For Many, Turn 4 Is Their Finish Line

If it hadn’t been caked in human blood, it would have been funny.

That’s what Lord Bryce said about Napoleon, but it could have applied to the 76th running of the Indianapolis 500 Sunday.

It was won by the wall--and an Unser--as usual. This was the eighth time an Unser has won it--and the 76th time the wall has. The fire engines were on the track more than the race cars. The last time there were this many crashing, burning vehicles was the battle of El Alamein.

An Unser won it. And Earth is round. An Andretti lost it. And the Pope is Catholic.

It didn’t even go a lap before a car was out. The pole sitter, no less. The pole sitter, by definition, is the best driver in the field, but Roberto Guerrero didn’t even make the pace lap before he piled up. That’s like having an accident backing out of the garage.

Most of the time, it wasn’t a race, it was a parade. They run the race under a (yellow) caution light after crashes until they can sweep the debris--and the people--off the track. Cars then go round in single file until all the blood is mopped up. Eighty-five laps were negotiated that way. The whole race took 3:43:04--and 2:15:15 of that was under yellow. Cars move faster on the Ventura Freeway. But then, the green flag would be dropped and immediately cars would head into the wall. You would have thought they were making a Burt Reynolds movie. Or a Keystone Kops comedy.

It looked for a while as if there would be nothing left on the track but ambulances and fire trucks. Methodist Hospital had more race drivers in it than the Indy 500. You could chart the race by the skid marks--and the blood clots--on the wall. Turn 4 was as deadly to approach as a machine gun nest.

And it wasn’t the wild-eyed rookies who were hanging it on the wall. They were worried about the rookies, but it was the flower of American racing, top drivers, who were crashing. It was Mario Andretti, Tom Sneva, Rick Mears, Emerson Fittipaldi, Arie Luyendyk--former winners all.

They should have given the Borg-Warner trophy to the ambulance drivers. It was the slowest race in 34 years--134.4 m.p.h. isn’t even a good canoe race. America’s Cup boats went almost that fast.

The day was better suited to a dog sled race, a participant of that Alaskan event who worked in a pit crew pointed out. The Indianapolis Iditarod. The day dawned cold and blustery, a gelid wind swept across the straights and low, menacing clouds scudded in low and gray.

This is supposed to make cars run faster. But Indianapolis is as contrary as an Ozark hermit. Cold weather makes tires hard and unyielding and, instead of grabbing the road, they kind of skate over it like a surfboard on a wave. Result: wipeout after wipeout every time a yellow light went off and the green came on. Cars that moments before had pitted for new tires were suddenly pushed full throttle, and they went out of control. More things can go wrong with these things than an office Christmas party.

You might think a phenomenon like this wouldn’t have escaped the notice of the world’s best drivers and mechanics, but even the fact the Roberto Guerrero’s parade-lap crash was caused by this seemed to have been overlooked. Cars slalomed into the wall like guys on too-heavily waxed skis.

The race started as if it weren’t going to be a contest, it was going to be a solo. Michael Andretti doing Carmen. Michael, sixth at the start, set out as if he were Man O’ War and everything else in this race was a burro. He had the fastest car in the race, and he screamed away from the competition. He led the race for 161 laps. Then, the Andretti Jinx came out of the closet--on Lap 190 when he could have tap-danced in for the victory. The car stopped running in sight of Victory Lane. Andretti cars alway s stop there. Dad Mario won this race once, but he should have won it half a dozen times. Indy always deals them a deuce in the hole.

It was a depressing end for Michael Andretti. He had a dead car--and a brother and a father in the hospital with multiple leg and ankle injuries. Indy is a hoodoo to everybody, but it is calamitous to the Andrettis. To lead for 161 laps, all the way to Lap 190, to have the fastest car--and then finish, fittingly, 13th is enough to make you want to join a monastery.

It was, finally, the most exciting race ever. Al Unser Jr., whose family luck is as good as the Andrettis’ is bad, was dueling for second place with a driver nobody ever heard of. I mean, Goodyear is a blimp, right? A tire?

Well, Scott Goodyear is a Canadian driver who knows all about cold tires and who didn’t even qualify his car for this race. A colleague, Mike Groff, did it for him.

The driver switch meant Goodyear had to start in the absolute caboose of the race--33rd, the last car in the last row.

All of a sudden, he and young Unser had the race all to themselves. It was Dempsey-Tunney, Hogan-Snead, Notre Dame-USC for 10 laps.

Unser was harder to get by than a fat shopper in a supermarket. His car, for some strange reason, was quicker through Turns 1 and 2, he explained. Goodyear’s car was quicker in Turns 3 and 4.

They went around the track as if they were tied together. Young Unser used all the track to keep Goodyear in his rearview mirror.

When he came up to Turn 4 the last time, the steward was unwrapping the checkered flag, but Unser had to recall this corner of the world was an elephant’s graveyard. In 1989, he couldn’t help remembering, a 199th-lap shunt with Emerson Fittipaldi knocked him out of the race. He didn’t want to end the race in Turn 4 as so many had already done. He “lifted” (took his foot ever so slightly off the accelerator) to survive.

It was all the signal Goodyear needed. He screamed to the attack.

They came down to the finish line. It was 0.043 seconds from becoming a dead heat. Goodyear needed 100 more yards. Unser needed the checkered flag.

He got it. Another Unser in Victory Lane. They come by the generation now.

He didn’t exactly inherit it. He fought for it valiantly the last 10 laps. He didn’t keep his powder dry. He kept his tires warm.