By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
As long as your name wasn't Mike Tyson, the last sports person in the world you wanted to be Sunday afternoon was Scott Sharp. Six hair-raising seconds after the green flag fell on the Samsonite 200, pole-sitter Sharp slid high up on the track at 170 miles an hour and back-smacked car number one into the second turn wall at brand-new Pikes Peak International Raceway, just south of downtown Fountain.
It was an unhappy restart for big-time Indy car racing in Colorado.
Initial reports said the driver was groggy but fine. The appearance of Sharp's wife, Kim, half an hour later told another story. Hands shaking, she was carrying her husband's helmet and fireproof gloves--achingly intimate items--through the paddock. Her face was dead white. Later, doctors said Scott Sharp had suffered a subdural brain hemorrhage and was in serious condition.
In the one hour and fifty-nine minutes following Sharp's crash, nine other Indy Racing League drivers you wouldn't have wanted to be Sunday also lost it on the swift, one-mile Pikes Peak oval. The cars of Johnny Unser, Jimmy Kite, Billy Boat, Roberto Guerrero, Greg Ray, Jack Miller, Arie Luyendyk and Kenny Brack were all reduced to various states of disrepair, from dinged-up to grievous. Robbie Groff survived a scary spin to finish his adventure intact. Post-crash, a couple of the unfortunates blamed what they said was a slippery track surface for their woes.
"Pretty hairy," one of them called it.
The surface was fine with Tony Stewart, age 26. A leadfoot who's had a lot of previous hard luck, he managed to zing through trouble, rubble and ninety-degree heat to notch his first win in an Indy car--by just two-tenths of a second over France's Stephan Gregoire. Something like 38,100 race fans cheered Stewart home.
"If this is what it takes for us to win," he said, his spirits a mile high, "they'll have to start elevating racetracks."
Because 82 of the crash-marred race's 200 laps were run under the yellow caution flag (the same color, come to think of it, as Stewart's Team Menard race car), the winner's average speed was just a tick over 100 miles an hour--slower than Bitin' Mike's corner men went into hiding Saturday night.
At the end of the race, only twelve cars were still running.
That's twelve more than managed to get out of the PPIR parking lots in the next three and a half hours. To begin with, these are not "lots" by the usual definition. They are dusty, axle-busting pastures comprising some 200 acres, uncharted and unmarked but for the leavings of the local wildlife. Those who lost their cars outright were the lucky ones. Ten thousand other boggled motorists found themselves fuming and cursing in mile-long snakes of traffic pointed but not moving toward what was once Interstate 25. Colorado State Patrol officers assigned to the event--both of them--practiced assorted arm-waving techniques. That was no help for the sun-scorched inmates of the pastures, who had certainly noted the irony of the day: See trained professionals drive 200 miles in two hours; see yourself drive two yards in two hours.
One of the more reasonable souls in this lynch mob was a woman in her sixties, who spoke for many: "This was the debut, and it was goodbye for us. We wouldn't come back here next year if the management flew us in and out by helicopter."
So much for the bad news. Scott Sharp's head injury. The accidents. The brutal heat. Parking by Stalin. Traffic control by Curly, Larry and Moe. Let's not even mention the two-and-a-half-hour crawl back to Denver that people endured once they finally reached I-25.
Was the racing exciting?
Absolutely. It was first-rate from green to checkers, and the relative equality of the cars made for high-speed drama.
The fledgling Indy Racing League has had its growing pains since Indianapolis Speedway kingpin Tony George broke away from the high-profile, big-money CART ranks, where Michael Andretti, Al Unser Jr. and Paul Tracy ply their trade. In some circles, IRL cars have been judged unreliable and inferior, their drivers inexperienced. And this year, some gross embarrassments made things worse: Race officials from the United States Auto Club botched light signals so badly during a crucial restart at the end of the Indianapolis 500 that the outcome was almost changed. Two weeks later, in Texas, they made such a mess of the lap scoring that the wrong "winner" was declared, and racing legend A.J. Foyt physically attacked actual winner Arie Luyendyk in victory lane.
Much of that is changing fast. IRL has taken sanctioning and scoring out of the hands of the moss-backs of USAC. After a spate of mechanical problems in earlier races, the stock-block, naturally aspirated Oldsmobile Aurora and Nissan Infiniti racing engines all IRL teams now use are beginning to come into their own. The prime example: Not one of the 22 starters in Sunday's 200-mile race suffered a mechanical failure. As they roll up racing miles in Indy cars, the drivers are getting faster, and the IRL's goals--good racing for fewer bucks, new-driver development, blue-collar heroism--no longer look like pie in the sky.
Could Tony Stewart and Buddy Lazier, driving current equipment, go wheel-to-wheel with, say, the stars of Team Penske and their state-of-the-art machines? Probably not--not yet. But the Indy Racing League doesn't look like Double-A ball anymore, either. In two seasons and just ten races, the IRL is closing the gap--as long as hot-headed ol' A.J., who won four Indy 500s and drove more than 12,000 race miles at the Brickyard, doesn't turn the whole thing into the Indy Wrestling League.