However, my fetid visage could be useful in keeping rodents away. Thanks to Glenn Harm for the video camera work. Thanks also to Marc Bever, Pat Caporali, Mike Cockrall, and to Paul Tracy for his patience.
Bump Day at Indy has always historically been a hoot for me because it is another opportunity for me to abuse my body with exotic intoxicants and make an ass out of myself.
This year’s version of Bump Day at Indy was no exception.
I arrived relatively early and found a front row spot in the Third Turn infield to park the Paul Tracy Commemorative Beer Wagon.
Because I have issues, I quickly power-slammed a 16-ounce Coors and then secreted several more in my camera bag so that I could stealthily evade the prying eyes of the yellow shirted government agents.
I rode the tram to the Vigoda Plaza, disembarked, and stumbled over to my normal perch located atop the F1 garages in the First Turn.
There, I found my usual racin’ buddies absent because they were being wholesome elsewhere trackside, and they didn’t want me to embarrass them with my semi-drunken shenanigans in front of their elderly parents or innocent young children.
So…I just sat there, basking in the glorious sunshine and watching fast and shiny and real Indy racers practice for the pants-wetting drama that would be Bump Day.
I had another beer too.
All was right with the world until I heard a heinous POP that indicated to me that someone had taken an improper and imprudent line through MY Turn One.
As it turns out, the Lucky Dragoons racer piloted by Pat Carpenter was what I heard kissing SAFER barrier. The car was reduced to ruins and its shattered remnants were quickly deposited in Indy’s now infamous Hurt Locker.
Fortunately, Mr. Carpenter was relatively OK as the result of his running out of interest in pursuing an approved line though MY corner at Indy.
Unfortunately, Team Lucky Dragoons was then fresh out of shiny and not-so-fast Indy racing machines because their other driver, Chinese Indy Racing Legend Ho Chi Minh, destroyed their other car a day earlier.
Subsequently, Team Lucky Dragoons had to pack their shit up and head out of town in complete disgrace.
Maybe next year.
Things got kinda slow on the racing surfaces, and I soon found myself Tweeting insulting one-liners on Twatter. If anyone was offended I am sorry and I will delete things later.
It was apparent to me at about this time that The Indianapolis Motor Speedway was not going to entertain me by forcing drivers against their will to get on track and risk further near-certain death, so I took a quick stroll through the garage area.
There, I saw nothing of interest or unusual…just a whole ass-load of Honda/Dallara/Firestones. Nor did I run into any of my racin’ buddies.
I was quickly getting lonely and depressed and despondent. I felt I could snap at any moment, but I knew the remedy.
I would go over to the Vigoda Plaza, plop my narrow ass down on a concrete wall under a shade tree, and drink another beer.
I told you people I had issues.
Maybe next time you will listen to me.
Anyhoo…as I sat there, I was treated to an interview with black Indy Racing Legend Willy T. Ribbs on the RC Cola and MoonPie Stage.
Willy told the enthusiastic throng gathered before him that Danica Hospenthal was his hero.
Willy also said that he and his son were accomplished shot-gun shooters, and that all us thin-lipped, white-bread, honkie motherfuckers better think twice before we go messing with either one of them because we would get our fool cracka-ass heads blown clean off if we did.
Damn. Lighten up, Willy. Ain’t nobody here rayciss an shit…
Soon, I got a phone call from one of my dear racin’ buddies. He told me he would join me shortly in the Vigoda Plaza, and that he would be bringing good tidings and cheer.
When a person says he is bringing you beer, you know that person is cool.
In this case, I also knew that my cool friend knew that I might have an interview with Indy Racing Legend Paul Tracy later on, and my friend knows that if he and other folks ply me with enough beer that I will become even more funnier and talkative and that I will provide them with copious amounts of excellent intardnets fodder later on.
Yes. I am being used.
Use me…until you use me up.
It was almost time for qualifying to begin, so we went to or usual spot for this event…the Tower Terrace seats right next to the entrance of Gasoline Alley.
