Justin Wilson

For the second time in four years, a talented British driver's death will overshadow the end of the IndyCar season, and tonight the racing world is heartbroken after losing a gentle giant in Justin Wilson.

I don't have to tell you what a great guy Wilson was or expound on his talented on the track.  What I will say, though, is that his spirit and passion for this sport certainly impressed me, and that should never be overlooked.  So often we hear stories about drivers who lose their racing seats and disappear, or they get told they're too old for a team to take a chance on them.  Or in this case, maybe they're told that they're too tall.

Justin Wilson experienced all of these things and more throughout his racing career, but he just kept fighting.  You don't have enough money to get into F1?  He sold shares of himself to raise money long before crowdfunding really became a thing.  Your racing series is coming to an end and joining with IndyCar?  He immediately made the switch from ChampCar and dove straight into Indy, undeterred in his desire to race.  You lose your seat?  He switched teams, aided by his amiable personality and undeniable talent.

Perhaps in this last fact we can get a great appreciation for the person he was.  His reputation as a driver and a human being preceded him, certainly helping him network and continue to pursue a full-time drive.  And teams took note, knowing full well that he was a consistent, fast, intelligent and personable driver suitable for any team.

With every threat to his career, Wilson found a way to keep going.  Just this year he faced the proposition of a 2015 without IndyCar, but Michael Andretti felt comfortable enough with Wilson's reliability that he provided another car for a partial schedule until more sponsorship could be found.  Wilson delivered on this opportunity just weeks ago with a second-place finish at Mid-Ohio.

But Justin wasn't always smiling.  Put him in a race car, whether it's in Formula 1, IndyCar or Le Mans, and suddenly he was all business.  His intensity shone through his helmet, and it wasn't hard to tell how much he wanted to win—something he did seven times over the course of his American open wheel career.

When he got out of the car, though, the smile would return, the intensity would subside, and he would go back to being generous, tall, soft-spoken Justin, ever the British gentleman to his fans.

We can go on for as long as we want about his character, but the sad fact is, there's a wife and two little daughters grieving tonight.  There's a brother pouring out his soul and admiration for his best friend on Twitter with one heartbreaking tweet after another.  And there's a worldwide racing family mourning and wondering what to do.  After all, we're less than five days away from the first practice session for the final race of the year.

When Dan Wheldon was killed four years ago, at least it was already the final race of the year.  We had an entire offseason to collect ourselves, to be sad and to come together as a confused and distraught family.  But as so often happens in this sometimes cruel and complicated sport, it must go on, and seven days after the accident we'll be back at a circuit to decide the title.  I'm not really sure which is better for healing, honestly, but I'm glad we haven't had enough of these instances for me to decide.

One thing I do know is that the pain and loss will serve a purpose, whether or not we know it yet.  We race every week in IndyCar with the safety measures developed in part by Wheldon in a car bearing his initials.  The Brazilian contingent and many others will tell you that growing up, they wanted emulate the racing exploits of their hero, Ayrton Senna, whose presence can still be felt at tracks around the world after his 1994 death prompted a worldwide revolution in racing safety.  Many race with carbon fiber reinforcement in their helmets after Felipe Massa's near-fatal injury at the Hungarian Formula 1 Grand Prix in 2009.  The list goes on.

Many often criticize racing for only reacting after these incidents occur, but I'm not ready to go into that debate just yet, whether it be about oval racing or closed cockpits.  We can discuss that later, after we've mourned, after we've paid due respects.   It deserves a conversation, no doubt, but now is not the time.  Now is the time to be sad for Justin's family and to send our prayers for his daughters.

This week, let's come together just like we did after Dan, knowing that we were lucky to be able to watch Justin do what he loved.  Know that his loss is being felt around the globe tonight as the news has trended worldwide on Twitter for a few hours now, aided by the thousands of tributes and messages of sympathy from drivers and fans alike.  Know that the racing world will never forget this gentle giant from Sheffield.

"The brave and the fearless accept the risks of what they do because for them Life is Challenge," Steve Matchett said tonight.  "Their great courage teaches us to be strong."

Godspeed, Justin.

