So NASCAR. The National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, roaring around downtown Chicago in less than two weeks.
A nightmare I’ve come to think of as “Lori’s Revenge.”
We’ve all read about it. The course. The disruption. Taste of Chicago booted from its traditional perch. Not only this summer, but for two more to come. Nowhere near the epic proportions of Rich Daley’s flush-billions-down-the-toilet-for-the-next-75-years blunder. But quite a commitment to expensive folly nevertheless.
And, pardon me for asking, is Lori Lightfoot even going? Or has the former mayor already decamped to Cambridge, where she sits at a window, tapping a pencil against a yellow legal pad. Puffing out her cheeks. Gathering her thoughts. About leadership ...
Sorry. So Monday, with June suddenly two-thirds over, I began looking ahead, and had this thought: “Maybe I should go to see NASCAR.”
Stock car racing is a bedrock American sport — 10th place, anyway, behind pro wrestling and tennis. I’ve gone downtown to witness what I imagined was a comparable event — the Chicago Marathon — to cheer my brother when he ran. Masses of onlookers craning for a glimpse. Not the most enjoyable time — I never did catch sight of him among the lank bundles of sinew loping past. But not a bad way to spend the day, either. It wasn’t as if it cost anything.
I assumed going to see the NASCAR race would be something similar. Hop off at Union Station, stroll down Adams. Eyeball some stock cars roaring around a curve. Snap a few photos for social media. Watch for, oh, half an hour, until you get the point — vroom vroom. Then go find lunch.
I plunged into the Internet and quickly found the City of Chicago’s Ticket Options page.
Take a look at the website. I’m curious as to whether your reaction is similar to mine. I’ll wait.
Did you, like me, see that page and think: “They CHARGE for this?!?!” We shut down the heart of Chicago for a month so a bunch of speed freaks can chase each others’ tails and regular Chicagoans are expected to PAY MONEY to watch the proceedings?
That’s like your neighbor setting up an enormous inflatable bouncy castle on your front lawn for his kid’s birthday party, then trying to charge your children admission.
Not a little money, either. “General admission” ranges from $269 to $353, which covers the two days, in the mad assumption that someone, going downtown, could then conceivably think: “Gee, that was fun; I think I’ll go again tomorrow.”
Ticket prices sail off into the stratosphere from there. Reserved seats start at $465. Something called the Pit Road Terrace begins at $1,265. And what is the Pit Road Terrace? “Open Air deck with GREAT VIEWS of Pit Road and the Start/Finish Line.” Which makes you wonder where plain old General Admission gets you. The same open air, one hopes.
OK, the tickets do give you access to a place where you can buy food — it’s as if they found a way to make Taste of Chicago even MORE expensive and inconvenient by adding a road race. And yes, there is music later, including the Black Crowes on July 1 and the quite excellent Miranda Lambert on July 2 — I could see buying a ticket, skipping the car race and just going to see her.
But honestly. If you could pay $1,000 and Brandon Johnson would show up at your doorstep driving Joey Logano’s No. 22 Shell-Pennzoil Ford Mustang, then race you around the city streets for an hour while Miranda Lambert coos “Mama’s Broken Heart” from the back seat before dropping you off at home, would you do it? I think I’d rather keep the money.
Maybe I need readers to help educate me here. Have you been to a stock car race? What’s the appeal? Beyond getting drunk all day and waiting for spectacular crashes, that is. Are you going to NASCAR in Chicago? What did you spend and why? Though I imagine anyone flush enough to buy tickets is also too discreet to justify it. You’re an equity partner, taking clients. OK, we can stipulate that.
You can go on StubHub and buy a ticket to the July 1 Cubs game for $54. Meaning, for the price of one cheap NASCAR seat, you could go to Wrigley Field and take five friends with you. I know what I’d do.
