They come and they go. That applies to politicians, movie and TV stars, recording artists, athletes, and pretty much you name it. With few exceptions, even the best enjoy a few years of fame and then they fade away to be replaced by someone else. I suppose if your station in life was being a giant redwood tree, you'd enjoy a few more centuries of people gawking at you in amazement, like a couple guys named Philbin and Shatner, but eventually your time will come as well. At that, you would still serve a useful purpose. After all, I never heard of people building decks or fences out of ancient talk show hosts, and a decades old ham doesn't sound too appetizing.
Know where I'm going with this yet? Me neither. I have no idea. The end.
On second thought, I better come up with something, or I might hear about it from one of those nefarious "k" guys I mentioned last time. Working..... OK. Got it.
While a whole lot of trees will get wasted in newsprint, and umpteen inane terabytes of dissection, analysis, and predictions will be espoused by countless talking heads, in the end, as in the beginning, they come and they go, only to be replaced by others, and life goes on.
Therefore, I can sum up my whole opinion of Jim Tressel and whatever else is going on at Ohio State University in one word.
Yawn.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Hogwarts, a webmaster, and race cars
Paul Kampe is the on-line coordinator for the Oakland Press, a former cast member of South Park, Summa Cum Laude graduate of Hogwarts, and all-around cyberworld superstar. Well OK. Maybe he just watches the animated series once in a while and J. K. Rowling hasn't returned my phone calls to verify his transcript, but still -- the dude stays on top of things. It should be noted that PK is also lord and high priest of the OP sports blogs. In my position, it's very wise to stay on his good side. Scroll down and check out my pic. When that was originally taken, it looked a lot like Brad Pitt. Then I messed up once and, next thing I knew, BAM, that gruesome mug shot took it's place. Forget Mother Nature. It's not nice to fool with the webmaster. But even Paul has a boss, whose name starts with "k" as well, and I'm not talking about Kosmo. This k thing is getting out of control.....
Hmmm. Seems to me I had something else in mind when I started this...... Oh yeah. Right.
Maybe he wasn't the first or only person to notice, but PK mentioned that the Indy car driven by JR Hildebrand, which crashed on the last turn of the Indy 500, and the car driven by Dale Earnhart Jr. in the NASCAR Coca-Cola race later the same day, which ran out of gas on the last lap, were both sponsored by the National Guard. That raises an interesting question. Ill get back to that.
Besides the National Guard, the US Army has sponsored various race cars on various circuits as well. If you're a race fan, you've probably seen them on TV and never thought twice about it. Sponsoring race teams, especially at the elite levels, is a very expensive undertaking. It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to build one of those cars. There's also a "shop" somewhere, complete with a lot of serious machinery. Cha-ching. Throw in the salaries for the driver, the pit crew, the spotters, machinists, engineers, and various other people associated with the operation and we're talking millions just to get started. Hell, the tires are well over $500 apiece and how many of them do they go through? If the car gets wrecked, chalk up another few hundred G's to build another one. Somebody's gotta pay for all this, and I'm fairly certain they can't huddle up, blink, and find themselves in a State Farm office, with a friendly agent ready and willing to cut them a replacement check, nor do they have a piece of the rock, nor has some dopey girl sold them an insurance policy out of a shoebox in a sanitarium. In other words, there ain't no insurance.
Most of those cars have a lot of small decals on them, but those companies aren't coughing up any serious money. More likely, they're giving the race team a few bucks off on parts. The primary sponsor bears the brunt of the costs. In return, they get their name or brand out there and, hence, publicity. Hopefully this will contribute to whatever it is they're selling. This isn't exactly top secret information.
In the case of the National Guard and/or Army sponsored cars, it seems logical to assume those two entities are footing the bill. But wait a minute..... Like all other military branches, they're financed with taxpayer dollars, which brings me back to the question. Who's paying for all this? Unless I'm missing something, it's you, and me, and even that wizard mentioned above.
The $600 hammers and $1000 toilet seats were bad enough, but now we have to finance a bunch of military sponsored race teams that can't seem to win anything? Are there subliminal parallels to be drawn here?
Beats me. I think I'm beginning to understand what Paul sees in South Park. I'm a lot older than he is, but when in doubt, most people return to their comfort zone. I'm going back to my safe haven as well. The next issue of MAD magazine should be hitting my mailbox any day now.
Hmmm. Seems to me I had something else in mind when I started this...... Oh yeah. Right.
Maybe he wasn't the first or only person to notice, but PK mentioned that the Indy car driven by JR Hildebrand, which crashed on the last turn of the Indy 500, and the car driven by Dale Earnhart Jr. in the NASCAR Coca-Cola race later the same day, which ran out of gas on the last lap, were both sponsored by the National Guard. That raises an interesting question. Ill get back to that.
Besides the National Guard, the US Army has sponsored various race cars on various circuits as well. If you're a race fan, you've probably seen them on TV and never thought twice about it. Sponsoring race teams, especially at the elite levels, is a very expensive undertaking. It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to build one of those cars. There's also a "shop" somewhere, complete with a lot of serious machinery. Cha-ching. Throw in the salaries for the driver, the pit crew, the spotters, machinists, engineers, and various other people associated with the operation and we're talking millions just to get started. Hell, the tires are well over $500 apiece and how many of them do they go through? If the car gets wrecked, chalk up another few hundred G's to build another one. Somebody's gotta pay for all this, and I'm fairly certain they can't huddle up, blink, and find themselves in a State Farm office, with a friendly agent ready and willing to cut them a replacement check, nor do they have a piece of the rock, nor has some dopey girl sold them an insurance policy out of a shoebox in a sanitarium. In other words, there ain't no insurance.