On his birthday, a look at Fernando Alonso's future

Fernando Alonso spoke candidly last week about having his interest piqued by other racing series around the world, as the Spaniard continues to be mired toward the back of the pack in his ailing McLaren, even after scoring a rare double-points finish on Sunday.  Finding his disenchantment with Formula 1 growing, I can't help but think that the double World Champion's feelings speak not only for himself but for Jenson Button, Nico Hulkenberg and even quite a few F1 fans around the globe.  The sport's supposed shortcomings could fill several blogs, but what interests me most are the complex factors acting on Fernando Alonso right now and where his future may lie.

The Oviedo native is 34 years old today with 15 years of F1 experience to his name (neither of which I can really believe; his successes at Renault seem like they happened a few years ago, not a decade).  Winless for two years, a man whose peers have repeatedly voted him the best driver on the grid has had plenty of time to do some soul searching lately, retiring from no fewer than five races in 2015.

For Alonso to battle the rest of the grid is tough enough, but in the last couple of years he's had to account for a pair of factors relatively unfamiliar to him:  An awful car, and age.

The foibles of McLaren are maddening enough to test the most resilient of drivers (and believe me, Jenson is proving that with every positive interview he manages to eke out), and it's been far too many years since Fernando has had to grapple with a car this bad.  In fact, some would argue that he never has.

But what complicates his fight even more is an ever-increasing number beside his name.  You'd be forgiven for failing to brush off a mental image of a 25-year-old Alonso, but he's different now whether or not you can picture it.  He's wiser, he's more composed, and he's weathered vast amounts of good and bad since then.

Throughout it all, his passion never seemed to abate.  Even in the worst of times at Ferrari he knew the car was capable of springing an upset, and the outflow of emotion witnessed after his home victory proved a palpable outlet for what had been a long pent-up (yet unrewarded) optimism.  Although a few hairs had grayed since those days at Renault, the spring in his step remained, the fire in his eyes burned furiously.

Nearly two years removed from that Ferrari win in Spain, we see a different Alonso unafraid to admit that his situation and outlook on the sport are far from ideal.  Hampered by countless factors already, a further planned reduction in testing next year has only added more uncertainty to McLaren-Honda's efforts to lift themselves out of the back rows.

Between the disappointing outlook, unfavorable rule changes and the knowledge that time may not be on his side, Alonso is right to consider other outlets regardless of if he admits it.


Nico Hulkenberg's Le Mans win stirred the paddock into a small frenzy, both thrilled at an active F1 driver taking the 24 Hours and excited to discuss the possibilities of future crossovers.  When it emerged that Alonso had nearly followed suit to La Sarthe, this revealed the Spaniard's hand slightly.

Now we know that the World Endurance Championship is a viable outlet for his efforts.  We know that he considered it, and it is highly unlikely that whatever desire that drove him to investigate WEC has disappeared.  Given the growing fanfare surrounding it this year, why not add Alonso to an already impressive lineup of world class drivers?  The allure that pushed Mark Webber to transition is not that hard to understand, but here again the 2005/2006 World Drivers Champion may be battling the clock.

What if the WEC proves to be a dead end, though?  Of the stages outside of Formula 1, it is arguably the biggest in the racing world right now, but let's say a deal could not be had with the likes of Porsche or Audi.

DTM once occupied a similar niche as WEC, seeing the likes of Mika Hakkinen, David Coulthard and Ralf Schumacher leave F1 in search of fresh competition and winnable races.  It seems less popular now, but I would hardly say it's not a viable option.

Formula E is also gaining steam (er...electrons?), but despite the presence of Jarno Trulli, Nick Heidfeld and Vitantonio Liuzzi, this burgeoning series seems keen to maintain an air of youth and newness.  While I'm sure FE would welcome a legend like Alonso, I don't think such a deal would be high on their priorities list.

Alonso could do far worse than exploring his options in IndyCar, too.  Already a noted viewer of the Indianapolis 500, he was joined by Sebastian Vettel this year in saying that it would be fun someday to try the 500, perhaps when their F1 days were over.  (At this point it would have to be since Monaco and the 500 are due to clash yet again next May.)

Alonso would certainly be taking a gamble, though.  As the first F1 World Champion to enter IndyCar in quite some time, he would probably be a hot commodity.  Known for his brilliance on road courses, he is wholly untested on ovals, but the benefits may outweigh the disadvantages.

