Some of the reasons I like the Indy 500:
The gut roaring rumble and expectant excitement that starts after the sentence, "Drivers start your engines."
Obviously, the speed. I mean 221 mph? 0 to 100 in 3 seconds. Now THAT is HOT. I really wanna feel that some day and not get a ride in a police car for it.
The hilarity of the ridiculous obsession of the earrings worn by the wives
The preshow stories of the drivers—it's a virtual buffet of accents nearly as hot as the speed
Jim Nabors singing back home in Indiana
The closing of the visor, like a knight preparing to joust
Tire scrubbing in the Brickyard...come on, that just looks fun
The power of an open wheel car--clean, no waste.
Did I mention the fabulous foreign accents?
The danger—yes, I can understand belonging to the car.
Oh hell, yes, I romanticize it. But, sometimes when I'm taking a turn on the outside and I can feel the edge of the tire just gripping… just gripping… I feel a long forgotten memory reaching for the surface. But who's memory is it?
1 comment:
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