Most of those cars have a lot of small decals on them, but those companies aren't coughing up any serious money. More likely, they're giving the race team a few bucks off on parts. The primary sponsor bears the brunt of the costs. In return, they get their name or brand out there and, hence, publicity. Hopefully this will contribute to whatever it is they're selling. This isn't exactly top secret information.
In the case of the National Guard and/or Army sponsored cars, it seems logical to assume those two entities are footing the bill. But wait a minute..... Like all other military branches, they're financed with taxpayer dollars, which brings me back to the question. Who's paying for all this? Unless I'm missing something, it's you, and me, and even that wizard mentioned above.
The $600 hammers and $1000 toilet seats were bad enough, but now we have to finance a bunch of military sponsored race teams that can't seem to win anything? Are there subliminal parallels to be drawn here?
Beats me. I think I'm beginning to understand what Paul sees in South Park. I'm a lot older than he is, but when in doubt, most people return to their comfort zone. I'm going back to my safe haven as well. The next issue of MAD magazine should be hitting my mailbox any day now.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Indy, Danica, Tiger, and Henry
Certainly few people would have predicted a rookie named JR Hildebrand would be in the position he was in nearing the end of the 2011 Indy 500. Through 499 and 1/2 miles, and 799 out of 800 turns he, and his crew, had been flawless. As the sub-plots of the race played out, Hildebrand found himself staring at winning the crown jewel. He had a big enough lead where he could have run out of fuel and cruised to the finish line, donned his laurel, drank his cold milk, and been forever enshrined as a winner of the greatest race in the world.
Then something unforeseen happened. He crashed coming out of turn 4 on the last lap. At that, even on 3 wheels, his wrecked car had enough momentum to cross the finish line and finish second. Considering the racers behind him were closing at well over 200 MPH, that meant he had a pretty decent lead So who shot JR? No wait, that was something different. Scratch that. Yet something happened. Did he celebrate too early with the checkered flag oh so close and lose his concentration? Who knows, but given the ramifications between winning Indy and finishing second, the millions of dollars in endorsements and the fame a win would have brought, it's a safe bet Mr. Hildebrand will spend a lot of sleepless nights thinking about what could have been. It may be cruel, but sometimes a person only gets one shot at such a thing in a lifetime, never to get close again.
On another note, at some point in time, the media decided that Danica Patrick would be the face of Indy car racing. Nevermind she's only won one race in her entire career, and that in Japan, which by the way is where all the Honda engines, yuk, Indy racers run these days, come from. Here's a little known tidbit -- those ever-so trustworthy people at Honda Motor Co. supply the engines but only on the condition that, no matter what happens, they are not to be taken apart and/or inspected/repaired by foreign pit crews. If one fails, they'll supply another one, but what's really going on inside those things seems to be a secret. How they can pass tech-inspections under such a mandate is a very good question, but if they're putting out more HP, and all the car owners want them, it shouldn't be a complete surprise that the governing bodies of open wheel racing look the other way.
Yet which team gets which engines? Are some ever so slightly better than others? The HMC people know, but seemingly nobody else. Over there, they treat their women as second-class citizens but a lady American race car driver shows up in their country and wins a race when she's barely even been competitive before. Think about that what you will.
On to the predictable. Danica's main sponsor is GoDaddy.com. By sheer coincidence, I'm sure, ahem, this year's Indy 500 was primarily sponsored by -- yup -- GoDaddy.com. So who did you think was going to get the most coverage during the race, and whose mug would you expect to see on a lot of commercials for this or that product? You just had to know that somewhere along the line Danica would be leading the race and, sure enough, with about 20 laps to go, she was. Nevermind that all the faster cars in front of her had taken a necessary pit stop to get enough fuel to finish the race, and Danica either had to stop eventually for the same, or run out of "gas"; she was then in the lead for a few laps. Danica leading late in the race will be what many will write and talk about, but it was a mirage. After she "came in" for fuel, and the superior cars zoomed past and reset the leader board to where it should be, short of a miracle, unless they all crashed or blew up, she had ZERO chance of winning.
I think comparing Danica Patrick to Tiger Woods might be fun. Let me throw a few things out at you, and you decide which they may have in common, and where they might differ a great deal.
Pretty faces.
Wins.
Endorsements.
Their chests.
Their butts.
Media darlings.
Hissy fits.
Groupies.
Air time during an event they're competing in.
Air time during an event they're not competing in.
Driving.
"Minority" status. See media darlings above.
Which you'd rather see on TV for a serious interview by an unbiased hard-nosed reporter..
Which you'd rather see hooked up to a polygraph for the same interview.
Which you'd rather see trying to sell you a used car.
Which you'd rather have as a next-door neighbor.
And on a personal note -- which one would you rather ride next to, Henry? Careful. That answer could get you in trouble. :-)
Idle thought. Why do they still call the Thursday before the Indy 500 carburetion day? Those cars haven't had carburetors for a couple decades. Shouldn't they call it "injector" day? Then again, that word might lead me back into saying some things about the aforementioned Tiger Woods that would get ME in trouble. Henry and I have bosses of a different sort (they both start with the letter "K", what are the chances of that?) but there comes a time when it's best to just shut up.