This is a most excellent place to sit for Bump Day because you can watch the teams get nervous before a qualifying run.
Or, you can watch as they slit their own wrists when they get bumped out of the field.
Or, you can cheer a heroic and damn near suicidal attempt to make the field.
Or, you can heckle and shout out stupid shit to drivers and celebrities.
It is all quite enjoyable no matter what you decide to do or how you wish to conduct yourself.
I heartily endorse these activities.
I will not bore you with the intricacies of what went on during qualifying. It would be ponderous for me. If you are really interested you can find that information elsewhere.
Before too long, a typhoon rolled in, all track activities ceased, and we were forced against our will to exit the grand stands.
More jack-booted thuggery from armed government agents, I suppose…
Here is a platoon of sluts parading at Indy after the storm.
The storm departed, the track was dried, and more qualifications happened.
Again…I will not detail these events for you.
Deal with it.
Finally, the field was filled and Bump Day was officially over.
But not for me, because the planets had aligned and it looked like I was definitely going to interview Paul Tracy.
After getting things squared away with PT’s handlers, I lined up expert still and video photographers.
We waited patiently outside PT’s garage.
The interview went off pretty good, I think, even though I looked like a troll and sounded like a Hoosier hill jack.
Oh well…it was honest, and I didn’t try to pull off any idea that I am some kind of important, pretentious asshole.
God knows we have enough of those at Indy
PT was cool to put up with my bullshit.
The interview should be on YouTubes soon.
I hope you all enjoy it. It didn’t go exactly as I had envisioned, but I think it’s an honest representation of who I am and what my deal is.
OK..so...like...I've been working like a sled dog all week and I've gotten SOME beauty rest.
Watching pole day from the couch really blew, but going to the track yesterday would not have been good for anybody. I was tired and cranky, and I would not have been pleasant to be around, so I just Tweeted some insulting crap on Twatter, scratched myself, and made plans for Bump Day.
Yes. I'm going to be track-side today for Bump Day. I will be in better spirits. Maybe.
The beer is iced down. No Molsons or Labatts, though. PT will have to suffice with American beer, sorta, and I'm not buying any cigars. If PT doesn't make the field, I'm not going to contact his handlers because I don't want to deal with an attitudinal Indy racin' legend.
Anyhoo..if you see me, say hi or something and don't take any spy pictures of my fetid ugliness.
Sorry for the short and disappointing blog thang, but I told you people it would suck this year.
Today was a complete washout at IMS, so I thought I'd let you, my valued readers, in on something that may or may not be going on.
There is a real possibility that I could interview Paul Tracy this month at Indy.
The thing is, I'm a little hesitant to do it.
Maybe it's because I'm a pussy.
I don't know.
I don't want my interview with PT to be structured and rigid.
I want it to be mellow and relaxing, just two guys having a beer and cussing and talking racing and other stuff.
I don't want it to resemble work for either of us.
If it is to become a hassle or a pain in the ass, I'm not interested, but it could be a cool thing.
I understand PT's a busy guy with important shit to do.
I'm not in it to make PT look stupid or foolish.
Hell...I'm willing to look stupid and foolish. It's part of my schtick.
Anyhoo...here are some PT interview questions I came up with.
Let me know what you think.
-I read some of your Champ Car race history, and it seems as if Wally Dallenbach had a hard-on for you back in the old days. Do you still want to punch him in the face?
-Do you still want to kick Alex Tagliani’s ass?
-Does the nickname "The Thrill from West Hill" piss you off? I think it sounds a little gay personally, but what the hell do I know? I bet you didn’t pick that nickname anyways…probably a dumb Canadian marketing "genius" did.
-I’m not stalking you or anything, but I understand you have a couple of kids…Alysha and Conrad. Are they teenagers yet? I have three teen kids. They’re pretty cool and smart, and I love them, but they are a trial sometimes. Are your kids cool?
