Imrem: Why 350,000 fans showed up for the Indy 500
Some sort of auto race was conducted not far from here Sunday.
The Indianapolis 500, I think it's called.
Approximately 350,000 fans showed up to help celebrate the 100th running of this spectacle.
Every major sporting event has intriguing stories. This time it was fresh-faced Indy rookie Alexander Rossi winning the wrinkled old event.
Indy might not be as big as it once was and its audience might be graying, but the race still is big with tradition, providing an opportunity for it to become bigger than big again.
I'm not an auto-racing fan. Maybe I would be if I ever could change a tire, and maybe I could if I ever could get the spare out of the trunk.
Still, I no longer believe people go to see cars go 'round and 'round in the hope there will be a fiery crash, death and destruction.
So what's the attraction?
It's the cars ... just the cars ... we still have this fascination with cars.
The thing is, back in my day even guys like me who weren't car guys were guys who loved cars.
This occurred to me awhile back when I was getting my own heap washed in Prospect Heights.
The next thing I knew, an alien force came over me and I became a zombie walking toward the repair shop next door.
Out front was a car in mint condition with "Official pace car, Indianapolis 500, 1972" on the side.
"Nice car, huh?" a voice from the car wash said.
I didn't respond. I just kept walking as if the "Official pace car" were a spaceship geared up to reunite me with my family on Uranus.
Let me reiterate that I am not a car enthusiast, yet that classic mesmerized me.
It's mostly a guy thing, I think, especially with guys from my day when not every teenager had a car or access to his parents' 6-year-old Plymouth.
When we were 13 we couldn't wait to get our driver's licenses at 16. Then we were cool if we could drive our high-school buddies to the show on Friday night. Then in college we were kings if we had a car on campus.
Most of all, we learned early that girls dug guys who had cars, and we never outgrow that lesson.
Now when we gaze into the polished finish of any car, we subconsciously see the reflection of cheerleaders smiling back at us.
We were conditioned that the world revolves around transportation to get us where we need to be - which generally is wherever females are.
We were like moths to a light flitting about aimlessly until we sighted either a car or a woman, and then we walked into a lamp post while gawking at one or the either or both.
That's why so many men of all ages were at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on Sunday. There were fancy cars, they zoomed and vroomed around the track, and then the winner drank victory milk and posed in the winner's circle with a lipstick splotch on his cheek.
Despite being someone who isn't a car guy and who doesn't know how to work on them and who gets nauseated by high speeds, for 25 years I had a Miata as a second car.
Don't ask me why. There's no explanation. I woke up one morning and was one guy with two automobiles.
OK, now you're wondering how my car theory explains the large number of women that attended the Indy, NASCAR and Formula 1 races Sunday.
Simple.
Women were there for the crashes.
mimrem@dailyherald.com