OK
Then something unforeseen happened. He crashed coming out of turn 4 on the last lap. At that, even on 3 wheels, his wrecked car had enough momentum to cross the finish line and finish second. Considering the racers behind him were closing at well over 200 MPH, that meant he had a pretty decent lead So who shot JR? No wait, that was something different. Scratch that. Yet something happened. Did he celebrate too early with the checkered flag oh so close and lose his concentration? Who knows, but given the ramifications between winning Indy and finishing second, the millions of dollars in endorsements and the fame a win would have brought, it's a safe bet Mr. Hildebrand will spend a lot of sleepless nights thinking about what could have been. It may be cruel, but sometimes a person only gets one shot at such a thing in a lifetime, never to get close again.
On another note, at some point in time, the media decided that Danica Patrick would be the face of Indy car racing. Nevermind she's only won one race in her entire career, and that in Japan, which by the way is where all the Honda engines, yuk, Indy racers run these days, come from. Here's a little known tidbit -- those ever-so trustworthy people at Honda Motor Co. supply the engines but only on the condition that, no matter what happens, they are not to be taken apart and/or inspected/repaired by foreign pit crews. If one fails, they'll supply another one, but what's really going on inside those things seems to be a secret. How they can pass tech-inspections under such a mandate is a very good question, but if they're putting out more HP, and all the car owners want them, it shouldn't be a complete surprise that the governing bodies of open wheel racing look the other way.
Yet which team gets which engines? Are some ever so slightly better than others? The HMC people know, but seemingly nobody else. Over there, they treat their women as second-class citizens but a lady American race car driver shows up in their country and wins a race when she's barely even been competitive before. Think about that what you will.
On to the predictable. Danica's main sponsor is GoDaddy.com. By sheer coincidence, I'm sure, ahem, this year's Indy 500 was primarily sponsored by -- yup -- GoDaddy.com. So who did you think was going to get the most coverage during the race, and whose mug would you expect to see on a lot of commercials for this or that product? You just had to know that somewhere along the line Danica would be leading the race and, sure enough, with about 20 laps to go, she was. Nevermind that all the faster cars in front of her had taken a necessary pit stop to get enough fuel to finish the race, and Danica either had to stop eventually for the same, or run out of "gas"; she was then in the lead for a few laps. Danica leading late in the race will be what many will write and talk about, but it was a mirage. After she "came in" for fuel, and the superior cars zoomed past and reset the leader board to where it should be, short of a miracle, unless they all crashed or blew up, she had ZERO chance of winning.
I think comparing Danica Patrick to Tiger Woods might be fun. Let me throw a few things out at you, and you decide which they may have in common, and where they might differ a great deal.
Pretty faces.
Wins.
Endorsements.
Their chests.
Their butts.
Media darlings.
Hissy fits.
Groupies.
Air time during an event they're competing in.
Air time during an event they're not competing in.
Driving.
"Minority" status. See media darlings above.
Which you'd rather see on TV for a serious interview by an unbiased hard-nosed reporter..
Which you'd rather see hooked up to a polygraph for the same interview.
Which you'd rather see trying to sell you a used car.
Which you'd rather have as a next-door neighbor.
And on a personal note -- which one would you rather ride next to, Henry? Careful. That answer could get you in trouble. :-)
Idle thought. Why do they still call the Thursday before the Indy 500 carburetion day? Those cars haven't had carburetors for a couple decades. Shouldn't they call it "injector" day? Then again, that word might lead me back into saying some things about the aforementioned Tiger Woods that would get ME in trouble. Henry and I have bosses of a different sort (they both start with the letter "K", what are the chances of that?) but there comes a time when it's best to just shut up.
OK
Friday, May 27, 2011
A former party animal's look at the Indy 500. Part II
Somewhere shortly after 6:00 AM on race day, depending on our place in line, we arrived in the Promised Land, the infield. Emerging from the tunnel, it was then another free-for-all, with vehicles going every which way to stake out yet another "spot". I never did know what became of the Winnebago people at that point, but that was their problem, and staying out of the way while on foot was a very good idea.
The infield rats would race to get a choice piece of turf, park the vehicles, and throw out a blanket close to the track. Some folks thought it was better to be in this turn or that turn, or maybe the back straightaway, but it really didn't matter. I'll come back to that.
Now it's 7:00 AM. Most people are either severely hung over or still carrying on, and nothing's going to happen for 3 hours. Naptime.
In those days the festivities started at about 10:00 AM. That was when the "parade" laps would begin. They involved a bunch of movie stars, athletes, and of course, those loveable politicians that never saw a publicity stunt they didn't like, riding around in convertibles smiling and waving at the masses. The rookies in the crowd would get excited and clap, while the vets glanced up, and then rolled over to catch a few more z's. It was gonna be a long day, and who cared about those twits anyway? We were there to see a race. Well, sort of.
The race started at 11 and was usually done by about 2. Back then, ABC's Wide World of Sports tape-delayed the telecast until 5 PM. (If you were a race fan at home waiting to see it on TV, it was probably also a good idea to stay away from radio newscasts, because those folks would announce the winner, which would definitely spoil the fun of watching a race that happened hours earlier,)
When some chaplain would give his blessing, we started paying attention. Jim Nabors of Gomer Pyle fame would sing, "Back Home In Indiana", which was kinda cool, somebody else would sing the national anthem, a few fighter jets would make a pass overhead, several thousand helium filled baloons would be released, and the immortal words would come over the PA system. Not counting Janet Guthrie, who's main job at that time was to get publicity but stay out of the way of the real racers on the track, they were, "Gentlemen, start your engines". Since then, seemingly everybody that runs a race of any kind, particularly NASCAR, has copied that. But it all started at Indy.
