I cut my teeth on obscure 2:13 AM Blogger.com posts, and this feels like home. It feels right. I rather like Wedge’s House. Quite a bit, frankly. There are no rules here, and nobody’s censoring you — nobody’s demanding that you yank that shit down because incestuous dungeon rape isn’t funny. (Oh that takes me back.) But nevermind all that. It is beside the point.
And the point, I think, is this: if the Chat Session tonight revealed anything, it revealed that IndyCar is a painfully — almost impossibly — tight-knit community. (Oh, I’m sorry — that’s a touch too “sappy” for you, is it? Well fuck you. Go sappy that.) There may be only 178 of us, but so what? 178 genuinely delightful people are far better than 140 million assholes. And truth be told, I’m IN with those 140 million assholes. That’s who I roll with usually. It’s not pleasant, of course. It’s not a source of great pride. It just is. We’re rude & obnoxious & we will shatter your fucking skull should you cross us. That’s just the way it is outside these walls. I know these people. I AM These People.
And for whatever it’s worth, take pride in the fact that this little slice of Fandom we call IndyCar is NOT These People. It isn’t rude. Nor obnoxious. It’s quite the opposite, really, which shouldn’t amaze me at this point. Except when it still does.