After seeing ESPN’s pathetic clutch at drumming up excitement by pulling the mildly intriguing TJV/VS (Tirico-Jackson-Van Gundy/Vitale-Shulman) switch of an NBA broadcast team calling an NCAA game, and the caricature-of-his-former-self calling an NBA game … I started harkening back to some of the ill-fated marketing attempts on the IndyCar front.  I don’t want to say IndyCar is the only inane professional sports entity out there, because I know what the NBA does.  My brother-in-law once rode in an elevator with Sir Dwayne of Schintzius, so I am connected to the NBA inner-circle stuff. 

Nevertheless, thoughts of what will turn out to be a pointless waste of time and money (undoubtedly perpetrated by fired IRL marketing geniuses) combined with horse-grade tranquilizers initiated a trip down memory lane of the most ridiculous , ill-conceived, and inane promotional ideas in all of sports. As any tenured open wheel racing fan knows, the worst of these were conceived by IndyCar. We all know that even the most ridiculous ideas warranted action in the awkward period after the first few Champ Car teams moved over, but good Christ. Who green-lit these things?

Remember the 2004 Indy 500 when Buddy Rice’s victory was greeted over the loudspeaker by Tom Carnegie with, “Buddy Rice is your 2004 Indianapolis 500 winner. Tornado warning … tornado warning.  Vacate the grandstands.”  Good.  I remember it too, and I absolutely remember the numerous Bob Jenkins and Arute segments (“Aurtements” henceforth) on the video screen during rain breaks showing how footloose and fancy free the Andretti Green drivers are.  Man, those guys are so crazy that they throw pies in each other’s faces.  Wow!  Dan Wheldon has a lot of shoes.  That’s a good way to drum up the mostly male fanbase.  Are they trying to appeal to all three metrosexuals that follow open wheel racing in America (Europe is a horse of a different color)?  What started as something shiny and mildly amusing to gawk at during swigs from a tall boy has turned into a half-decade long onslaught of tripe.  In 2008, those crazy AGR drivers hid Marco’s keys.  Man, that’s great.  This is exactly why we watch racing.  The crazy prankster bit has run its course.  They either need to drop it or start pantsing Danica in every Arutement.

While the AGR bit is simply a time-filler during yellows, it pales in comparison to the whole Gene Simmons “I Am Indy” shtick.  I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I just don’t get it.  I know Tom Hanks did it in “Big,” but I DON’T GET IT.  Kiss started as a band for disaffected junior high schoolers and turned into the Hello Kitty of rock music.  These guys were on everything from lunch boxes to home pregnancy kits.  Now, we have a 59-year-old C-list reality star singing “I am Indy.”  What does that even mean, Gene?  Are you bounded by 96th St also?  Do you have major freeways traversing through your inards?  Do you have a love for fried tenderloin sandwiches?  Have you caught a disease at the Red Garter?  Stop.  Just stop.

Unfortunately, the blunders and ridiculousness of the IndyCar marketing efforts do not stop at the in your face areas.  Do you know what the “official energy drink” of the Indy 500 is?  I didn’t either, because I drink tall boys at the race.  Anyway, it’s Frank’s Energy Drink.  Haven’t heard of it? Well let me fill you in. 

Frank’s Energy Drink is named after its septuagenarian creator, Frank Stronarch.  Frank is a Canadian that is credited with the great decline in American horse racing that thinks highly enough of himself to have an eponymous energy drink.  Last I checked the only thing Canada has given us worthwhile is Scott Goodyear, and yes, I am well aware that Paul Tracy and Jacques Villeneuve are Canadian.  Hmm.  A 70-year old failed horseman is the face of the Indy 500’s energy drink?  I don’t know why the Indy 500 needs an official energy drink, but at least make it Red Bull or something that smacks of fun and success and nothing-dialysis-related. 

I don’t even want to touch Carmelo Anthony’s sponsorship of PJ Chesson’s ride a few years back, but this epidemic has to stop.  Sure, other sports do awful, awful marketing gimmicks with piss poor human interest pieces (see: “Isn’t it so neat that Colt McCoy and his receiver are roommates that hunt and fish together?” Not in the least f-ing bit. I’d prefer to watch his Marinovich-esque, overbearing dad crap when he throws an interception, and stare at his ridiculous girlfriend who wouldn’t give him the time of day if not for his position as Texas QB), but it does not excuse IndyCar in the slightest.  Step it up fellas.  If this is the best we can do; don’t waste the money. Let’s just go back to neon hats, checkered glasses, and “Speed Limit: 237” shirts. The only surefire way to score big in an ad campaign (aside from WZPL’s famous “We Don’t Suck Anymore)?? Chimps, dressed like people.

You’re welcome, IndyCar.