The "pace car" would lead the race cars on a few parade laps while they warmed up. Then the official "pace laps" started and things speeded up some as they went by. On the last pace lap, it got faster. Finally, the green flag would wave and off they'd go. It would take the cars almost a lap to get up to full speed, but if you were never there, and only saw it on TV, you can't begin to appreciate how fast those cars were when they went by the next time.
After the initial excitment of the first few laps, and depending on wrecks, blown engines, and anything else that would cause a yellow flag to come out to slow the field, drivers would come into the pits and get new tires, another load of fuel, minor adjustments, and go back out. After a while, this would get out of sequence, and it was hard to figure out who was leading the race. Besides, too much of anything eventually gets boring, so knowing the race would still be going on for a couple hours, we'd wander around and check things out.
And, oh my, did things happen in the infield. You have to remember that these people had been partying for 2 or 3 days, and either through alcohol, other substances, or lack of sleep, a lot of inhibitions were long gone.Vans came in handy for something else too. Others saw fit to do the same in the front of pick-up trucks, which was kind of comical. Let's just say some people weren't thinking about Al Unser at that particular moment in time. Or maybe they were. Hmmm. Hope it was the girl.
Needless to say, we had a good time in the infield and with maybe 20-30 laps to go, we'd get back to paying attention to the race.
I stilll wonder about those folks that paid big bucks to sit in the stands. Those were the same people that were staying in motels. Then they paid more big bucks to sit up on the hard seats at the race. We had shade, and could walk anywhere we wanted to. Could they see more of the race track than we could? That's a double-edged question. They could see more of it, but their view never changed. We could walk around and see just about any small part of it we wanted to. And when nature called, who had the advantage? We did. They had to hike down from their seats. We had other options. Blazing hot? They were stuck up there and had to cook in their pews. We had shade from vehicles, and any number of contraptions that were rigged up to keep the sun out. Worst-case scenario for us was getting back in the van and turning on the AC to cool down for a few minutes.
I suppose to each their own, but when I hear of someone saying how much they partied at the Indy 500 in those days, while staying in a motel before the race, and sitting in the yuppie seats during it, I just nod and smile.
I'd like to tell them Doris Day partied in her way and John Belushi partied in his, and there just might be a slight difference, but they wouldn't get it anyway.
They didn't have a clue then, or now.
And no, I never did wear a toga, but thinking back, it might not have been such a bad idea.
That was a long time ago, and I've mellowed out. These days, I have a garden, fish pond, a couple yorkies that I love, and the Heritage rarely goes faster than 80. That's only pace lap speed.
I must be getting old. Sigh.
The infield rats would race to get a choice piece of turf, park the vehicles, and throw out a blanket close to the track. Some folks thought it was better to be in this turn or that turn, or maybe the back straightaway, but it really didn't matter. I'll come back to that.
Now it's 7:00 AM. Most people are either severely hung over or still carrying on, and nothing's going to happen for 3 hours. Naptime.
In those days the festivities started at about 10:00 AM. That was when the "parade" laps would begin. They involved a bunch of movie stars, athletes, and of course, those loveable politicians that never saw a publicity stunt they didn't like, riding around in convertibles smiling and waving at the masses. The rookies in the crowd would get excited and clap, while the vets glanced up, and then rolled over to catch a few more z's. It was gonna be a long day, and who cared about those twits anyway? We were there to see a race. Well, sort of.
The race started at 11 and was usually done by about 2. Back then, ABC's Wide World of Sports tape-delayed the telecast until 5 PM. (If you were a race fan at home waiting to see it on TV, it was probably also a good idea to stay away from radio newscasts, because those folks would announce the winner, which would definitely spoil the fun of watching a race that happened hours earlier,)
When some chaplain would give his blessing, we started paying attention. Jim Nabors of Gomer Pyle fame would sing, "Back Home In Indiana", which was kinda cool, somebody else would sing the national anthem, a few fighter jets would make a pass overhead, several thousand helium filled baloons would be released, and the immortal words would come over the PA system. Not counting Janet Guthrie, who's main job at that time was to get publicity but stay out of the way of the real racers on the track, they were, "Gentlemen, start your engines". Since then, seemingly everybody that runs a race of any kind, particularly NASCAR, has copied that. But it all started at Indy.
The "pace car" would lead the race cars on a few parade laps while they warmed up. Then the official "pace laps" started and things speeded up some as they went by. On the last pace lap, it got faster. Finally, the green flag would wave and off they'd go. It would take the cars almost a lap to get up to full speed, but if you were never there, and only saw it on TV, you can't begin to appreciate how fast those cars were when they went by the next time.
After the initial excitment of the first few laps, and depending on wrecks, blown engines, and anything else that would cause a yellow flag to come out to slow the field, drivers would come into the pits and get new tires, another load of fuel, minor adjustments, and go back out. After a while, this would get out of sequence, and it was hard to figure out who was leading the race. Besides, too much of anything eventually gets boring, so knowing the race would still be going on for a couple hours, we'd wander around and check things out.
