Qual folderol

 No one escapes the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in May without tradition holding a pillow over your face. It grows like crabgrass and creeper vines around the old joint, ancient artifacts from a dig site that's 117 years old, and from the most venerable motor race in the world, which turns 110 this month.

You know all the traditions, if you've ever visited. The yard of brick? Sure. The bottle of milk? You bet. "Back Home Again In Indiana" ... "Gentlemen, start your engines" ... Thirty-three cars coming to the green in 11 rows of three?

Check, check and check.

Well. Apparently we can now add another to the pile: Qual Folderol, or Jacking Around With Indy 500 Qualifications For Fun And Profit. 

The other day, see, an item popped up on one of the TV news channels about 500 qualifying. It said the qualification procedures were being changed for this weekend.

"Again?" I yelped.

Yes, again. Apparently, because there aren't enough entries for bumping to occur, there won't be any bumping. So all of us who were just getting used to the previously revised schedule now have to wrap our heads around another revised schedule.

Previously, Saturday would determine the fastest 12 qualifiers, and on Sunday those 12 would qualify again to determine the Fast Six. Then the Fast Six would each get one crack at the pole late in the day. Also, the slowest four qualifiers would run again for spots in the last row, with the slowest winding up "bumped."

Now?

Well, take a deep breath. This could get a little exhausting.

On Saturday, qualifying will commence at the traditional 11 a.m., and run until 5:50 p.m. At that time positions 16 through 33 will be set.

The remaining 15 qualifiers will advance to Sunday, with the fastest nine locked into the Top 12 qualifying session. The remaining six will have one shot at the last three Top 12 spots in something called the Final 15 qualifying session.

Then it's on to the Top 12 session, from which will emerge  the Fast Six, who'll make the official run for the pole at around 6:30.

Confused yet?

"Gee," you're saying now. "Sounds kinda like NASCAR's playoff system." 

And just look how popular that is with the NASCAR hardcores.

Anyway, all this tinkering and reworking and re-reworking is a desperate attempt to make 500 qualifying a hit again, and it's a relatively new phenomenon. For years and years, after all, qualifications for the Indianapolis 500 were as immutable as sunrise: The first day was Pole Day, the last day was Bump Day, and in between were two days to fill the field. Four days across two weekends.

But times change. Circumstances change. The old ways became the Jacking Around ways.

Two weekends of qualifications became one when not enough entries showed up to make two weekends viable anymore. Bump Day become bump-less for the same reason. And all those six-figure crowds for qualifications went away after the race cars were powered down and the track record -- 30 years old this May -- was no longer in play.

Thus the Month of May became the Fortnight of May, especially after IndyCar and the Speedway decided to squeeze another race into the month. And the Jacking Around commenced.

Excuse me. Continues to commence.

God bless tradition.

Superstition 1, Slump 0

 We all have our superstitions. It's how the rational mind takes a breather every so often.

For instance: Way back in the Before Time, when people frequently died trying to drive faster than the other guy in machines often ill-suited to the purpose, green race cars were considered a herald of doom. Ditto peanuts. Ditto women in the pits. And you never, ever,  wanted to drop your racing helmet.

Well, time and circumstance knocked a lot of that into a cocked hat. Jim Clark came to Indianapolis in a hunter-green Lotus and left everyone choking on his exhaust. Stock cars swaddled in Reese's logos showed up at Daytona, and the gates of Hell do not open beneath them. Janet Guthrie came along and Sarah Fisher and Danica Patrick, and the racing gods did not hurl any lightning bolts to strike down the blasphemers.

So, yes. Superstitions are silly. Even baseball, where it's not just in the movies that stealing Jobu's rum is very, very bad.*

(*Obligatory "Major League" reference)

Case in point: Cal Raleigh of the Seattle Mariners.

Who hit, like, a million home runs last season, but who came to Tuesday mired in an 0-for-36 slump. Couldn't hit a lick. Swung and missed, mostly. If baseballs had vocal chords, they'd have been chanting "Nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah" as they scooted past his suddenly impotent bat.

Well, Raleigh had had quite enough of that. So you know what he did?

On Monday night, he took a postgame shower fully clothed.

 Marched into the spray wearing all his catcher's gear. Said the idea came from Seattle pitcher Logan Gilbert, and Raleigh decided it wasn't all that crazy considering ... well, considering oh-for-36.

"Logan gave me some good advice to wash off the bad mojo or juju from the baseball gods," Raleigh said.

I know, I know. Silly.

But you know what?

On Tuesday, Raleigh had two base knocks to end the slump. Pair of singles. First hits since April.

Something to think about the next time you're tempted to steal Jobu's rum. 

Not that you would, of course.

Cruds alert*

 (*Pittsburgh Pirates sold separately).

Checked out the latest MLB standings yesterday, and I'll be bumfuzzled. We're 12 days into May, and the Chicago What Sox are in the thick of a pennant race.

OK, so it's only a divisional race, and it's only the AL Central, the used car lot of divisions. And the What Sox are still two games under .500 at 19-21.

