Pressdog.com

Pressdog Does the Indy 500

By Bill Zahren
(Posted 6/11/04)

I want to apologize to the Indy Racing League, its drivers, teams and entire management structure, and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, it's owners, managers and affiliates.

I extend my apologies especially to my Indy home girl Sarah Fisher, her teammate Scott "Lookin'" Sharp and the entire Kelley Racing speed posse. I am trying to make it up to Sarah's main sponsor for the Indy 500, Bryant Heating and Air Conditioning, by getting a bid from their authorized dealer to replace my ailing central AC unit. True story.

Also, gotta say, "my bad" to my team publicist Lou Ann Baker, retired driver/co-owner Robbie "Unstoppa" Buhl and the entire Dreyer & Reinbold race team.

And, finally, a special acknowledgment of my suckageness to the 250,000-ish other fans who turned out for probably the worst Indy 500 experience in about a quarter century, as well as the million or so who tried to watched it on TV.

It's all me. I'm the kiss of death. Every team or individual I root for immediately does a wingover into the toilet. My fav driver, Sarah Fisher, finished 21st and is now out of a ride. Sarah probably takes slim consolation in the fact that my Indy experience did help me come to grips with why I root so hard for her. Every big sporting event I attend turns immediately to crap. Thus was the case on May 30 when Bill "Sports Buzz Killer" Zahren attended the Indy 500 for the first time in my 40 years.

Of course God responded to my presence by pouring down two inches of rain on the track during race day, delaying the race twice for a total of four hours until they finally just gave up at 6:15 p.m. and called it a race 25 laps short of the regulation 200 laps. It was the first time since 1976 that the race didn't go the distance.

And, after Buddy Rice won, there was a tornado warning for the track area. We had twisters on the ground a few miles to the east of us. The track announcer was screaming "GET OUT NOW. SAVE YOURSELVES!" As we left the track, the radio proclaimed a necklace of tornadic death had encircled the greater Indianapolis area. Perfect. The only thing missing was a plane crash in the parking lot and perhaps a plague of locusts.

But not even a 2-hour rain delay (again, my apologies) could lessen the nearly sexual experience of having a racecar pass 50 feet in front of you going 215 mph for the first time. When the cars (finally) got the green flag to start the race, the guy next to me said, "I've never seen anything move so fast."

It's comically fast. It's impossible-to-see fast. It's so fast that you'd think random molecules would flake off the cars as they go by. Standing still as a 1500-pound object blows by at 215 is just plain freakish.

When the cars came by for the first time I said (I swear): "Holy shit."

One guy I don't have to apologize to is Buddy Rice, the winner of the rain-shortened 2004 Indy 500. You know that geeky looking, skinny kid in your high school class? The guy whose hats were always too big for his head? The guy who had kind of self-conscious walk and seemed more interested in cars than girls? That's Buddy Rice. He was the first American to win the race in about six years. Way to go Buddy! Way to win one for those of us in the non-smoothie, non-GQ-worthy demographic.

The Apostles of the Lord even showed up for the race, perhaps in response to the drinking and coarse language that started around 8:30 a.m. race day. Satan loves a rain delay. The beer vendors probably set sales records. During one of the delays, a man with a bullhorn walked down the street outside the track (in the rain) urging us to be saved. Amen, brother, but can you get on the horn to the Almighty to do something about this precip? On the way into the track I saw a big truck plastered with photos of aborted fetuses. Take that, Satan!

The 10 hours at the track also caused me to be overcome with Commercial Merchandise Lust that played out in an public orgy of consumerism that only the hardest-core Republican could love.

Besides kicking out $180 for two tickets to sit in the rain, some 40 years of pent up demand EXPLODED in the form of:

Two Indy 500 seat cushions ($14. Given the 10 hours we spent sitting on hard Indy seats, this was easily the best investment of the weekend.)

One Indy 500 can cooler ($5).

One Indy Racing League window decal ($1).

One Sarah Fisher T-shirt ($22 and a bitching out by my youngest who didn't get one).

One youth Indy 500 shirt ($18. Red and black tie dye, Indy logo -- striking).

One Indy 500 sweatshirt ($29).

One official Indy 500 program ($10).

(About here I'm starting to wish I was making this list up.)

One Rental scanner so I could listen to the track officials talk about how wet the track was ($50).
One Indy 500 coffee mug featuring all the past winners ($12).

One Sarah Fisher dye-cast car ($8. Noticeably concerned merchandise workers through in FREE Sarah Fisher anti-stalking injunction.)

One Indy 500 ticket holder and lanyard ($9. Hey, when you spend $90 a pop on tickets, you want to display the stubs.)

My wife, Rhonda, finally stopped the fiscal carnage by rolling a stun grenade into the merchandise tent and dragging me while laying down some covering fire. "NO, I CAN STOP ANY TIME I WANT TO," I screamed amid the chaos. "Hey, is that a Sarah Fisher BOBBLE HEAD?"

"Look," Rhonda said while ripping my Visa card out of my hands, "There's ROBBIE BUHL!"

She lied, but I thanked her for it after the souvenir fever passed. Oh, I put manna (Indy stuff) way in front of God on Sunday, May 30. Luckily, the rain fell on me like an anointing oil, cleansing away my tchotchke lust.

I was left to contemplate my personal fiscal carnage while watching 10 Chevrolet emergency trucks circle the track trying to help speed the drying process. The trucks turned so many laps that the guys on the radio had to ask them how much gas they had left.

And I can recommend the beer from the vendor in back of the Paddock seating section.

Other Indy-related columns:

On Being Sarah Fisher

How Can You Be So Calm?

Catch Sarah Sorenstam Fever!

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