Welcome to the Silent Pagoda … the single most ill-informed, inexperienced, decidedly majestic racing blog on the planet. To be honest, it’s destined to be embraced by beatniks and drunkards alike.
But probably not overly serious IndyCar fans.
Because if you’re looking for technical, constructive, factual information … this isn’t the place for you. It’s just not. There’s no “technical” racing analysis here. There’s nothing even close to it, actually. Nor will there be. Partly because we wouldn’t even know how, but mainly because such staunch seriousness goes against everything we stand for.
And if you don’t know what the Pagoda stands for by now, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not saying you’ll never get it. But I’m not not saying it either.
Let’s get to your inevitable questions.
Is this a joke?
Then what are you doing here?
As was explained to us, we’re the liaison between the IndyCar Series and the 302 million other kind-hearted Americans who don’t religiously follow open-wheel racing. We speak their language, frankly. And we’re here to guide them through a full season of open-wheel racing. We’re their selfless IndyCar Sherpas, so to speak.
We’re also here to continuously denounce Dario Franchitti, retaliatory arson, and anyone who feels that Danica talks like a dude.
So what does all that mean?
In short, it means we’re going to cover the IndyCar series much like a 6-year-old might cover an NBA game: Yeah … the on-court action is fun. But you know what? That gorilla repelling down from the rafters is pretty f—ing sweet too. I don’t see Rick Bucher talking about THAT.
The Pagoda will always recognize the splendor of the repelling gorillas, so to speak. Because that’s what winners do.
Do you have any journalistic experience?
If by “journalistic experience” you mean “writing snarky and bourbon-fueled sports-related tirades that may or may not be lucid” … yes. We do. But on the journalistic ladder, we’re one rung below a Hardee’s coupon. And one rung above Jack Arute’s blog.
(And so it begins. The blood feud. Go to hell, Arute.)
Do you Pagoda people even watch the IndyCar Series?
Some of us do. Some watch more than others. Some don’t watch at all.
Personally speaking, I first started watching the races last year — during my contentious 14-week tryout with the IRL. My summer of IndyCar went as follows: (1) watch race; (2) write something profound — some might say Hemingway-ian — about race; (3) have Brian Barnhart scoff at me and otherwise voice how incredibly unimpressed he was; and, (4) repeat.
The point is, I learned a great deal about the sport last year. Most notably, I learned that Tony Kanaan is one of the six most badass humans on Earth. (As an aside, he’s just that guy. Unimaginably reckless and hard-core.) And realistically, until some other driver opts to snort a fifth of ethanol while thrashing an opponent’s car with a severed tree limb … Kanaan will continue to wear the Crown as the League’s preeminent badass. That I know.
Beyond that, I know very little about the IndyCar Series.
What are your goals with this blog?
First and foremost, the Pagoda strives to come across as blindingly self-important. We want into that upper echelon of pretentious, awesomely cocksure writers (see: Edgar Allen Poe; Mike Lupica; whoever wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls; William Faulkner; and Jose Canseco).
Also, we want to portray the fact that watching the IndyCar Series can be immensely awesome — even for those unfamiliar with the sport — provided that you give it a chance … that you know what to look for. Our goal, obviously, is to point you in the right direction.
(And just so we’re clear here, “the right direction” most often means “Tony Kanaan’s jaw-dropping insanity.” Not always, mind you. But usually. The man bounces through traffic like a meth’d-out proton. It’s highly compelling theater, really.)
Quickly, here are a few more goals currently being pursued*:
(1) Destroy Jack Arute;
(2) Secure a fully-loaded Honda Ridgeline for the Pagoda’s personal use — the kind used by the Delphi Safety Team — which comes with 18 fire extinguishers, fender-mounted shovels, and the ability to go 170 mph;
(3) Continuously explore the vast magnificence of Willy T. Ribbs;
(4) Have Curt Cavin physically threaten us;
(5) Obtain recognition from Pulitzer committee;
(6) Make it known that we accept any and all forms of tomfoolery, bribes;
(7) Keep Marco Andretti away from our women folk;
(8) Pit Roger Penske against an adult puma in a battle to the death … watch as overmatched puma gets quickly subdued by man’s raw power and superior cunning; and,
(9) Get Malcolm Jamal Warner onto the Pagoda staff.
(*This list is subject to change.)
Why “The Silent Pagoda?” What’s with that? What are you, a Taiwanese playwright?
Well, actually … [giving the Jedi "move-along" gesture] … the title of this blog is of no concern to you, friend. You have other, more off-topic questions to ask.
I have an off-topic question to ask: who was the better 1980’s-era single dad … Philip Drummond or Edward Stratton III?
Stratton, no doubt. He had a train running through his living room. A F–ING TRAIN, I tell you!!! That’s the American dream right there. That man got it. He just got it.
Finally we agree on something. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.
Thanks. And that really wasn’t a question.
Can I go now?