-So...you live in Vegas or Arizona somewhere now? Do you have a green card…and can I see it? Are you like an honorary American now? You speak American pretty good for a Canadian from Canadia.
-Since you’re in America now, you don't have to deal with stupid Canadian gun laws. Most real Americans love guns and own lots of firearms. Do you own any firearms, or do firearms frighten you?
-When you were an unsavory wild youth in Canadia, did you go to Lakeside Park with your buddies and drink lots of Molson’s beer and chase hot Canadian chicks?
-Do you still celebrate Bastille Day even though you live in America now?
-Is July 4th an annoyance for you?
-How many times have you seen Rush live in concert? Triumph? The Jeff Healey Band? Bachman Turner Overdrive? April Wine? Neil Young? Pat Travers?
-What did your mom and dad do for a living? Were they wealthy and did they spoil you rotten? Or, did they make you get a job to help pay for your hobbies and all the other crap you wanted to do
-What kind of jobs, if any, did you have other than racing when you were a punk kid?
-Do you have siblings?
-What was your first street car when you first got your driver’s license?
-Turning wrenches on your own crap is cool. I know you have lots of toys now like hotrods and boats and shit. Do you work on them yourself, or do you pay somebody else to fix your personal shit when it breaks?
-A lot of people, like the seething-with-rage ChampCar fans, give you shit for when you said you would never drive a “crap-wagon.” I really don’t give a damn because it was a long time ago and a man’s situations can change, and I think it’s OK for a guy to change his mind if he wants. I figure that racing is what you love to do most, so screw what people say and follow what you love. Your thoughts?
-You and me are a lot alike, I think. You are only six years younger than me. We both are professional drivers, and we both worked for Penske at some point in our illustrious careers. I know Penske is kinda supposed to be like the top company to work for, and they have some pretty cool equipment for us to work with…but I still think they kinda sucked when I worked for them.
Did driving for Penske kinda suck for you too?
-I’m not going to bother asking you about the 2002 Indy 500 because that horse has been beaten to death and it was a long time ago. All I know is I was watching the live timing and scoring that day and it originally showed you as the winner. Even though everything that happened in 2002 must have really sucked for you, you continue to come back to Indy and give it a try.
Hell…last year I watched as you almost killed yourself trying to get back into the field after withdrawing a good time and one of those asshole KV mechanics fucked up your transmission gearing ratios or something.
Did you ever kick that guy’s ass?
Does your wife ever want to kick your ass after seeing you almost kill yourself on a racetrack?
I am never late to opening day at IMS, but I gotta pay the bills.
I arrived late at this Opening Day at IMS because I had to work.
The National Anthem was playing as I drove the Georgetown Road tunnel under MY racetrack.
I flashed my bronzed badge thingy to the underpaid yellow shirted government agents.
I was pleasantly surprised by the light traffic.
I crested the hill of the tunnel road and immediately noticed that my convenient ingress to the third turn infield parking and party zone was blocked by that stupid fucking Hotwheels ramp thingy.
Curt Boggs Photo
This impediment to my parking spot is an improper and imprudent grave injustice…and it will not stand…for long…because I’m going to knock that stupid fucking thing down and get it out of the way and out of MY racetrack.
It looks ignant, and God knows there is enough ignant stuff to look at these days.
Anyhoo…I zig-zag around the Hotwheel thang and park the Paul Tracy Commemorative Beer Wagon.
I power-slam a Coors real quick because I have issues, then I load up for the trip to the Vigoda Plaza.
As I am doing this, the track goes green for the first time. The sounds of real and shiny and fast Indy cars fill my ears. My heart soars. I think to myself, “Damn…this has been a long and shitty winter!”
The permanent scowl on my face disappears…temporarily.
I get to the Vigoda Plaza and notice many vintage cars parked haphazardly everywhere. This is because it has been declared that Opening Day will be a celebration of the automobile.
Al Gore silently weeps.
