others don't dare. Asked during a teleconference this week whether he was "saddened" by the commercial renaming of the race, the Indiana-born driver, who may love Indianapolis Motor Speedway more than any other person on earth, opened his heart and mind as usual:

"I'm not saddened; I'm furious about it, to be honest," Stewart said. "It would be like saying the McDonald's 500 for the Daytona 500. ..."

Maybe, Stewart said, "They could have said, the 'Brickyard 400 presented by whoever it is.'" But the media wouldn't bite on a gratuitous commercial add-on, as STP discovered years ago.

The name of the game is to force the mainstream media to mention the commercial name. It began as a ploy to get de facto advertising into news and feature content. The media outlets didn't sell out; they didn't, and don't, get a penny for naming brands; they simply capitulated in the name of accuracy.

As the strategy began to work, the price of naming rights went up, from an early $150,000 or so per event, to the current estimated average of $250,000, and now the suspected skyrocket to $4 million for four years at Indy.

Uhler said Allstate and the Speedway tried to keep some sanctity in the race name with "at the Brickyard." But that's perfunctory deference at best. News accounts will always place the event "at Indianapolis Motor Speedway" or, by nickname, "at the Brickyard," anyway.

So they might as well have named the race the "Allstate 400," period. As it is, the name rings cosmetic.

"I'm very disappointed by it," Stewart said.

So am I, but I'm used to it. Time and again, for decades, my colleagues and I have been cornered and overrun by the commercial deluge of NASCAR.

The shameless saturation with commercialism - the relentless hounding of the fan to buy this or that, even during the fan's supposed time of recreation - is what will always keep NASCAR well below the dignity level of other professional sports.