And, oh my, did things happen in the infield. You have to remember that these people had been partying for 2 or 3 days, and either through alcohol, other substances, or lack of sleep, a lot of inhibitions were long gone.Vans came in handy for something else too. Others saw fit to do the same in the front of pick-up trucks, which was kind of comical. Let's just say some people weren't thinking about Al Unser at that particular moment in time. Or maybe they were. Hmmm. Hope it was the girl.
Needless to say, we had a good time in the infield and with maybe 20-30 laps to go, we'd get back to paying attention to the race.
I stilll wonder about those folks that paid big bucks to sit in the stands. Those were the same people that were staying in motels. Then they paid more big bucks to sit up on the hard seats at the race. We had shade, and could walk anywhere we wanted to. Could they see more of the race track than we could? That's a double-edged question. They could see more of it, but their view never changed. We could walk around and see just about any small part of it we wanted to. And when nature called, who had the advantage? We did. They had to hike down from their seats. We had other options. Blazing hot? They were stuck up there and had to cook in their pews. We had shade from vehicles, and any number of contraptions that were rigged up to keep the sun out. Worst-case scenario for us was getting back in the van and turning on the AC to cool down for a few minutes.
I suppose to each their own, but when I hear of someone saying how much they partied at the Indy 500 in those days, while staying in a motel before the race, and sitting in the yuppie seats during it, I just nod and smile.
I'd like to tell them Doris Day partied in her way and John Belushi partied in his, and there just might be a slight difference, but they wouldn't get it anyway.
They didn't have a clue then, or now.
And no, I never did wear a toga, but thinking back, it might not have been such a bad idea.
That was a long time ago, and I've mellowed out. These days, I have a garden, fish pond, a couple yorkies that I love, and the Heritage rarely goes faster than 80. That's only pace lap speed.
I must be getting old. Sigh.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
A former party animal's look at the Indy 500 Part I
The Indy 500 will go off this Sunday, weather permitting. It's nothing like it used to be. Quick, other than Danica Patrick, name 5 drivers. Chances are, you can't.
I used to go every year back in the 70's and into the 80's. Names like Foyt, Rahal, Dallenbach, Ongais, Rutherford, Andretti, and the Unsers were very well known. I watched Janet Guthrie, the first female to ever particpate in the race, and some kid named Rick Mears, who would later go on to win a few of them, was just arriving on the scene.
It was called the "greatest spectacle in racing", and indeed it was. Besides Indy, the same circuit of cars raced a lot of other places, including right here in Michigan at MIS, but no doubt, the Indy 500 was the crown jewel. Open wheel racing was very popular. Then Tony George, the President of the Indianapolis Speedway, went on an ego trip, decided he would be the boss of the sport, and wanted to change everything, especially the cars. This resulted in a feud with the owners of the cars that lasted for years, and eventually the sport self-destructed. As we all know, NASCAR has since filled the void.
But back in the day, it was a blast. Serious partiers, such as myself and a few friends, would arrive in Indianapolis on Thursday, and certainly no later than Friday, with our "infield" tickets. The whole town was one big party. Bar owners made a ton of money, as did their help; motels were booked solid at exorbitant rates, and then there were the people like me that would head down I-69 in a van and find a parking lot close to a grocery or party store, and hopefully a gas station. I'll get back to that. What may have been in the back of those vans is open to your imagination, but let's just say "different strokes for different folks".
The store owners didn't care that we camped out in their parking lots. After all, they were selling are the booze, beer, pop, ice, and munchies they could get their hands on. Unless you did something outrageous, the cops would leave you alone. Toilet facilities? Sometimes the stores would oblige, and sometimes not. Then if the obvious wasn't going to work in the parking lot, you hiked to the gas station and stood in line for the restroom. They might charge you a buck. Didn't dare move the van or somebody else would take your spot. Showers? It was usually a good idea to bring a sponge along for when you were in that restroom. Needless to say, those restrooms got rather ugly after a while, but when you're hanging out with the hard cores, ya do whatcha gotta do. Walk back to the van, throw on a different shirt and carry on. The same pair of Levis was good for the weekend. Underwear and socks? Never wore them, but I'll own up to deodorant and a toothbrush.
On Saturday morning, a day before the race, at some time, which was a big secret, the Speedway would open up the "back forty". This was a huge field on Speedway property, but outside the track. Getting in there was the next step. While the cops were trying to keep things semi-orderly on the streets, it was pretty much a madhouse getting to the entrance, and then stake out a "spot". Normally, within a couple hours things were starting to settle down. Tents went up, lawn chairs, grills, and some rather innovative ways to provide "shade" appeared. People would even haul mini-bikes, or small motorcyles out of the backs of vans or pick-ups with campers and start roaring around. The fire marshalls would show up and clear "fire lanes" in case something bad happened. But there was only one set of restrooms on that property, and they were close to the entrance to the track. If your spot happened to be on the far end away from them, it was quite a hike to get there, and those facilities made the gas station restrooms look like the Hilton. This was not a place for the feint of heart. You had to want to be there. Bad. You had to sense it, feel it, breathe it, and whatever it took-- it took.