Curt Boggs Photo
Then, I head out to my super-secret Turn One roost where I figure I will find some of my racin’ buddies who are camera dorks and wish they had my skills with an Instamatic.
My camera dork racin’ buddies have long, “go-to-hell” lenses for their fancy cameras.
I bet it’s because they are over-compensating for deficiencies elsewhere in their pitiful lives.
That’s what I think.
Anyhoo…there’s a big brew-up with much cursing and smoking and backslapping, and I really don’t pay much attention to what’s happening on the racetrack. I’m too busy catching up with my bros and being a general embarrassment to them.
It was fun.
Pretty much…until I ran into Grover.
Fuck him! He was all sheepish and stuff, and he wanted none of me. My beer was safe. For the time being…
My truck driver's back started screaming at me, as did my full bladder and empty stomach, so I strolled down to the Vigoda Plaza for a pee and a beer and a couple of overpriced horse-meat hamburgers.
There, I saw Lindy Thackston, who is a world-renown female version of a TV reporter for the Verses Network. She is a broadcasting legend, and I told her so.
Paul Dalbey Photo
I told her that I thought she did great work on TV and that she came across as a knowledgeable fan and a corn-fed Indiana gal with a Hoosier twang who wasn’t a bimbo and didn’t go around having sex with IndyCar drivers.
And if you know me at all, you know that I would not say such things if I did not mean them sincerely.
She seemed appreciative, if not somewhat wary of me and my comments to her, and she slowly backed away.
She is a smart lady, who was raised by concerned parents.
Stay honorable, Lindy.
It wasn’t long before the rains came.
Rain don’t befront me none, as long as I get my rent money by next Friday.
So…it was time to stroll the garages for the first time to see what I could see.
I saw many Honda/Dallara/Firestones.
That’s what I saw.
However, this is something else I saw…
Apparently, Chip Ganassi has more money than he knows what to do with, so he has formed a satellite Indy Racing team.
This outsourced proxy Ganassi team gets the junky broken parts that Dario Judd and Scott Dixon throw away.
This is a team of mercenaries, and with Chip paying the bills, they apparently think they can do whatever the hell they please and get away with it.
They need to get up a little earlier to fool me, however.
When I saw them wheeling this Chevrolet engine block into their garage, I knew something was amiss.
I yelled at them. Loudly.
I said, “You can’t use that engine block! That is against the engine lease program rules and stuff! I’m tellin’! I’m calling the cops!”
This year is the third year of the Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny.
It’s party time in Indy, and if you know me, you know I like a good party with guns and booze and drugs and chicks and fire trucks and all the other things that make life worth living.
Yes. 100 years, give or take, of pants-wetting open wheeled excitement at the palace of speed.
I say, “Give or take,” because maths is hard for me.
Actually there were a few years from 1911 until now when the track was closed for wars because it was deemed improper and imprudent to gobble up petroleum products and other vital natural resources at alarming rates for the amusement of the general public.
During World War One, we were a little late to the party and we stepped in to smack the dog shit out of the Germans. So…for 1917 and 1918, we did that instead of having races.
A few years later, the Germans and the Japanese got all uppity.
We allowed them to have their fun for a couple of years, but then we put our foot down.
From 1942 until 1945, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was silent while we went ruckus on the Germans and the Japanese.
Things are cool as fuck now, and we no longer have any problems with the Germans and the Japanese. In fact, we are all the bestest of buddies and we share beer, girlfriends, and nuclear technology.
Can you imagine what would happen today if it were decided that we would not hold an Indianapolis 500 Mile Sweepstakes because we were having a war or three?
Or that because of a war or three, I-Pads and gasoline were not available, or that Dancing With The Stars would not be televised because it was deemed detrimental to morale?
There would be civil unrest and rioting in the streets.
It’s a good thing gasoline is cheap and plentiful.
Anyhoo…by my estimation, we are roughly six Indy 500s shy of one hundred.
Whatever. I flunked just about every math subject known to man except for geometry, so who am I to complain about the “centennial” thing?
