Indianapolis 500

Last weekend was the running of the Indianapolis 500...I guess.

It was a big deal for me when I was a kid. Back then it wasn't on TV then. We listened to it on the radio.

The broadcast featured a lot of engine sounds plus the narrators' descriptions ("The two lead cars are into Turn 1 racing side by side"). It must have been exciting. We kept the program on the entire race, which must have been about four hours.

I recall the sad day when Bill Vikovich was killed. I believe that he had won the previous two races. I could look it up on Wikipedia, but in this context the details of his racing career are less important than this fact: I loved Bill even though I never met him. I loved him because he was a winner and a risk taker. Then his car crashed. He was dead (whatever that meant to an 10-year-old kid). I was devastated.

And that's the point: I was more connected to someone I never met--someone who didn't know me or even know I existed--than I was about the fate of my neighbors. To me, that's one of the huge downsides of spectatorism: It takes us from our real lives and connects us with fantasies and images.

Who won this year's Indianpolis 500? Were records set? Was anyone hurt or killed? None of it matters to me. But I know this: I spent the four hours of the race (or however long it takes now) on things closer to home.