Indy 37.5 and Counting : A Comedy, but It’s Sure Not Divine

INDIANAPOLIS — O.K., I give up. Take me out, coach. Get me outta here! Start without me.

The Indianapolis 500 is now a mini-series. At this rate--15 laps every two days--we’ll get it in by, oh, say, Labor day.

God is trying to tell us something. To get the ark ready, perhaps.

It’s weather only Noah could like. Actually, it’s a comedy. Tell me, was Chaplin ever funnier than the start of this race Monday? Calling that start “ragged” would be like calling Hitler insensitive.

Really, it looked more like a bust-out than a race. A raided crap game. Cars were flying in every direction. It looked like these guys needed a compass. Guys who are lost run a straighter groove.

They wiped out one whole row of the race (Row 5) on the--get this!--parade lap! Roberto Guerrero was jealous. Three cars hit the wall and disintegrated into a shower of flying tires, nuts, bolts and logos. Kenny Brack, Stephan Gregoire and Affonso Giaffone were out of it before they were even in it.

It was about as organized as an Irish picnic. Never mind whether these engines would last through an Indy 500, it was whether they could even start it. About a sixth of the field was out of it before the pace car pulled off.

These machines have everything in the world to make them go faster and turn quicker, and the Indy engineers have contributed many developments to the art of automobile driving. Like the rear-view mirror.

Better if they came up with a more practical gadget: a windshield wiper. These cars represent the flower of Detroit (and Japanese) engineering. But they can’t run in the rain.

They also need pontoons.

Imagine if your family jalopy had to stay in the garage every time the weather turned bad. We’d still be driving horses.

These cars have six gears, the electronic equipment of a Stealth bomber and state-of-the-art streamlining. But they can’t back up or drive through a shower and are clumsy in the corners. I’d hate to have to park one.

Actually, I’ve seen faster traffic on the Santa Ana Freeway late at night. In the rain.

“We’ve walked 15 laps,” the leader, Tony Stewart, told the press as he came in post-race Monday. The average speed--133.813 mph when the race was stopped--wouldn’t constitute a high-speed chase on our freeways. These guys couldn’t outrun a sheriff.

These cars are lemons. They can’t even turn right. Anyway, they’re canted and tired so that it’s difficult. You couldn’t go to the store in one. They stall at low speed. Even in the pits you have to stand on it.

They’re racing the wrong machines. They should be unlimited hydroplanes. Catamarans.

If you’re ever in Indiana, bring an umbrella. Also, a rowboat. I won’t say it rains a lot here, but along about now Noah would be collecting animals. We’ll start sending doves out any day now. These cars are as allergic to water as your brother-in-law.

The field is right out of Laurel & Hardy. They’ve got a practicing dentist, 13 rookies, a guy who has never been in an oval race, a guy appropriately named Boat who should be a hunch bet and more foreign drivers than New York taxis. You also get Roberto Guerrero, better known as “Captain Crash.”

Even the cars are semi-anonymous. You get 14 Brownie points if you have any idea what a Dallara chassis is. With a fuel-tank limit of 35 gallons, these things should make more pit stops than a guy traveling cross-country with the kids. The yellow lights should run out of bulbs. Ray Harroun might have had a shot in this race. Ralph De Palma would be on the pole.

A lot of guys were surprised they got in even 15 laps. And, of course, six of them didn’t.

In other words, they have enough trouble without the constant rain. “The good Lord is not cooperating with us,” sighed Keith Ward, the chief steward.

Again, maybe it’s because He doesn’t like auto racing.

On the other hand, maybe it’s because He does.