But that puts them second in the division, just 1.5 games behind Cleveland. And 19-21 is way better than their record on this date a year ago, which was 12-29.

So, yeah. This Cruds Alert is not about cruds, but who aren't right now.

That would include the Homeless A's, who are playing in Sacramento these days but aren't allowed to tell anyone. That's why they're only identified as "Athletics" in the standings.

But big deal, because "Athletics" are leading the AL West by two whole games.

Yeah, they're only 21-19, and everyone else in the division is underwater. Which makes the AL West the slightly newer used car lot just down from the other used car lot.

But, still. It's May 12, and they're No. 1! Huzzah!

"So who are the actual Cruds these days, Mr. Blob?" you're saying now.

(OK, so you're not. Just employing what we writers like to call a "literary device". Also known as "cheating.")

Anyway, the actual Cruds might still be the Colorado Rockheads, who astonished all of baseball with their epic Cruddiness a year ago. They're dead last in the NL West, 8.5 games behind front-running San Diego. At 16-25, they're the worst team in baseball not named the New York Mutts, er, Mets.

And yet ...

And yet, the Mutts-er-Mets ARE a game worse. And the Rockheads are waaay better than they were a year ago on this date, when they were 7-34 after losing to the Texas Rangers. And right now they're just a game out of next-to-last in the division, nipping at the heels of the San Francisco Giants.

So, you see? Even in Crudsville, hope springs eternal.

Well ... maybe not eternal. But you get the gist.

By their own petard ...

 ... hoist.

That sums up the Indiana Pacers' weekend, pretty much.

When last seen they were losing Tyrese Haliburton to an exploding Achilles heel in Game 7 of the NBA Finals, and then losing Haliburton and everything else for the 2025-26 season. With Halliburton gone, the mojo was gone, and their elevator was Down Only, carrying them to a 19-63 record.

Which put them in the draft lottery.

Which they decided to put up for grabs for a fistful of magic beans.

OK, so it was Los Angeles Clippers center Ivica Zubac. Who's kinda good -- better than magic beans, anyway -- but they also gave up Bennedict Mathurin for him, which seemed an awful lot to pay when you add the possibly-sacrificing-a-lottery-pick factor.

"Hey, what could happen?" the Pacers' brain trust must have said.

Of course, that was when they figured they had a better-than-even shot at that lottery pick.

The deal was this: All the Pacers had to do was get their ping-pong ball/envelope pulled in the top four, and they'd hang onto the pick. If their number was called before that -- fifth or lower -- the Clippers would get the pick.

Well, you know what happened. The lottery got down to No. 5, and, hey, look: It's your Indiana Pacers!

Which of course meant the Clips got the pick, and the Pacers got ... clipped.

Lots of folks in Pacers Nation were saying it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, not after a 19-63 season that had to be worth ... well, something. But, nah. They played their way into the lottery, and then they got zippo. 

No lottery pick, which means no first-round pick. They were out, finished at Faber.

"Why do we have such lousy luck?" Pacers Nation presumably wailed.

To be immediately followed by:

"Why is our front office so dumb?"

Because, listen, bemoan cruel fate all you want, but the Pacers are squarely at fault for what happened last weekend. Who gambles with a lottery pick? No one. Or, at least, no one with the sense God gave floor wax. 

And surely not when the prize is Ivica Zubac and not, say, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

That's no knock on Zubac, understand. But his game wasn't worth a lottery pick.

Almost compels you to ask what Pacers president Kevin Pritchard 'n' them were thinking. If the answer weren't so obvious, that is.

Those darn vibes

The Knickerbockers of New York swept the 76ers of Philadelphia out of the NBA playoffs yesterday by 30 points, 144-114. It concluded a four-game beatdown of a team that came into the series having won three straight itself to  knock the Boston Celtics out of the playoffs.

And now, God help me, I'm starting to get these vibes.

Willis Reed vibes. Dave DeBusschere vibes. Walt "Clyde" Frazier vibes.

Please, Lord. Stop me before history kills me again.

Because, look, I know, this is utter folly. Comparing these Knicks to those Knicks? The legendary Knicks? The NBA champion Knicks? What am I, nuts?

Don't answer that.

Anyway, what got me hearing echoes of Willis and Dave and Clyde 'n' them is what the Knicks have doing so far in the playoffs, which is go through them like Patton through Europe. Swept the Sixers. Beat Atlanta in six games in the first round, booting the Hawks by 51 points in Atlanta in Game 6. 

In the last three games in that series, they won by 16, 29 and 51.  That's a a 96-point combined victory margin if you're keeping score at home.

Oh, and that win yesterday?

 The Knickerbockers led by 24 at halftime, having made 18 threes by that time. That tied an NBA record for most triples in a half.

Also, the 30-point win means they closed out their first two series by a combined 81 points. Both on the road.

That's "holy shite" and "omigod" if you're keeping score at home.

"Does this mean you think the Knicks are going to win it all?" you're saying now.

Oh, heavens, no. They're the Knicks. They'll find a way to crush New York's soul, same as always. And, besides, do you REALLY want to hear celebrity Knicks fan Stephen A. Smith if his guys win it all?

