I love Danica Patrick. She races cars. Very fast cars. She’s gorgeous. She’s hot. She has an American flag tattooed right above her very cute derriere. She has a sizzling website with lots of racy photos. (www.danicaracing.com) And she has the audacity of hope, getting into a man’s sport and daring to believe she can compete with the big boys and win races.
And because I am a native Hoosier, I am a race fan. Indy cars. The ones that glide around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway at more than 225 miles an hour. If you’ve never been to the Indianapolis 500, it’s worth doing at least once, for there is no thrill quite like the start when 33 drivers get the green flag and barrel down the main straightaway in front of 400,000+ people. It is the best attended sporting event in the world.
Danica’s entry into the world of Indy car racing a few years ago was not well received, because many of the men who drive these cars consider this a quintessential man’s sport. To them, women are welcome as spectators, but they don’t belong on the track and sure as hell not behind the wheel of these million dollar plus cars.
But Danica has been undaunted, and has refused to be intimidated by the men or the inherent dangers of a very dangerous sport. She placed fourth in her first Indianapolis 500 and was named Rookie of the Year. In 2008, she made history by becoming the first female to win an Indy style race, the Japan 300.
Because I love Danica, I root for Danica. I wanted her to win this year’s Indy 500. She started 10th, and finished third, but not first. I was devastated. First and second place went to two white guys.
If only Sonia Sotomayor had written the rules of the Indianapolis 500. Danica would have gotten a do over. Or the results of the race would have been thrown out. Or Danica would have been declared the better because the richness of her experiences made her judgment superior to the white men in the faster cars.
If only Sonia had written the rules, I would have had the satisfaction of seeing Danica win.
But knowing Danica, I wonder how much satisfaction she would have known holding a trophy that was not hers to hold.