It was also a pretty good idea to have your coolers stocked up when you got into the back forty, because there was no going back, at least in a vehicle, and that grocery or party store was a mighty long ways away to walk, let alone carry a cooler. The partying went on throughout the day and into the night, and a lot of things happened, most of which I can't mention here. Even stuff that, on the surface, sounds ridiculous. There was a time when I got offered a 6-pack of beer for one measly can of Coke. Guess he was all beered out and had some seriously hot pipes going on. After a couple days of non-stop partying, things like that happen. What's even worse is -- I didn't take the deal. You had to be there to appreciate that.
But we all knew that at 6:00 AM sharp, the next morning, on race day, ticket-takers would appear at the gate, and the tunnel would open to let us under the track and into the final frontier, also known as the "infield". This was no time to worry about properly collapsing and rolling up a tent. You got it down the fastest way you could, chucked it in your vehicle, and got in line again. Snooze, ya lose. Even the fire marshalls didn't get in the way of that.
By the way, such vehicles as Winnebagos had their own area, off to the side of where we stayed. They had lived in relative luxury for a few days, compared to the rest of us that had been reduced to the bare necessities, but Winnebagos were too tall to clear the tunnel, so those folks had to hoof it. Maybe that was a fair trade-off.
Race day next time.
I used to go every year back in the 70's and into the 80's. Names like Foyt, Rahal, Dallenbach, Ongais, Rutherford, Andretti, and the Unsers were very well known. I watched Janet Guthrie, the first female to ever particpate in the race, and some kid named Rick Mears, who would later go on to win a few of them, was just arriving on the scene.
It was called the "greatest spectacle in racing", and indeed it was. Besides Indy, the same circuit of cars raced a lot of other places, including right here in Michigan at MIS, but no doubt, the Indy 500 was the crown jewel. Open wheel racing was very popular. Then Tony George, the President of the Indianapolis Speedway, went on an ego trip, decided he would be the boss of the sport, and wanted to change everything, especially the cars. This resulted in a feud with the owners of the cars that lasted for years, and eventually the sport self-destructed. As we all know, NASCAR has since filled the void.
But back in the day, it was a blast. Serious partiers, such as myself and a few friends, would arrive in Indianapolis on Thursday, and certainly no later than Friday, with our "infield" tickets. The whole town was one big party. Bar owners made a ton of money, as did their help; motels were booked solid at exorbitant rates, and then there were the people like me that would head down I-69 in a van and find a parking lot close to a grocery or party store, and hopefully a gas station. I'll get back to that. What may have been in the back of those vans is open to your imagination, but let's just say "different strokes for different folks".
The store owners didn't care that we camped out in their parking lots. After all, they were selling are the booze, beer, pop, ice, and munchies they could get their hands on. Unless you did something outrageous, the cops would leave you alone. Toilet facilities? Sometimes the stores would oblige, and sometimes not. Then if the obvious wasn't going to work in the parking lot, you hiked to the gas station and stood in line for the restroom. They might charge you a buck. Didn't dare move the van or somebody else would take your spot. Showers? It was usually a good idea to bring a sponge along for when you were in that restroom. Needless to say, those restrooms got rather ugly after a while, but when you're hanging out with the hard cores, ya do whatcha gotta do. Walk back to the van, throw on a different shirt and carry on. The same pair of Levis was good for the weekend. Underwear and socks? Never wore them, but I'll own up to deodorant and a toothbrush.
On Saturday morning, a day before the race, at some time, which was a big secret, the Speedway would open up the "back forty". This was a huge field on Speedway property, but outside the track. Getting in there was the next step. While the cops were trying to keep things semi-orderly on the streets, it was pretty much a madhouse getting to the entrance, and then stake out a "spot". Normally, within a couple hours things were starting to settle down. Tents went up, lawn chairs, grills, and some rather innovative ways to provide "shade" appeared. People would even haul mini-bikes, or small motorcyles out of the backs of vans or pick-ups with campers and start roaring around. The fire marshalls would show up and clear "fire lanes" in case something bad happened. But there was only one set of restrooms on that property, and they were close to the entrance to the track. If your spot happened to be on the far end away from them, it was quite a hike to get there, and those facilities made the gas station restrooms look like the Hilton. This was not a place for the feint of heart. You had to want to be there. Bad. You had to sense it, feel it, breathe it, and whatever it took-- it took.
It was also a pretty good idea to have your coolers stocked up when you got into the back forty, because there was no going back, at least in a vehicle, and that grocery or party store was a mighty long ways away to walk, let alone carry a cooler. The partying went on throughout the day and into the night, and a lot of things happened, most of which I can't mention here. Even stuff that, on the surface, sounds ridiculous. There was a time when I got offered a 6-pack of beer for one measly can of Coke. Guess he was all beered out and had some seriously hot pipes going on. After a couple days of non-stop partying, things like that happen. What's even worse is -- I didn't take the deal. You had to be there to appreciate that.
But we all knew that at 6:00 AM sharp, the next morning, on race day, ticket-takers would appear at the gate, and the tunnel would open to let us under the track and into the final frontier, also known as the "infield". This was no time to worry about properly collapsing and rolling up a tent. You got it down the fastest way you could, chucked it in your vehicle, and got in line again. Snooze, ya lose. Even the fire marshalls didn't get in the way of that.
By the way, such vehicles as Winnebagos had their own area, off to the side of where we stayed. They had lived in relative luxury for a few days, compared to the rest of us that had been reduced to the bare necessities, but Winnebagos were too tall to clear the tunnel, so those folks had to hoof it. Maybe that was a fair trade-off.
Race day next time.