Good lord. He'll be hollering for weeks.

However ...

However, the vibes keep coming. 

Suddenly I'm looking at the way these Knicks distribute the basketball, and it's starting to look like the way Red Holtzman's Knicks distributed the basketball. Is that Jalen Brunson out there, or Clyde? Is Karl-Anthony Towns starting to resemble Willis? And who's DeBusschere in this scenario, Mikal Bridges or OG Anunoby?

By the way, did you know the Knicks' average margin of victory in the playoffs so far is 19-plus points? Which is the largest margin of victory since the playoffs expanded to 16 teams 43 years ago?

 Nineteen points! Why, that's almost 20 POINTS PER GAME.

Please. I'm begging you.

Somebody hit me over the head and bring me to my senses. Now.

Preview ... or not

 Christian Lundgaard won the Indianapolis Grand Prix yesterday at the Speedway, bringing it home for Arrow McLaren with a nervy outside pass of David Malukas with 18 laps to go. This immediately makes him the favorite for the Indianapolis 500 two weeks hence.

"Wait, what?" you're saying now.

I said ... this makes him the favorite for the Indianapolis 500 two weeks hence. Because doesn't the winner of the Grand Prix always go on to win the Greatest Spectacle?

"No," you're saying.

Well, Alex Palou won both last year.

"But Alex Palou won damn near everything last year."

And, um, let's see, didn't Simon Pagenaud win both in 2019? And Will Power in 2018?

"Well, yes. But ..."

But what?

"What about all the other years?"

Ah.

OK, so maybe Lundgaard's win wasn't a preview of coming attractions, although he had his best finish in the Big One last year, coming home seventh. And he's got one of the premier rides in IndyCar with Arrow McLaren. And he's got three other top-ten finishes so far in the young IndyCar season, including second at Alabama.

So, yeah. It could happen. But it could also (and probably more likely) NOT happen.

At any rate, Lundgaard's in the conversation now. But you know who raised an eyebrow in these precincts yesterday?

The guy who finished third.

That guy was Graham Rahal, and it was his second podium in the last three races, and, listen, who knows, who knows. Indy in May is the quirkiest of places, and it has a habit of occasionally meting out both triumph and heartbreak with wild caprice. 

How else to explain the fact Mario Andretti, the greatest American race driver of all time if A.J. Foyt isn't, won the 500 just once in 29 tries? Or Scott Dixon, the greatest IndyCar racer of his generation, winning it at 27 in 2008 and never since? Or Buddy Rice winning in 2004 and then virtually disappearing, putting up just two more wins, five poles and five podiums across an eight-year IndyCar run?

Graham Rahal?

Indy in May's mostly been a nightmare for him, especially lately. In 18 starts he's finished third twice, most recently in 2020. Since then he's finished 32nd, 14th, 22nd, 15th and 17th. Qualifying has been even worse; since 2010, he's started 26th or worse seven times.

And the last three 500s?

Well, in 2023 he failed to qualify but replaced the injured Stefan Wilson in his Dreyer-Reinbold seat and started 33rd. He finished 22nd.

In 2024 he started dead last again and finished 15th.

Last year he started 28th and finished 17th.

But, again, it's Indy. History's eddies course down the weird channels here. So maybe, finally, it will be his year.

Or Christian Lundgaard's. 

Or Alex Palou's again.

Or Josef Newgarden's, Scott Dixon's, Pato O'Ward's, David Malukas's, Kyle Kirkwood's, on and on and on.

Flip a coin. Good as predictor as any.

Speed freak

Maybe you didn't hear about what happened in Milwaukee, Wis., last night, where the hometown Brewers whupped the lordly New York Yankees in fine and thorough fashion.

What happened was, a splinter of a kid named Jacob Misiorowski shut out the Pinstripes 6-0.

Along the way, he struck out 11 batters in just six innings' work.

Also along the way, he threw 95 pitches.

Forty-one of them -- almost half -- dinged the radar gun at more than 100 mph. Ten hit 103 or higher. The fastest pitch he threw clocked in at 103.6,the highest velocity of any pitch tracked by MLB since it started tracking such things in 2008. Misiorowski did it three times.

Now imagine you're a batter standing in the box looking out at this dude, who's 24 years old but looks like he just got back from the prom.

He winds up. You dig in. He lets one fly at 103.6, from 60-feet, six-inches away.

Know how fast that pitch is traveling?

According to Mr. Calculator here, it's traveling 150.9 feet per second. Which means you have less than half-a-second to react.

Ridiculous.

Also ridiculous?

Misiorowski doesn't think the speed freak stuff is the story. Or at least not all of it.

"I'm not real keen on the velo, whether it's 100 or 103 or whatever," he said. "I just know if you don't have your other stuff or don't locate that in the zone or you're throwing it just down the middle, these guys can time up a jet plane."

Maybe so. But I can just hear what a Yankee or two might have said in response:

Oh, yeah? YOU try it, kid.

Indeed.