Ok, this was a big dream.
So, in the dream, I found out very shortly before the IndyCar race at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway road course (important detail) that I would be driving. This was alarming mostly because I was late, but also because I wasn’t able to practice at all beforehand. Some historically successful driver with a European name had qualified me fourth, but the team (don’t remember which one, but I think it was one that doesn’t exist, headed by a recent driver who does exist) was riding with me.
It went as expected. I had no idea what I was doing, at one point drove through the cascading wreckage of a rental truck (we recently emptied a storage unit in real life), and still ended up hanging onto fourth place as of the second major break. Yes, for some reason, my dream’s conception of IndyCar included long enough breaks between parts of them to do things like realize I’d left an orange and half a bottle of wine in my cooler last fall, and that the mold they’d sprouted was looking like Davy Jones’s beard in whichever Pirates of the Caribbean that was.
The whole thing was stressful. At the same time, though, it was majorly encouraging. I had no idea what I was doing and yet I was running fourth some time into the race? Also, the thought did occur in the dream that I would make a ton of money even if I lost, because I’ve rightly or wrongly gathered that’s how racecar driving works, to the extent that this fundamental perceived truth is deeply engrained in my subconsciousness. Another thing engrained in there? I Think You Should Leave. The number of times I said, “I have no idea what any of this shit is, and I’m fucking scared,” was high. Upwards of three. It was a long dream, but that is still a lot of times to make the same ITYSL reference.
Why was it important that I was racing at the IMS Road Course? I had a weird sense that I’d be better on the ovals, and it meant that an oval race (the Indy 500, not just any oval race, Stu, you unconscious dolt) was coming up. Also, there were mountains in the scenery around the course. That part was confusing, and I noticed it was confusing but quickly corrected myself. Also I might have peed my pants at one point? I was constantly running late in the dream.
Speaking of Pee
We’re in Colorado right now to meet our friends’ puppy (the meeting is tomorrow through Monday and I am jazzed but Fargo is not with us and does not know what she’s missing, which does make me a little sad), and last night we went to dinner at a spot that served open-flame s’mores. They’d already toasted the marshmallows to some extent, but they still brought them out on a board with a little fire happening on it. Colorado Hibachi, you could say. The place was an old cabin, and there was wood everywhere, and the little firepot was not physically attached to the board, and I have no idea how this hasn’t resulted in a giant fire burning the place down, but that’s not the story here. The story is that immediately after eating this s’more, I had to use the bathroom.
And while I was peeing, with my hands sticky from marshmallows, I sneezed.
It’s always bad to sneeze while peeing if you’re a dude. I don’t know what it’s like if you’re not a dude. I’ve never sneezed while not a dude. If you’re a dude, though, there’s splatter risk, and I am a big enough person to admit that I splattered. I cleaned it up, of course (single-person bathroom made this easy), but then, to bring it back to the marshmallows, I got toilet paper stuck to my fingertips. So, for about 45 seconds before I could get the toilet flushed and the sink turned on, I had all four of toilet paper, boogers, urine, and marshmallow on my hands.
Not the best start to the trip.
But there was another puppy in our row on the flight over, and that was the actual start of the trip, and that was the best. Lil black chow-chow. Kept popping up out of its carrying bag. Eight weeks old. Picked up that day from its breeder in Austin. All-time vibes from that puppy.
The Killers Are Coming to Austin
Speaking of pertinent matters to this blog and open-wheel racing, it’s been announced that The Killers will headline Formula 1’s United States Grand Prix this fall in Austin. This is a little confusing, because The Killers are a Las Vegas band and the F1 is also going to Las Vegas this fall. Right? That’s this year? Not next year? I’m so out of the loop on F1.
I’m going to be out of town for a wedding, but I’m glad there’s something this redeeming happening at COTA that weekend. Hopefully it helps the good folks on site outweigh the insufferables. F1’s getting more and more insufferable in America.
Mason Ramsey’s Latest Show
Mason Ramsey played at Northwest Missouri State on Friday night, and I’m starting to think I could get him to play on my birthday party boat this fall if I asked nicely and didn’t tell his handlers about past incidents of ratchetness. I haven’t seen much from the show, but I also haven’t been on TikTok much in the six days since it happened.
Since we’re a geography blog at times, and since we’re also obsessed with all the different colleges in this country, I’m obligated to tell you that NWMSU is in Maryville, which is close to little but is in the dead center, more or less, of the hypothetical triangle you could draw between the great places of Omaha, Des Moines, and Kansas City. Now I’ve got the itch. I’ve got to know if the land is Missouri rolling or Western Iowa flat. This ends with me staying at NWMSU on a future drive from Austin to Minneapolis, I think. The Barking Crow needs to bite the bullet and buy an RV. And not just for the reactions Lyft passengers would have when I pulled up in that bad boy.
Jimmy Butler
I like the Bucks, generally. Maybe that’s bad of me, as a Bulls fan, but I don’t think it is. I like them. I’m not going to go around claiming them, but I’ll cheer for them against most NBA teams, especially if they cut bait on Grayson Allen. This makes me relieved they already won that title, because it was sure fun to watch Jimmy Butler steal their soul these last couple weeks.
I don’t like the Knicks, generally. Their owner kind of kicked the NIT out of Madison Square Garden (more on that in a second), and they’re a big market team that acts like it’s a small market team, which is shameful. So, I hope I get to watch Jimmy Butler steal their soul these next couple weeks.
NIT History Lesson: What Went Wrong at MSG?
The NIT left Madison Square Garden this year, but really, I think you could say it happened with Covid. Covid forced a lot of reevaluating in the sports world. Of a lot of things, it was asked, “Should we keep spending money on this?” I don’t think the NIT or MSG was necessarily spending much money on the other, but it was the same sort of reckoning. The question was asked: “Does this make sense?” The answer was no. Attendance was very poor. New York was an expensive place to host events. After the NIT successfully went to Frisco and Denton without dying, it became kind of clear that it was time to try something different.
There isn’t a lot publicly available on what went down, and I don’t have stellar sources on this or anything, but it’s easy to pin the NIT’s departure on James Dolan because James Dolan is an ass. I don’t think James Dolan necessarily kicked the NIT out—he might have, he might not have, I don’t know—but a lot of history is just everyone agreeing to tell the same story, so let’s tell that one: The NIT isn’t at Madison Square Garden anymore because James Dolan is a malevolent, bumbling fool. One day, let’s tell each other, it will return, but only after MSG goes through the bidding process just like every other city. In the meantime? I’ll work on getting the full story, and let’s all agree to wink and nudge each other to the Palestra in 2025 after the best NIT Final Four in decades happens at Hinkle Fieldhouse in 2024. It’s gotta be the Palestra, guys.