Monday, May 23, 2011
The other side of the Lance Armstrong saga
Lance Armstrong is back in the news. It seems some people just won't give up trying to prove he used illegal substances during his cycling career, particularly on the Tour de France, even though he hasn't competed in it for several years.
The latest to come forward was Tyler Hamilton, a former teammate of Armstrong's. On a "60 Minutes" segment, Hamilton said Armstrong, the team managers, trainers, other cyclists, and even he, Hamilton, were involved in all this. Everybody did it. If that's true, did it make it right? Probably not, but I have some questions.
First, the TV viewer doesn't get to see the entire interview when a 60 Minutes correspondent sits down with their "guest". This is all edited, and we only wind up seeing what the producers want us to see. This can be a very handy tool if they're trying to make a point, but doesn't necessarily speak well of unbiased journalism.
Second, one has to wonder about Hamilton's motive(s). Consider -- this is a guy that trained his whole life to become an elite cyclist. And what did he find when he got near the top? Being in a position where his job was to help somebody else (Armstrong) win and enjoy all the glory, while he was barely mentioned. Could the "green-eyed monster" be playing a part in this?
Third, evidently Hamilton was compelled to testify before a federal grand jury in Los Angeles, hence his "revelations". That in itself raises a question. Last time I looked, the Tour de France was pretty much in, well, France. What business is it of prosecutors in LA as to what may or may not have happened on the other side of the world? Of course the FBI, as they are prone to do, are sticking their noses into it. They want blood and/or urine samples from some French laboratory that were taken from Armstrong approximately a decade ago. You'd think they would have better things to pursue. Sorry to repeat myself, but again, the last time I looked the "F" in FBI stood for "federal", not international. They have no more jurisdiction in France than the French federal cops would have in LA. They can ask for a favor, but they can't demand anything. If I'm in charge of such a company, where names and results are supposed to be confined to a very select few, and otherwise remain confidential, I tell the fibbies they're in the wrong country, and can go take a hike back across the "pond".
Hamilton mentioned the wide use of EPO. I have no idea what that is. There's been talk about human growth hormone, testosterone, and a lot of other substances ending in "one". If you're not a pharmacist, I doubt you have a clue either what they all are.
Then there's the alleged blood transfusions. This is having your own blood taken out, and put back in at a later date. In America, we call that getting ready for a major surgery. In the cycling world, they call it doping.
But I guess it could be worse. Putting blood back in is one thing. I'm sure glad no allegations have been made about the same thing happening with urine samples. A reverse catheter? That sounds like it could be painful.
At that, where does it all end? Prosecutors and cops are spending millions of tax-payer dollars trying to prove a point that most of us could care less about.
Does the name Barry Bonds sound familiar?
The latest to come forward was Tyler Hamilton, a former teammate of Armstrong's. On a "60 Minutes" segment, Hamilton said Armstrong, the team managers, trainers, other cyclists, and even he, Hamilton, were involved in all this. Everybody did it. If that's true, did it make it right? Probably not, but I have some questions.
First, the TV viewer doesn't get to see the entire interview when a 60 Minutes correspondent sits down with their "guest". This is all edited, and we only wind up seeing what the producers want us to see. This can be a very handy tool if they're trying to make a point, but doesn't necessarily speak well of unbiased journalism.
Second, one has to wonder about Hamilton's motive(s). Consider -- this is a guy that trained his whole life to become an elite cyclist. And what did he find when he got near the top? Being in a position where his job was to help somebody else (Armstrong) win and enjoy all the glory, while he was barely mentioned. Could the "green-eyed monster" be playing a part in this?
Third, evidently Hamilton was compelled to testify before a federal grand jury in Los Angeles, hence his "revelations". That in itself raises a question. Last time I looked, the Tour de France was pretty much in, well, France. What business is it of prosecutors in LA as to what may or may not have happened on the other side of the world? Of course the FBI, as they are prone to do, are sticking their noses into it. They want blood and/or urine samples from some French laboratory that were taken from Armstrong approximately a decade ago. You'd think they would have better things to pursue. Sorry to repeat myself, but again, the last time I looked the "F" in FBI stood for "federal", not international. They have no more jurisdiction in France than the French federal cops would have in LA. They can ask for a favor, but they can't demand anything. If I'm in charge of such a company, where names and results are supposed to be confined to a very select few, and otherwise remain confidential, I tell the fibbies they're in the wrong country, and can go take a hike back across the "pond".
Hamilton mentioned the wide use of EPO. I have no idea what that is. There's been talk about human growth hormone, testosterone, and a lot of other substances ending in "one". If you're not a pharmacist, I doubt you have a clue either what they all are.
Then there's the alleged blood transfusions. This is having your own blood taken out, and put back in at a later date. In America, we call that getting ready for a major surgery. In the cycling world, they call it doping.
But I guess it could be worse. Putting blood back in is one thing. I'm sure glad no allegations have been made about the same thing happening with urine samples. A reverse catheter? That sounds like it could be painful.
At that, where does it all end? Prosecutors and cops are spending millions of tax-payer dollars trying to prove a point that most of us could care less about.
Does the name Barry Bonds sound familiar?
Getting down and dirty with Tiger Woods
A friend (yes, believe it or not, I actually have a couple) told me I've been too nice lately, and not living up to the name of this blog. Well then.
