HEY, WILLIE! Some food & beverage tips for your next Indy 500 visit

HEY, WILLIE!

Thanks for taking the time to visit us at the Indianapolis 500. Yes, you don't know what it is until you've been there.

You’re right, it seems we're starting to bounce back. 

You can tell by the number of campers and vehicles parked in the Coke lot at 25th Street and Lynhurst. I've seen it just about empty, but it looked pretty full when I went by on Saturday before the race. You should visit there next time.

Also, the next time you're here, be sure to stop by a couple of little places in town — Union Jack Pub and Charlie Brown's. Several stories can be found in these two establishments, along with several others around town.

Thanks again for being a part of the Greatest Spectacle in Racing. You're right, the pre-race ceremonies are worth the trip. If it doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you're missing the point of being there.

OWEN

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HEY, OWEN!

I’m already debating whether or not to go back again.

You know how it goes, you finally visit somewhere and it’s perfect, so you go again and it goes wrong. It’d probably rain so hard, it’d make the last lap of the ’75 race look like a sun shower.

For the uninitiated, Charlie Brown’s is a “pancakes and steak” joint, within walking distance of Turn 1, that isn’t afraid to mix in some meatloaf now and again.

The Union Jack also serves food — or so I'm told.

HEY, WILLIE!

I am glad you enjoyed the 500. I forgot about White Castle. Now you made me hungry.

HOOSIER MIKE

HEY, H.M.!

I could gain three pounds just smelling a bag that recently contained White Castle burgers.

I once thought nothing was better than a Krystal burger until I had a White Castle, but then one day I stumbled into a Little Tavern. Man oh man.

Don’t bother, by the way, because the Taverns died a slow death and went away for good about 15 years ago. Criminal business negligence, I say!

HEY, WILLIE!

When are you going to let Zach know that we’re using 5-speed gear boxes now?

DJ

HEY, D!

The templates in our inspection garage are still rigged for 4-speed trans, so Zach Dean’s Through The Gears centerpiece on the critically acclaimed NASCAR This Week page remains a four-item work of art.

Many racin’ fans call themselves old-school. We give ’em old-school, and they go all new-age and sequential on us. We’ll remain Old Gen and H-patterned for now.

HEY, WILLIE!

You are making it so obvious that you are on the Daytona Speedway payroll. For you to claim yourself as a racing sports journalist is a discredit to the real ones. 

If you were a real dedicated sports “racing” reporter you would have such traits as honor and respect for all types and levels of racing, especially the highest level: Formula One. 

There will be three F1 races in the U.S. next year. You on the other hand only choose to take a negative attitude against the most elite drivers in this world and make a fruitless attempt to compare your NASCAR boys to such. 

Be a real reporter, Ken. Report on all forms of racing.

Thank you, sir.

GERALD

HEY, GERALD!

Everyone will be glad to know, through some off-air back-and-forth, Gerald and I are now on good terms.

I kinda-sorta agreed to start covering F1 . . . as soon as they schedule a race in our readership area.

HEY, WILLIE!

There sure are a lot of strange names on golf leaderboards these days.

It probably means I don’t follow golf. Whatever happened to Julius Boros?

JOEL

HEY, JOEL!

Julius Boros is among the most underrated golfers ever. His swing was so casual and fluid, it makes Freddy Couples look like his shirt is on fire. You can find old footage online.

Boros (1920-94) won three majors, and one of them was the 1968 PGA Championship, when he was 48. That remained the record for oldest major champ until Phil Mickelson won last year’s PGA at 50.

Over the years, whenever some old dude would threaten to win a major, Julius would get some mentions. And now that’s gone and you won’t hear as much about Julius Boros anymore and it's a shame.

Phil Mickelson, on the other hand . . .

Let’s hold off on Lefty for a while and go out on a high note. That’s right, the Golf Joke Express is still shoveling on coal — wherever we can find it these days.

HEY, WILLIE!

A young man is playing golf with a priest. At a par-3 he asks him what club he’s going to hit.

The priest says, “I'm going to hit a 7-iron and pray." 

The priest then tops his 7-iron and it dribbles just off the front of the tee box.

The young man says, “I don't know about you, Father, but in my church, when we pray, we keep our heads down.”

JOE

HEY, JOE!

Ever notice, in golf jokes, it’s always a priest and never a preacher. I wonder if Jerry Seinfeld has ever over-analyzed this phenomenon and explained why it’s funnier with a priest.

Anyway, keep ’em coming.

— Reach Ken Willis at ken.willis@news-jrnl.com

This article originally appeared on The Daytona Beach News-Journal: First Indy 500 visit brings tips for the next time | HEY WILLIE!