ON TREASURING THE INDIANAPOLIS 500
I had this girlfriend once.
She was cool as hell. Her Mom and step Dad, also cool as hell, lived in Indianapolis and we happened to visit during Indy 500 week which, in Indy, is like an annual Super Bowl (or, Big Game, I guess we are supposed to call it. Whatever. Indy5 is much bigger anyhow).
I had never been a racing fan in my whole life, which at that point was at about 35 years. I vividly remember being in a TGI Friday’s in or around Speedway, Indiana, a few days before the race and seeing a live feed of something happening on track.
“Holy shit!” I said, watching these cars blaze around the Brickyard. “What is this?.”
“It’s Carb Day. The Indy 500 is coming up Sunday, dumbass” she says.
“Take me there. Now,” I replied.
And she did. And it changed my life.
Now, there is a difference between going to Indianapolis Motor Speedway on race day vs carb day or the other lead-up days. My first visit was on a lead-up day where the crowd was sparse but the action was in full effect. The second I arrived, this killer song was blasting over the speaker system. (I subsequently have been on race day and though the chaos is mind-boggling, the scene is brilliant and something I recommend everyone experience at least once in their life).
Sam Hornish, Jr. quickly hit a wall in practice, disrupting everything (he was fine, car was not), but I was still like “Fuck Yeah, this place!”
I was hooked. I even started a blog and collaborated with other fans to do analysis, gossip, what have you. It was fun.
I loved it all. I remember thinking early on that the Indy 500, and the IndyCar series in general was the most unique modern (and historic, of course) American cultural experience I could think of. And it was truly inspiring.
I got to know some amazing drivers and crew members in the years after. Jeff Simmons is a great friend to this day, and I hope to see (or hopefully help) him get back into a car sometime soon.
But the guy who really stole my heart as a fan was Dan Wheldon. He was like the David Beckham of American racing. Smart, kind, stylish, and a monster behind the wheel. He’s the true one who put the BRIT...in Celebrity. (If you get that reference, I love you). He quickly became my racing hero.
And then, in a flash, after having shockingly won his second Indy 500 with a raw-bones team in 2011, in a publicity stunt staged by the former management of the IndyCar Series (knowing full well what he had signed up for, btw — not pointing fingers here), he flew into a pole at Las Vegas and was dead. Leaving his wife Susie and his two boys without him. Leaving the world without him. It gutted me to my core. I didn’t know him well, but what I did know and my personal experience made me love him.
It took me about two years before I could watch another IndyCar race, including the 500. But I came around, as people do. These drivers — like I said — they know what they are signing up for.
Fast forward to the end: the Green Flag for the 103rd running of The Indianapolis 500 will be waved at 12:45 ET Sunday on NBC (they wrestled it away from ABC, interestingly), but tune in earlier for the all-American pomp and circumstance that goes on. It’s quite a scene, and it’s quite moving. Also, highly respectful of our servicemen and women on such a poignant eve.
The defending champion is Will Power, an Aussie who drives for the formidable Team Penske, and he is furiosly serious about defending his title. Will is a wildman. He’s known to throw the double middle finger when you piss him off. Then he gets in trouble. I like that because I do the same shit. On the track, though, Will is a consummate pro. Though you will see The Finger from time to time.
I love Will, and I love his passion, but my personal favorite is the Kiwi Scott Dixon — the cleanest and I’d imagine most respected racer in the business, and someone whom, along with his wife Emma, has been a great and enduring source of comfort to Dan Wheldon’s family since his loss. So my money and my loyalty is always on / with Dixie.
Regardless, may we have a safe, exhilarating and brilliant Indianapolis 500 on Sunday. Love and massive respect for all 33 drivers. Do it for Danny, Lady and Gentlemen!
Oh, but fuck Helio. No way, buddy.