While scrolling around on the satellite dish, I noticed a show titled "Lost Land of the Tiger". This was on a channel called NGW. It only made sense that this had to be about Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. My brilliant mind quickly concluded that NGW probably stood for "no golf wins", "not going well", or maybe even "notoriously greedy womanizer", but I was wrong.
Turned out it was about an elusive creature that goes on the prowl occasionally and has big teeth. Well OK, I suppose comparisons could be drawn there, so let me put it this way -- it was about four-legged tigers with stripes, rather than the two-legged variety with red shirts. Actually, NGW stood for National Geographic Wildlife. Hope that clears it up.
I scanned down and noticed "Hogs Gone Wild". This was on the Discovery channel. I understand the media wants Tiger to be everywhere, but was this about Harley Davidsons, or could it somehow tie into some of those girls in Vegas? Wrong, and wrong again.
It was about pigs. You know, the kind where bacon comes from. Those sort of hogs. I think I was relieved.
Not far below that was the Learning Channel. They offered a show called "Strange Sex". As they say, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but could it be? I didn't want to know. TMI.
At any rate, poor old Tiger's on the shelf again. It seems his knee hurts, his calf hurts, his foot hurts, everything hurts when he can't win anymore. Probably nothing more so than his pride.
I don't want to hear it. A while back he won the US Open, which typically features extremely difficult courses, on basically one leg. For that, he was a hero. Newspapers and magazines had article after article, and, oh man, the talking heads on TV went into overdrive.
Nowadays, a bunch of very talented young guns are on the scene, and Tiger can't seem to keep up with them. Eldrick had his day when he was the best, but that day has passed.. He got to the point where he "cherry-picked" the tournaments he wanted to participate in for big bucks, maximum exposure, and of course, the chase for Jack Nicklaus' "major" win record. I don't see it happening. He can profess all the injuries he wants, and I suppose that nasty divorce business he went through would be enough to give anybody a case of the "yips", but he's just not good enough anymore. People rise to the top, enjoy the limelight, megabucks, endorsements, and fame, and then others come along and kick them to the curb. Such is the way it goes in professional sports. It ain't personal -- just business.
Don't worry about Eldrick. If he never picks up a club again, chances are he's still got enough dough to buy your whole complex, neighborhood, or subdivision, with some serious change left over. If that doesn't work out, he can always go on the talk show circuit, like all the other has-beens, though I'm not at all sure how well he'd be received by the Swedish audience.
In the end, I suspect he made at least one person happy. For some unexplainable reason, I get this weird feeling that Fuzzy Zoeller's fried chicken tastes a lot better these days. Something to do with the Masters' Championship at Augusta National several years ago, I think.
And Tiger? He's laying low. NGW indeed. Now Getting Wiser.
While scrolling around on the satellite dish, I noticed a show titled "Lost Land of the Tiger". This was on a channel called NGW. It only made sense that this had to be about Eldrick "Tiger" Woods. My brilliant mind quickly concluded that NGW probably stood for "no golf wins", "not going well", or maybe even "notoriously greedy womanizer", but I was wrong.
Turned out it was about an elusive creature that goes on the prowl occasionally and has big teeth. Well OK, I suppose comparisons could be drawn there, so let me put it this way -- it was about four-legged tigers with stripes, rather than the two-legged variety with red shirts. Actually, NGW stood for National Geographic Wildlife. Hope that clears it up.
I scanned down and noticed "Hogs Gone Wild". This was on the Discovery channel. I understand the media wants Tiger to be everywhere, but was this about Harley Davidsons, or could it somehow tie into some of those girls in Vegas? Wrong, and wrong again.
It was about pigs. You know, the kind where bacon comes from. Those sort of hogs. I think I was relieved.
Not far below that was the Learning Channel. They offered a show called "Strange Sex". As they say, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but could it be? I didn't want to know. TMI.
At any rate, poor old Tiger's on the shelf again. It seems his knee hurts, his calf hurts, his foot hurts, everything hurts when he can't win anymore. Probably nothing more so than his pride.
I don't want to hear it. A while back he won the US Open, which typically features extremely difficult courses, on basically one leg. For that, he was a hero. Newspapers and magazines had article after article, and, oh man, the talking heads on TV went into overdrive.
Nowadays, a bunch of very talented young guns are on the scene, and Tiger can't seem to keep up with them. Eldrick had his day when he was the best, but that day has passed.. He got to the point where he "cherry-picked" the tournaments he wanted to participate in for big bucks, maximum exposure, and of course, the chase for Jack Nicklaus' "major" win record. I don't see it happening. He can profess all the injuries he wants, and I suppose that nasty divorce business he went through would be enough to give anybody a case of the "yips", but he's just not good enough anymore. People rise to the top, enjoy the limelight, megabucks, endorsements, and fame, and then others come along and kick them to the curb. Such is the way it goes in professional sports. It ain't personal -- just business.
Don't worry about Eldrick. If he never picks up a club again, chances are he's still got enough dough to buy your whole complex, neighborhood, or subdivision, with some serious change left over. If that doesn't work out, he can always go on the talk show circuit, like all the other has-beens, though I'm not at all sure how well he'd be received by the Swedish audience.
In the end, I suspect he made at least one person happy. For some unexplainable reason, I get this weird feeling that Fuzzy Zoeller's fried chicken tastes a lot better these days. Something to do with the Masters' Championship at Augusta National several years ago, I think.
And Tiger? He's laying low. NGW indeed. Now Getting Wiser.
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