EIC meets racing legends at Indy GP

Jack Kaup, Editor-in-Chief

FRIDAY

On the Sunday before Memorial Day, an extraterrestrial being would know that an important ritual is going on in Speedway, Indiana. Somewhere close to half a million people crowd in and around a rectangle with curved edges that’s perimeter is a whooping 2.5 miles in length as 33 rocket-like vehicles whip around said rectangle at speeds close to 230 miles per hour.

This is the Indianapolis 500, but this is not what this article is about. This article is (kind of) about the second annual Grand Prix of Indianapolis that ran on May 9. The Indy 500 is like the Super Bowl for IndyCar racing and the GP is like any other race but just so happens to be at the same place and in the same month as the Super Bowl is always held.

My father, his friend, my brother and I (who I will refer to as we) arrived the day before the actual race. Yes, I was playing hooky last Friday. With not many fans in attendance for the “glorified practice day,” as my dad’s friend put it, it made Speedway seem like a normal little town, except with the sounds of race cars echoing through it. I never realized how close some houses were to the track. On Saturday, we would park in a resident’s front lawn, and only walked about a hundred yards to get to the track.

The emptiness and stillness felt strange, but once inside the facility, the roar of the engines made me feel just right. We went to the plaza for the unveiling of driver Townsend Bell’s car for the Indy 500 around noon. The “Indy Girls,” dressed in little white dresses, red heels and shades, gave us a little show (thanks to the slight breeze that blew throughout the day) before the unveiling as they posed for pictures nearby. There was a media storm around Bell afterwards, but we stuck around to try to say hello and wish him luck, which I eventually did.

“Is that Paul Page?” my Dad suddenly said as we waited.

It was, but I looked at his credentials to make sure because I was in shock. Page is a race broadcasting legend. Paul Page is to IndyCar racing as Harry Caray is to Chicago baseball. He stopped doing the television broadcast of the 500 in 2004. I grew to know and love his voice from watching old videos of races as a kid. We talked with Page for about five or ten minutes.

“You’ve called, like, a millions 500s in your life. What was your favorite one?” I eventually asked.

“Well, you got to remember I operate on two levels: What was my favorite race and what was my favorite broadcast,” Page said. “My first broadcast was ’77, A.J. Foyt wins [for the] fourth time.”

Foyt was the first of only three drivers to do this. A pub we went to that evening had an infinite amount of Foyt memorabilia. Simply put, he’s a legend as well.

“A.J. and I had become pretty good friends. [In victory circle] he looks right up at the booth,” Page looks toward the sky, smiles and points upwards. “Because he knew how nervous I was.”

Page told us that story (his favorite race, I believe) right behind the Pagoda where it happened. He told an array of fond and even somber tales for those five or ten minutes, all kindly and patiently while he was on break between radio broadcasts. I knew I liked his voice for a reason.

Two hours later, I was face-to-face with racing legend Mario Andretti. Talk about a solid day at the track. Mario Andretti is to racing as Michael Jordan is to basketball. His last ride in an IndyCar came in 2003, when he had a terrifying accident at Indy. He was signing autographs, and I got one, but I really wanted to ask a very important question.

“What’s your favorite Italian food?” I asked the Italian-born driver.

“I have many, but gnocchi the way my mother, and now my daughter, make it, you know, with brown sauce,” Andretti said.

“What’s it called?” my uncultured self asked.

“Gnocchi, which is potato dumplings, with Idaho potatoes. We used to have Idaho potatoes in Italy,” he said.

“Alright, that sounds awesome, I’ll have to try it,” I said before thanking him and leaving.

The Andretti’s haven’t won the 500 since Mario won in 1969. Many fans call this “The Andretti Curse.” They came closest in 2006, when Mario’s grandson Marco (who I wrote about in March) lost the lead on the final straightaway, finishing second as Marco’s father Michael followed in third. That was my first 500 and it made me an Andretti and Indy fan for life.

Later on, as cars were being shuffled out to pit road for qualifying, I saw Marco driving out to pit road in a cart, followed closely by his Dad.

“Andretti sucks!” a heckler yelled as Michael passed by.

Michael just smirked, as did I.

***

SATURDAY

We got to the track around ten. The track felt familiar, like race day. There were lots of babes, cheers, geeks, groans, kids, laughs, smells, smoke, and sweat. Good ol’ Indy.

We went to the inside of turn one for the support races. There is a mound from which fans watch the action. I laid down for awhile on the cool grass between races as the IndyCars ran their final practice. That was paradise, thirty feet from the burning asphalt as cars popped loudly while downshifting.

We sat in the bleachers we paid for in turn seven for the main event. It was hot, uncomfortable, and packed tight. I missed the mound. The race was won by Will Power. Yes, his name is literally Will Power.

With only one caution at the start of the race, it went by extremely fast. For most of the race, I was with my own thoughts. I thought about my future. I thought about a problem I’m having with someone I care about. I thought about how Will Power could be beaten.

After the race, fans were allowed onto the track. We went on near where we sat and we all kept a piece of rubber that had come off one of the hundreds of tires that burned up on the course that weekend. What other sport lets fans do something like that?

It’s mind-boggling that in an sponsorship-driven, “old rich white-guy” (as my brother calls it) sport can have such a down-to-earth attitude. I didn’t think the racer ego stayed in the cockpit, and that might not be the case for every driver. However, I felt like Bell, Page, Andretti, and all the other people I spoke to were normal people like me. Mario Andretti may be an icon, but he also eats, too.

Maybe it’s because drivers are humbled by the realness of facing mortality in the cockpit. Maybe it’s because the sport has undoubtedly lost some of its popularity and luster over the past twenty years due to irresponsible sport-politics. I don’t know, and I’m not going to think about it too much. Indy feels like home, that’s all.