He would probably be able to emulate Michael Schumacher's experiences here by enjoying a quieter life in a country where far fewer people will recognize him on the street.  A less demanding schedule that has a shorter season, fewer races and barely any of the travel miles would certainly be a plus, but not every IndyCar transition has been as successful as Juan Pablo Montoya's.

Look at Rubens Barrichello, for instance.  A Formula 1 record holder and 11-time race winner, Barrichello arrived on the scene eager to get back in a winning car after an unbelievably long career in F1.  Friends with Tony Kanaan and a media darling for the Brazilian press, Rubens tested and drove for KV Racing in 2012 with much anticipation.  Despite earning Rookie of the Year honors at the Indy 500, the affable fan favorite scored just two top-five finishes en route to P12 in the championship.  Unable to find a drive the very next year, he returned to Brazil to compete for Peugeot in stock cars.  (He would win their championship in 2014—his first of any series since 1991.)


What if Alonso finds himself in the same situation, though?  Or even worse, what if the same thing that nearly forced him into a pseudo-sabbatical this year happens again?  What if an ill-timed breakdown in bargaining leaves him high and dry from any racing series?  Some would argue that he wouldn't be worse off than he is right now, haplessly and single-handedly pushing his wounded car back to the Hungaroring's pit lane on a 90°F day.

And even if the monetary element of the deal could go through, every year brings Alonso closer to a time when a prospective team may say "I'm sorry, but we'd like someone younger in our seat."  Aging may be delayed, but it's never halted.  Reflexes eventually slow, fitness proves harder to achieve and recovery times extend.  It's inevitable, regardless of the athlete.  Even for Fernando Alonso.

But what if he chooses to stay in the sport and finish his career with McLaren?  How will the annals of history look back on this stretch in his career?  The almost magical finish on Sunday certainly helps, possibly as a harbinger of things to come should the team continue to improve.  But I'm almost certain that few people watched Alonso celebrate his second World Championship back in 2006 and thought "That's that.  He'll never win another one."  I know I didn't.  In fact, everyone I knew said quite the opposite, that we were just beginning to see the potential and brilliance of this brash new champion.

Even so, all that time without winning another title will do nothing to his legacy.  Some may lament or show surprise that he didn't win again during that stretch, but his race victories and near misses at season finales will maintain his stature.  Pairing that with his grit and determination in perennially-struggling Ferraris shifts the focus from what could have been to what may have been wasted.  His time at McLaren only cements that chapter of his career in review, pending a momentous turnaround next year.

I can't help but think that people will now look back at Alonso's past and think "He made all the wrong moves at all the wrong times.  He left McLaren when he should have stayed.  He stayed at Ferrari when he should have left.  He left for McLaren when he should have stayed at Ferrari."  And since we'll never know what could have been had he made those alternative decisions, you'd be hard pressed to prove them wrong.

Much like overtaken cars in your rearview mirrors, though, what's past is past.  For Fernando, that which cannot be rewritten must not be overthought.  The only thing he can do is to decide how he moves forward.  If that's staying with McLaren, so be it.  If it's exploring a different lifestyle in IndyCar or pushing hard for wins in WEC, then I certainly wish him the best.

Either way, for a team like McLaren, one good result does not rescue an entire season, so while Fernando may be all smiles heading into the three-week break before Spa, it's a bit premature to put on rose-colored glasses and be content with his situation.

Forty-five years on, why Jim Clark's death still matters to Formula 1

Forty-five years ago yesterday, the world of Formula 1 changed forever.  Shockwaves rang all around the globe.  The racing community entered a state of shocked mourning.  Jim Clark was dead.

His fatal injuries delivered amidst the dense forests of the Hockenheimring, no one saw the crash that took his life.  Yet as his crumpled F2 Lotus lay smoldering in the trees, some of the greatest drivers of the day began to reassess their participation in the sport.

“If Jim Clark could die at the hands of a race car, what are our chances?” they began to ask.  Formula 1 was inherently dangerous, of course, but for it to have taken the life of the greatest driver of all time, especially in such a nondescript, mysterious way in a junior series, something was wrong.

In that day, it was not an easy task to upset F1 drivers.  They knew how deadly their sport was.  All of them grew up watching and participating in local competitions, the informality of which lent itself to terrifying and often fatal accidents.  They were not so far removed from the board track days of commentators yelling ‘The fearless racers are coming into town tonight, risking life at every turn for your entertainment!’  They knew that from the beginning of the season until the end, at least one of their fellow drivers would not make it, and that was that.