I understand there are going to be many different things going on in celebration of the “Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny.”
Apparently, there will be a life-sized Hot Wheels track installed in the fourth turn infield.
It will be several stories high and will include a big orange plastic loop-de-loop thingy which will most likely propel a full sized NeckCar pick ‘em up truck into the crowd causing grievous death and dismemberment.
Damn. What a buzz-kill THAT will be…
I just hope this cheese-dick monstrosity publicity stunt doesn’t ruin my site lines from J-Stand on race day. I will be extremely irate if it does.
Also, I heard Donald Trump is going to drive the pace car.
This too is a grave injustice and will not stand.
I’ve said it before. The pace car should be driven by somebody cool like an ace fighter pilot or a former Indy 500 winner or somebody who is savvy.
The Donald may be savvy in getting shit done like building a skyscraper. Hell…he would have had the World Trade Center rebuilt twice as tall 5 years ago…but he is not savvy or cool enough to drive the pace car at Indy.
Photo courtesy hamtramck-historical.com
Trump is bound to go all Eldon Palmer and fuck this up just like all wealthy douche bags fuck shit up when they get in over their heads.
Photo courtesy moparaction.com
I am right about this, and there can be no further discussion.
There might be other tourist attractions during the two weeks of May Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny celebration, but quite frankly, I can’t be arsed to look them up because it would be ponderous.
I suggest Google for further information if you are so inclined.
Well…It’s May 1th again here in Indy, and it’s raining. That means it SHOULD be time for them to open the gates of MY racetrack in order to entertain me.
Instead, the fast and shiny Indy racing machines are down in Brazil running on the twisty bits.
This is a grave injustice and will NOT stand!
But, what the hell can I do about it?
Nothing. That’s what.
So…I guess I’ll start my 2011 Indy 500 Blog mess by stating that this year I’ll probably have to kinda mail it in.
See…in the last year or so since we last met up, lots of sorta unsavory things have happened in my life that maybe you should know a little something about.
I will enumerate those things for you now.
1-I shot a neighbor’s dog in self-defense. It is a clammy tale. You can read about it here if you want.
2-A grown-ass man attempted to do something heinous with one of my children. If you should know one thing about me, you should know that I am fiercely protective of my family. I will not delve further into this topic. Suffice to say that I was homicidal.
3-Due to political events and concerns that my country is being led purposely into the shitter by Communist progressive hippie ass-bags, I’ve become a rabid radical Libertarian Constitutionalist gun-owner. I’ve been investing my disposable income in lead and lead accelerators in preparation for the upcoming apocalypse.
4-I've had a new job since last September. Therefore, I have no vacation accrued to burn. Trust me. The job change weighed heavily on my mind because of this. Do I give up 4-5 weeks of paid vacation for the new gig and lose my ability to spend unreasonable amounts time at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway drinking alarming quantities of beer during the month of May? Yes. Yes I do. That's how much it sucked working for Teamster Penske. Ask Paul Tracy. He knows.
Anyhoo…many of my fans…both of them…have expressed displeasure and sadness that I will not be able to be trackside much this year. Thanks all for your concerns, but I'm just a local douche with a camera and intardnets access. No great loss if I do an abridged version of my foolishness.
Don't worry about it. You'll be fine.
I'll probably get track-side once a week only. Sundays. Maybe.
I'm not even getting a bronze badge this year. Why bother if I'm only at the track about 2 or three times before race day?
The desire to do the blog thang is still there.
I'll think of something.
Even if it's wrong.
Especially if it's wrong...like maybe getting a couple of my racin’ buddies, who don’t work much, and use them as if they were my unpaid mercenaries. They could take cool, jaw-dropping photos and gather groovy insider stories and feed them to me so that I can embellish them and think up stupid crap to say. Yes. Zoomie’s Proxies. There may or may not be some other special things in the works, but as a real kinda cool racin’ insider who knows how to keep his mouth shut, I can’t talk about it right now. Stay tuned…