Long time believer, first time complainant.
(That’s not entirely true, I suppose. Remember that time I handcuffed my little brother to a tree limb and laughingly left him dangling there? Sure you do, it was hilarious. He almost lost his arm that day — and then You swiftly gave me an upper respiratory infection and a week in the ICU. Well, I quibbled with Your punishment at the time. Found it a bit harsh. But looking back, You were tough — but fair. That is beside the point, however.)
Listen here, Your Holiness — I come before You today not for my own benefit, but in defense of another. I come before You on Tony Kanaan’s behalf.
This mustn’t continue on like this. This is madness, and You’ve gone too far.
You’re obviously well aware of his Cosmic crime, and from the looks of it, you remain greatly troubled by it. I get it. I understand Your displeasure — maybe moreso than anyone else alive. I mean, he did make verbal & written promises to sponsor The Clambake — a charitable function not only designed to help kids with cancer, but also to put TK himself squarely into Your good graces. Of course, once his name was added to the official title of the event, he welched on every single one of those agreed upon committments … but not before going completely incommunicado. Promises were broken. Contractual obligations went unfulfilled. No explanations were given. No reasons cited. No remorse. No apologies. No nothing.
Needless to say, the latter stages of The ‘Bake turned rather anti-Kanaan-ish. It got ugly, as you know. We are not proud of this, nor do we particularly regret it. It’s just that he was — and remains — the favorite driver of the Pagoda, and we felt mightily scorned. And dangerously inebriated. And as the old equation goes, scorn + inebriation + mob rule = widespread savagery & shit getting violently tiki-torched. So it was during the Salem Witch Trials, and so it was last Saturday night. Universal truths rarely change.
We were NOT wishing him ill, mind You. We weren’t hoping for him to get sepsis & go blind, for example. That is bad form, and we are gentlemen. Rather, we were merely venting pent-up frustrations (albeit via Molotov Cocktails and righteous fury). After all, much time & money went into the ‘Bake, and to be quite honest, it was done for him. For his benefit. For his fortunes to change at Indy. And if children on the oncology floor could reap the financial benefits of the effort, all the better. The stars seemed aligned for TK this time around, and we aligned them. For whatever reasons, though, he chose to un-align them.
Your Brickyard Wrath, therefore, was inevitable — and we understood this. We accepted it. We anticipated it, even. We suspected You’d snap his half-shaft or give him great understeer or plague his starter with debilitating Bacon Bits or the like — something to that trivial affect. Something that would quietly & safely end his day. Again.
Alas, You chose otherwise. You chose to crush his rib cage into dysfunction after smashing his car into Turn 3. And to be frank, that was uncalled for, Your Honor — and a gross misuse of Your Powers. The punishment did not fit the crime. That he wouldn’t win the 500 was destined … that he’d suffer grave physical injuries as well was unjust. And — if I may speak freely — a bit on the petty side.
Which brings us to the Milwaukee Mile, to the AJ Foyt 225. Where You continued Your furious & unwarranted vengeance against Kanaan.
Where You literally set him on fire.
REALLY, Your Excellency? It wasn’t enough to merely knock him out of the points chase?? Or to allow that courteous devil Scott Dixon to win his 2,479th IndyCar race??? You saw fit to SET HIM ABLAZE too?!?!? Who are You — Ghengis Kahn? Leviticus? Skeletor? This is unlike You, M’Lady. What’s next??? Might You douse him with scolding-hot poppy oil? Impale him with a sharpened pillar of toads? Something MORE archaic & dangerous???
No, this will not stand. This ends right here, right now.
Tony Kanaan is a fine & decent man — a fine & decent man who made an unwise decision. He WILL, however, make amends for his transgression. It’s not a question of if … but rather a question of how. It WILL happen. At some point. Because that is what fine & decent men do.
In the meantime, unhand him. Kindly remove Yourself from the situation and call off Your unending salvo of misfortune. For You’ve gone too far, and I hereby declare an end to the Curse of The Clambake. The man has repaid his Karmatic Debts, and then some. Allow him to go forth in Texas and win. You owe him at least that.
So it is written. And so it shall be.