But Clark’s death shook the drivers in such a way that had not been felt in ages.  Graham Hill, Jackie Stewart, Jack Brabham, John Surtees and Chris Amon---all friends and competitors of Clark---were deeply troubled by his loss.  Ask any driver today who raced with Clark in that time period, and they’ll tell you that crash resonates as strongly today as it did 45 years ago.

So why does this matter?  Nearly half a century has passed.  The old Hockenheim is gone, swallowed by the trees that took many lives over the years, and somewhere in the middle of it is a small, humble memorial set up for the two time World Champion Jim Clark.  So we lost an incredible driver.  That’s happened again since then, so why does this anniversary matter to Formula 1 today?

After Clark’s death, drivers like Jackie Stewart began to see the errors of their sport.  What is now runoff and gravel traps at modern circuits used to be fences and trees to the world of 1960s Grand Prix racing.  This was still four years removed from F1 making seat belts mandatory.  Drivers died just as often of fire from the metal fuel tanks on which they sat as they did from the actual crashes.

“We thought hay bales were enough to protect the crowds,” legendary motor sport journalist Chris Economaki told me years ago.  It was a nonchalant feeling that if you wanted to go watch a race, you were willing to sit in the path of a 180mph metal rocket full of a flammable cocktail of fluids.  After Jim Clark, and reinforced by the horror at Monza in 1961 (a crash of which Clark had been a part), this began to change.

Stewart’s now-famous march toward greater F1 safety started after a harrowing and terrifying crash at Spa-Francorchamps, but his resolve was further strengthened 45 years ago yesterday when his friend and on-track rival Clark was killed.  The feelings and ensuing changes were not unlike what modern racing went through when Ayrton Senna lost his life at Imola 19 years ago:  A World Drivers Champion killed in his car after setting the racing world on fire and breaking F1’s longstanding records.  People were shocked.  People demanded change, and they got it.  From Senna’s death, Formula 1 is a safer place, forced to reassess its mentality and thoroughness in driver care.

But F1 would not have been in such a position and arguably may not have had as much success were it not already shocked several times in the past by such losses.  Not to overlook or downplay the role that losing Gilles Villeneuve, Jochen Rindt, Ronnie Peterson or countless others had in the previous 30 years before Imola, but losing the Flying Scotsman was different at that time.

He was not just a World Champion, he was everywhere.  In 1965 alone he competed in 59 different events, ranging from the Tasman Series, to the Indianapolis 500, to Formula 1, to F2 and sports cars.  He won the Indy 500 once (and came close several other times were it not for mechanical issues).  He dabbled in NASCAR (something few remember, but he had relative success were it not for mechanical problems there, too).  He won more Tasman championships in Australia and New Zealand than F1 championships, all the while winning more Grands Prix and capturing more pole positions than any Grand Prix driver in history.  And he only finished second in one race in his entire 71-race F1 career.

His attention to even the minutest details made him a perfectionist both in and out of the car---and in racing that’s not always a bad thing.  But people criticized him, saying he could only win from pole position and that he couldn’t fight his way through the field.  His choice to race the Indy 500 instead of the Monaco Grand Prix drew ire from some.  But Clark was not interested in this.

He would fire back at the critics through carefully written newspaper columns, but he would leave it at that.  His gentle schoolboy-like demeanor would disappear when he stepped into a racecar and tightened his dark blue Bell Magnum helmet onto his head.  And that’s how many remember him.  The rather demure personality and finger biting Jim Clark disappeared in the race car, where he instead entered a state of zen, never driving out of anger or aggression.  He was on another level, both with his competition and his car handling.

But when Clark’s funeral was attended by racing legends from all over the globe, the sport collectively took a step back and wondered what could be done.  The result was a slow and steady march toward the safety of Grand Prix racing as we know it today.  It also forced the fans to grapple with the mortality of even the best drivers out there---something that the crowd, even today, tend to forget or set aside. 

