The 2009 IndyCar season is no more, and we are better people for it. There were highs. There were lows. Vertebrae were broken, and Izod tried to murder our spirits. Nobody contracted a Medieval virus. Bob Jenkins dazzled. And ultimately, Chip Ganassi prevailed — and then went clubbing for the next 94 hours before passing out at a Wendy’s in Coconut Grove.

Let’s get to the awards.

.

Best Starting Command: Shaquille O’Neal.

It was two parts General Patton, one part Genghis Kahn, and 748 parts mountain thunder. Our souls were rocked to their very cores, and had there been a car in the living room at that moment, I would’ve flipped it over. And then killed it with fire. 

 ..


.

Marty Reed Memorial Excellence in Broadcasting Award: Marty Reed.

It was during the Milwaukee telecast, I believe, when Marty unleashed a probing exposé wherein he concluded that, yes — that IS a fuel hose they’re attaching to Ryan Briscoe’s car. And yes — they’re pumping fuel through said fuel hose. Not wheat porridge. Not molten lava. Not liquid nails. But fuel. Ethanol, to be exact.

(F–k you, Walter Cronkite!!!!! You poseur!!! You know nothing of Marty’s journalistic brilliance!!!)

.


.

Biggest Surprise of the Season: Sonoma …

… in that it didn’t drain our will to live. Quite the opposite, really. It was a lively affair, and we got to see Jimmy Vasser sip wine & mentally impregnate entire throngs of supermodels in the greatest pre-race segment of all time. We call that “win win” in the business.

..

.

The Needlessly & Overly Dramatic Award: We have a tie!!!

(1) Jack Arute for his ”In Color” segments. Sweet Jesus, Jack — you’re talking to Scott Dixon about his go-karting days … not grilling a Nazi commander in Winston Churchill’s bunker. Cut that film noir shit out. And;     

(2) Ashley Judd, for anytime she ever spoke into a microphone. Because whenever she opened her mouth, it was as if a life-or-death Jason Bourne fight scene came tumbling out. Even if she was merely talking about water-skiing with the Ackermans over Labor Day weekend.

..


.

Best Danica Patrick Twitter: This one.

ok…..has anyone seen the New Moon trailer? AMAZING! I started reading books because of that series.

It’s like she morphed into Malibu Stacy. Or possibly a Golden Retriever puppy. Regardless, can it get any more charming than that??? No. No it cannot. Bless you, Danica.

.


.

Best Danica Patrick Soundbite: From the otherwise forgettable Watkins Glen qualifications. ROLL TAPE!!!

.

..

The Best Pagoda Comment: Penecake, from the pre-Indy 500 ”Beware of the Urinal Trough” post:

Under no circumstances should you make eye contact with those who have made the decision to deficate in the open stall toilets. Typically their faces will be buried in their hands in shame, but if they detect you glancing, they will rain blows on you from sleeveless arms.

True. That..

.

.

The “I’d Rather Be Inhaling Carbon Monoxide” Award: Richmond.

Congratulations, Richmond!!! You’re now a notable fixture in my List of Scorching Unbridled Hate: 

Mustard

Hitler

Unloading the dishwasher

Richmond race

Cancer

Maybe next year you could stab me in the face with an AIDS-covered bayonet & move up the list a spot or two!!! Good luck!!!!

.


.

The Captain Sully Sullenberger Exceptional Mental Attitude Award: Will Power.

This isn’t hyperbole: there is NOTHING ON THE PLANET capable of bringing this man down. Nothing. Not injuries. Not team politics. Not getting benched. Not Penske repeatedly shoving a ferry boat up his ass. Nothing. And there is no steaming pile of bad news that he won’t instantly spin into a positive. 

Sheriff: Sorry son, the bank’s foreclosed on your house. You have 10 minutes to pack up all your shit and get out. 

Power: HOORAY!!! EXTENDED CAMP OUT!!! [grabs fishing pole]

He’s exactly what the end product would be if Barney & Mother Nature ever had unprotected sex. He’s the Bizarro Marco Andretti.

.


.

Best Moment: Ed Carpenter’s near win.

[moment of silence for the victory that almost was]

Still stings a bit.

..

.

Best Race: Chicago.

Dangerously close, side-by-side racing? Check. Three hours of break-neck speeds? Check. Cringe-worthy passes? Check. Six hours of luxurious pre-race festivities? Check. Freezing temperatures & multiple near-death experiences back at the campground? Double check. The unquestioned high-water mark of my 20 months in IndyCar? Check. Mate.

.


.

Your 2009 Paggies, ladies & gentlemen. Drive home carefully.