Props: Indianapolis 500.
500,000 plus people pack Speedway, Indiana every Memorial Day weekend to watch cars make left turns at speeds topping 230 mph. Then, mix in bare chest cannons as far as the eye can see, some life-threatening sun burns, and strangers that feel as though they have known each other their entire lives and what do you get? The Indianapolis 500.
Beer is simply the fountain of youth inside the boundaries of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Once you have entered the time-warp that is the Westside of Indianapolis you can’t help but think that Dale Earnhardt might somehow still be alive. You wonder if mustaches are, in fact, cool again. You really don’t fucking care though because at this point you’re working with a 12-beer buzz, and are waiting in line to take your first glorious trough piss shoulder-to-shoulder with people happier than John Hancock when he was asked to sign his name on the Declaration of Independence.
Its Memorial Day weekend, my red white & blue comrades, and this is an ode to those who know “IT’S BIGGER THAN THEM.” Jim Neighbors becomes the soundtrack of your life and no matter where you’re from, you respect the moonlight on the Wabash. This is an instance where ‘We the People’ take freedom into our own hands, in the name of those who lay down full metal jackets for us to do so.
So close your eyes… let the roar of the F-15 flyover fuel your boners. The refreshing liquid dust of a cold Budweiser will cool the sun-poisoning on your neck. Don’t be ashamed of the tears welling up in your eyes, that’s just 98 years of 500 miles and Semper Fi tradition regurgitating through your tear-ducts.
This, my fellow citizens is a props-giving to those who know why you’re standing inside or outside of a 2 ½ mile oval in the blistering heat… hammered. It’s because you pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God. Props.