One thing they don’t forget is the brilliance of a youngster named Jim Clark.  Ask any racing driver out there, and they will hold Clark in high regard.  Ask IndyCar champion Dario Franchitti, who has an enormous collection of Clark memorabilia filling rooms of his house, and he’s incredibly quick to tell you that his countryman was the greatest racing driver who ever lived.  Will we see another Jim Clark in our era?  Perhaps not.  There has never been anyone quite like him, and although he was only in the international racing spotlight for under a decade, tales of his skill and accomplishments are known worldwide and are still discussed in Formula 1 circles today.  His loss changed Grand Prix racing, but so did his driving and charisma while he was alive.  That’s why the anniversary matters.  That’s why he matters.

Dan Wheldon

I'm gutted right now, far beyond what I ever have been while watching races. Ever since my life began to weave together with motor sport a few years ago I knew a day like today would happen. It's inevitable in our sport, regardless of what we believe to be leaps and bounds in safety measures, yet it's still impossible to accept.

I watched the start of the race today hopeful that there would be a fantastic battle between Dario Franchitti and Will Power to decide the championship. More than anything, though, I was really hoping Dan Wheldon would come all the way from last in the field to win the race and the $5 million that awaited a lucky fan and him. It was a ploy of GoDaddy to offer Wheldon this challenge because he still lacked a full-time ride this year or next, and he eagerly agreed.

He got a great start, already up a few positions when it happened. There was nothing he could do given his position on track and the punishingly fast speeds the cars traveled. Fifteen cars in all were collected, but Dan was in the most serious shape. The ominous yellow tarp draped over his car after they extracted him did not imply anything directly other than the severity of the accident.

As minutes turned to hours with no word on his condition, everyone feared for the worst. Pictures online showed the roll hoop on his car completely missing after he struck the catch fence. I've never seen anything like this, as that's often the strongest part of the car. The mood grew more somber, but as the shock of the accident was starting to subside, the anxiety of not knowing turned to inconsolable sorrow.

Randy Bernard, who dreamed up the idea of this season-ending 'world championship,' quickly got to the point and announced that we had lost Dan Wheldon. "Unsurvivable injuries" were cited, and the words slowly sunk in.

Since I've followed this fantastic sport of racing, many have died worldwide. It's undoubtedly a dangerous sport, but never before had I been apart of something like this. I've never seen a driver killed during a race live on TV. Moreover, I've never lost a driver of whom I was an enormous fan and respected greatly. Part of me knew that I would feel it someday, but I never dreamed that it would be today.

I watched Wheldon win at the Iowa Speedway years ago, and I cheered for him every year in the Indianapolis 500. I wanted to go watch him test next year's car, but I wasn't able to do so. I wanted to meet him when I went to a race this year. He was a close friend to another of my favorite drivers, Tony Kanaan, and it crushed me to watch him weep openly on the pit wall before the news had officially broken. I knew, but I certainly did not want to believe.

Even hearing Randy Bernard's words I still couldn't believe it. A painful twang hit me in that moment which I have only experienced a handful of times. Dan Wheldon is gone.

As we struggle to cope with this loss, we not only feel the pain of his passing but also the shocking realization of how real our sport is. We lose sight of the danger in it all, even though we acknowledge it in passing whenever the cars get close on track or brush the wall. "I'm glad he's okay," we say, or "That could have been a really bad one." Yet we never really grasp that the danger is so close. This comes from a sense of security we've come to know in the last decade. Racing drivers don't die in crashes. Dale Earnhardt's death in 2001 came as a freak accident resulting from a crash that didn't look that bad on the outside. People shook their heads in disbelief but knew that he liked open-faced helmets and loose belts. Should that have killed him? No. When Zanardi's legs were torn off and he didn't die, people felt that we dodged a bullet. Or when Kenny Brack looked like he was killed in Texas years ago (another race I watched live), people were astounded that he survived. Think about Robert Kubica in Canada when he limped away with a sprained ankle, or when Felipe Massa was literally centimeters from being killed in Hungary. There hasn't been a shortage of close calls.

For NASCAR, their safety measures and car designs have ensured that drivers have remained relatively safe since 2001, and I thank God for that. Indy hasn't been so lucky with their greatly increased speeds and open cockpits, but despite Paul Dana's death at Homestead Miami, even the most vicious wrecks were escaped. Will Power can attest to that, as he both came back from severe injuries to challenge for championships and lost a championship today in another horrendous crash.

