ON THE ROAD TO INDY

The faithful among us will remember that indeed it was Ol' DC who first put the word out regarding Grand-Am scheduling an Indy race.

Of course, he was a year short the first time and, in one of those moments every writer loves (read with great sarcasm), soon thereafter retracted it.

It's kinda, sorta funny now (and sure to get funnier as the years pass) but I'll likely not forget my landing at Atlanta one year past, heading for some race somewhere, and my phone being alight, um, vibrating with messages far beyond the usual count. So much so that had I been elsewhere and with a certain other . . .  oh, never mind.

Each of the messages concerned my piece on the Indy date (scheduled for 2011; incorrectly so, of course). Some were congratulatory (as if I did a darn thing to get it scheduled) while others were just shrieks of joy from owners like Mike Shank, who could hardly contain himself.

Shank's racing heritage, especially in the cockpit, is open wheel. At one point, he was named "Toyota Atlantic Owner of The Year" or something to that effect after he climbed from the cockpit to the top of a pit stand. So standing on a real Indy race grid with one or more of his cars in the field was an end Shank had pursued for as long as he'd been consciously aware.

Feeling pretty darn good, I worked my voicemail, arriving at Grand-Am president Tom Bledsoe's message.

Playing voicemail tag with Mr. Bledsoe wasn't all that unusual but when I got to his succinctly stated, "DC, we've got to talk," it sent a shot across the bow that'd make proud any Coast Guard cutter gunnery crew.

Dutifully dialing Mr. Bledsoe's number, believe me, I already was clear on one thing: whatever he was to say such wasn't going to be congratulatory.

"Maybe he's giving me a heads up on JJ O'Malley getting fired," I thought to myself. "Maybe Mark Raffauf finally got some good-smelling cigars."

It was neither: Raffauf's cigars still stink, as does JJ, who every morning takes a 5-mile jog before work. (Remember the Peanuts charater who had a "dirt aura?" JJ has an aura of another kind, if you catch my drift.)

"DC, we've got a problem with your Indianapolis piece," he said as my heart sank to my stomach and my stomach went somewhere else. I honestly have no idea exactly where, but it darn sure went.
And the "Delta Jet" hadn't even arrived at the gate. Somewhere on the ATL tarmac today is my stomach.

Moments later, ensconced in my "away office" (Delta Sky Club, and to me it's worth every doggone cent) Ol' DC quickly hacked his retraction.

Today, it seems, bloggers take liberty with journalistic principals, if they even are aware of their existence. I started learning them while a high school sophomore, who scored a cherished job on the newspaper staff. (Actually, I wasn't so inclined to write as I was to goof off, and the newspaper staff was supposedly very good at that. Little did I know.)

Thus, erring factually is tough, mentally and emotionally. And that's what I did; I had erred. Did I mention embarrassment?

Perhaps wrongly so, I imagine most of today's blogger's really don't give a darn if they stretch facts or, even, if they use facts at all.

The scary part? I perceive such attitude as slowly sneaking into today's newspapers and periodicals.

The "Indy Incident," as have others of similar nature, wore heavily on this journalist's heart. It just wasn't the best fun I'd ever had, even though I had incorrectly stated only one material fact: the year in which the Indy race was to occur.

Inasmuch as "negotiations" were in a "delicate phase," this writer chilled, completely so, and the topic was self-deemed verboten in his own space until the appropriate letters had been crossed and dotted between Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Grand-Am and NASCAR.

Indeed, some of those letters had yet to be dotted and crossed when a certain open-wheel reporter weeks ago said that done was the deal.

So, as this writer today heads to Indianapolis Motor Speedway (writing this in one of Hartsfield-Jackson International's Delta Sky Clubs, BTW) now that the T's and I's have been appropriately inked and such has dried above the signatures of all involved, he can accurately say: "I told you so," even if a year out of kilter. (And what in heck IS a "kilter?")

Oh, while I'm thinking about it, the rest of the 2012 schedule, should it come together as now proposed, will be a mindblower. Finally.

Later,

DC