Today we are reminded that life is short (in Dan's case, a mere 33 years) but that in such a brief time so much can be accomplished if we invest ourselves the way Dan Wheldon did in those dreams. He wanted nothing more than to have a full-time ride so he could do what he loved, and ultimately he died doing it. Some drivers say they want to go that way, and I honestly don't know if Dan was that type or not. Because of the love that he had for his wife and two sons, part of me says he would put their lives and well-being before his own. Who knows?

One thing is certain, though, and that is the fact that we were lucky to know Dan, to share in his successes and see the humor and genuineness of his personality. We were lucky to hear the

commentators speak to him before the race, to hear the joy in his voice at his opportunity to help Sam Schmidt, please his sponsors and help countless others with the $5 million he was trying to win. I had no idea that would be the last time we would ever hear his voice, but I'm thankful we got to be a part of that joy and hope as he faced the limitless possibilities before him. Dan was a great guy, and I'm so proud that every driver on the IndyCar circuit will benefit from his safety testing of next year's car. It's only fitting he generously helped the sport from which he had been shut out this year.

Our sport can be a painful one, accompanied by tragedy, death, glory and thrill. Days like today will happen, but I thank God they don't happen very often. Every race I watch I'm silently grateful that we can go through a season expecting that every driver starting the season will finish. I'm so glad that we no longer have to worry about each crash trapping a driver in a flame-engulfed car. But in the end we must realize that our sport will always be dangerous. The human body can only take so much no matter how strong the car is, and as long as our sport is open cockpit and open wheel, there is still the possibility of this happening. It's something the pioneers of racing knew very well, and it's through their sacrifices and triumphs, just like those of Dan Wheldon, that our sport will continue to grow and honor their memories. It will be tough when next season begins, but we'll get through it. Just like watching the movie "Senna", through tragedy and loss we learn to appreciate what we have and strive to retain it. Wheldon did that every year he raced, and he wore those emotions on his sleeve. God bless him. He will be missed.

Just as fake as the headlights on her stock car

It seems so often that I think of great blog topics, but as the day goes on I realize I won't have any time to get them written. This is a bit disappointing, although I try to keep as many of them as possible stored away inside my head. When I do get a chance, I often have to pick and choose what to write based on my time frame, and I think that's what I will try to do tonight.

A while back I got a chance to meet Danica Patrick. While this may cause some to weaken at the knees and become giddy as schoolgirls, it got a healthy eye roll from me when I found out. Hooray? I was going to have to travel and go to the skybox of a man I've never met, but supposedly she would arrive and be on hand for something. I began to think of questions and clever little ways I could ask her things. Most importantly, though, I wanted to see if she was truly as unpleasant in real life as she appeared on television. Little did I know how clear an answer I would get.

She arrived a few minutes after she was supposed to be in the skybox (not a surprise). The agent lady with her authoritatively announced that she would be on hand shortly and would only be taking pictures. Line up against the wall, don't talk to her too much, don't ask her to sign anything (we would be getting pre-signed pictures anyway), and they will have a photographer there to take pictures. Sure enough, she arrived as unhappily as she could, never taking her eyes off the diecast cars she was to sign. Her steely, serious look never changed as she kept her head down signing the little cars, moving silently down the line as people called out to her to say hello. When she was done she gave a half smile to no one in particular and moved to the end of the room where the pictures would commence.

My dad and I were toward the front of the line, randomly, and he kept egging me on to take out my little notepad and get her autograph, but I was hesitant. While we waited I glanced at her feet and saw Converse shoes---the same brand I was wearing, although hers were gray and mine were Ferrari red with Corsa on the sides. When it was finally my turn, just as she had done with everyone else, she frowned up until the point that the camera clicked. I stood next to her, towering over her petite frame that could only manage to dwarf my chest.

"Hi," I smiled sheepishly, seeing if I could get a reaction out of her before the picture.

She only partially turned her head my way, expressionlessly saying "Hey."

"I like your shoes," I grinned, pointing down to her Converses. "Great minds think alike!"

She looked down, her mouth back into her usual pout after faking a half-smile for the picture. "Oh. Yeah," she said matter-of-factly.

I pulled out my notepad and asked if she could sign it, and she literally reached out and tried to shut it. "No, there's a picture over there," she said pushing it away, "That's bigger than a little sheet of paper."

I paused for a moment before walking away, her (probably) autopenned picture burning my fingers out of a Go Daddy-induced blasphemy. I looked at my dad, who had seen and heard our entire conversation. I could tell the pressure in him was building, yet he also put on a fake smile and had his picture taken before walking away. "See ya later," he quietly said through gritted teeth.

As soon as he reached me, though, the smile faded.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he said staring at the door.

I agreed and we left quickly, telling Jim (the man whose company owned the skybox) thanks for having us and giving us pit/garage passes. We exited swiftly, and upon the door's closing my dad blurted out, "Holy shit, she is the biggest turd of misery I've ever seen! Who the hell does she think she is?!"

I laughed and agreed, "I didn't know whether to laugh or be mad when I was in there! She's exactly like I imagined!"

"She didn't smile, she didn't talk to anyone. Why anyone would think she was worth a damn I don't know!" my dad continued as we walked into an elevator. The female attendant shot us a curious look thinking we were talking about her.

"Danica," my dad clarified. "We just met her; we weren't impressed."

"You should have seen her the first few times she came here," she lady rolled her eyes. "She was followed by tons of bodyguards, used disguises, on and on."

It made for an interesting rest of the day as we walked around the track. Every Danica merchandise-clad fan that passed I just wanted to shake them and say "How can you like such an unpleasant person?! Doesn't personality or class mean anything to you? It must not, but then again you certainly couldn't like her for her driving..."

Just today my dad saw Jim again who asked him what he thought of Danica at the race. He said that he wasn't too happy.

"Wasn't she a piece of crap?" Jim asked. "The whole time she didn't laugh or smile or do anything! That was a mistake getting her to come, wasn't it?"

He proceeded to act out an alternative scene of Danica's arrival, instead having her apologize for not being able to sign autographs but thanking everyone for coming out to see her and support her. She was smiling, flipping her hair, waving to people and genuinely smiling.

Unfortunately this scene was all acted out by a 6'3 200+ lbs man with a deep voice instead of Danica herself. He told my dad that the pictures we took were being printed, framed and would be sent to us. Yippee.

It just perplexes me that people could still cheer for her without caring one bit about what kind of person she is toward her fans or even her fellow drivers. A relatively new Indy fan once asked me if any of the drivers had huge rivalries, and as I began to name them, I realized that 90% of them involved Danica and someone else.

"So basically it's Danica versus everyone else?" he asked. I thought that summed it up well.

The only one she didn't outwardly hate at the time was the much-maligned Milka Duno, but that was only because she had stood up to the prima donna by throwing her gloves at her (I gave her props to that, since only a woman could retaliate without fear of backlash by the public).

Later that day I walked through the garages and pits, and every time I would see a driver I would wave and yell "Good luck today!" Of all the drivers I contacted, every one of them smiled and waved back. Some, like Tony Kanaan and Helio Castroneves gave thumbs up, too. I even had a very pleasant conversation with Kevin Kalkhoven who generously gave his time to talk to me. I watched carefully as fans tried to interact with Danica, and rarely did she ever even make eye contact back with them, let alone wave or acknowledge them. I couldn't believe it. I just knew that the crowd would go crazy when they announced her in the driver parade (I gave a small boo), but they obviously didn't know her or didn't care. Men can't see past the body (whose appeal is naturally boosted by being around nearly all males), and both genders can't get over the fact that she's a woman in IndyCar. That, alone, is enough for them to root for her. But why shouldn't that same thing be happening to Simona de Silvestro? Or Ana Beatriz? To me they should be a hell of a lot more attractive than Danica, both in looks and personality.

Thankfully I think that as more interviews occur, more and more people are starting to see that Danica pales in comparison to Simona and Ana and Pippa Mann and the other women climbing through the ranks. I already thought it was a no-contest between Sarah Fisher and her back before SF became a car owner. But oh well. Should Danica jump ship and fly away to the fairyland that is NASCAR, good riddance. Let her find more money there and a whole new demographic. Let her smash into other cars to her heart's desire and pick fights with people who may just fight back. Let her lay on the hood of her car in her sponsor-covered bikini touting an "Official" something "of NASCAR." Her affection toward the camera will be just as fake as the headlights on her stock car, but she'll be all the better for it. Give her ride to someone who deserves to race in Indy. Give it to someone who knows that he or she will actually have to win more than once in 140+ starts to keep the drive. Give it to someone who will care about the fans. I certainly won't miss her.