In order to tell you about the best rendition of “New York, New York” I’ve ever heard, I first have to tell you about the longest day I’ve ever spent in the state of Indiana.
Read MoreBetter Days Won’t Haunt You
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Author Archives: Patrick Masterson
Seeing Red Again
Let’s leave aside the obvious for a moment — Jorge Martin’s injury, Pecco Bagnaia’s defrocking, Marc Marquez reclaiming the best bike on the grid, KTM’s financial stay of execution, the whole Liberty Media court case, CryptoData’s now expectedly collapsed vendetta against RNF — and focus instead on one very specific type of person: the much coveted theoretical fan of MotoGP who lives in the world’s largest market for sports entertainment.
Read MoreLet the Right One In
The first time I got an inkling it had gone right, not left, was when a woman cloaked head to toe in MAGA gear boarded the bus on my ride home. I’ll leave aside the notable aspect that this was a bus in downtown Chicago after 11 at night: Sat alone all the way up front, I happened to notice over her shoulder from rows back that she was glued to her phone watching a map of projections that had the country awash in red. At such a remove and with my eyesight not exactly up to the task, it was impossible for me to tell which channel she was streaming, but to make the rest of my long ride home from Thalia Hall less mentally taxing — and taking in some very conspicuous context clues — I figured it was Newsmax.
Read MoreLariat of Heat
There’s this bar in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, called Siebkens — well, technically it’s called the Stop-Inn Tavern, but nobody calls it that and the only reason I know it’s the Stop-Inn Tavern is because I just looked it up and realized it had its own name distinct from the related Overlook Hotel-esque resort to which it’s attached — that anyone visiting for a race at Road America and looking to have a good time in town probably knows at least in passing. It’s not very big, which makes it easy to have the place covered in stickers from all forms of motorsports. There’s a great framed drawing in one of the bathrooms and memorabilia scattered around in cabinets. They have food I’ve never eaten and I have no idea what it’s like in the daylight. It’s what a dive bar by a gearhead should look like.
The story goes like this:
Read MoreLife Only Comes in Flashes of Greatness
It’s Not Working
I. On the Ground
It was like watching someone at a party explain why William Gaddis is great. Under that famously strong Dutch sunshine (said no one ever), Pecco Bagnaia again justified the common wisdom of what’s increasingly felt like a foreordained second MotoGP championship by controlling his second premier class Dutch TT victory from the front. It’s easy to see in hindsight how he drew in Marco Bezzecchi — the only other rider with a serious chance of beating him — just close enough before pouncing on Brad Binder and leaving Binder as a roadblock for Bezzecchi to deal with while he gapped them both; hell, it was easy to see in real time. We already knew the guy liked the place (a tattoo of the circuit layout on his arm in honor of his first win aboard a Moto3 Mahindra back in 2016 gives that away), but this one felt textbook to the point that merely seeing the result suffices.
Ever read J R and then try to talk about it with other people? That thing’s the sort of tedious masochism people will just yes you to death over because they don’t want to read it themselves, but also: They don’t really believe you because how could a book about a middle schooler amassing a business empire built on pennystocks told almost entirely in impenetrable dialogue be better than Lord of the Rings? It’s a boring discussion that would likely have you walking away doubting yourself because just listen to yourself.
Read MoreOrdem e Progresso
Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva narrowly defeated Jair Bolsonaro Sunday to reclaim the Brazilian presidency. To the casual onlooker, it might seem like a joyful refutation of Bolsonaro’s pugnacious authoritarian streak, but mostly it reminded me to dig up this pitch for the short-lived but much appreciated Pastime that was (rightfully) rejected in early 2019 just after Bolsonaro had won the last election. I hadn’t looked at it since then, but while it weakly tries to unite too much and I never did figure out an ending I liked, it may also serve as a timely reminder of how much still needs doing down there, or anywhere, and of how much it takes to make dreams a reality.
To wit: Bolsonaro is out, but Lula is back in. Eric Granado finished second in MotoE in 2022. Diogo Moreira is currently eighth in his rookie season of Moto3. There are no signs of a Brazilian MotoGP round for the foreseeable future.
Read MoreThe Grin Is What Carried Us
The first season I kept up with MotoGP in real time was 2003. Before then, I read race reports on the Old Internet or flipped through whatever year’s Motocourse was still on the shelves at my local Barnes & Noble during my dad’s Sunday bagel run1 because I was a car kid more into F1 and NASCAR, plus we didn’t have TV access — or if we did, I didn’t know when because ESPN increasingly used its Walt Disney money to invest in mainstream sports during daylight hours while its niche coverage retreated to insomniac timeslots or got sold off to other stations entirely. I understood the gist of that world by the time our cable package added Speed Channel, in other words, but it was mostly by accident.
Read MoreIt’s More Beautiful When You’re the One Dancing
I was probably 15 when I first heard of Kimi-Matias Räikkönen. I couldn’t tell you I was definitely 15 because F1 Racing was the kind of magazine that acted as part high-quality reporting, part UK tabloid fluff; you could read a diary of Peter Windsor from his time as Nigel Mansell’s manager at Williams one page and fawning blurbs on otherwise anonymous child karting stars the next. Sure, I learned about Lewis Hamilton when he was1 12. I also learned about Timo Scheider. That’s what happens when print magazines have pages to fill. Or had, rather.
Read MoreHe Who Speaks, He Who Knows, He Who Can, He Who Acts
He was all smiles atop a snowy Andorran mountain when the cover officially broke for his 2021 look, full of ebullient chatter about Repsol Honda’s loaded history and the on-track challenge of a new bike and the ultimate teammate that awaited him. Any idiot could see it, any child could tell: Pol Espargaro was ready, practically jumping out of his seat with nervous energy at the chance to wring its neck, the neck he’s been hearing and reading and seeing he might be pretty good on for years now. “If only Dani would retire,” messageboards clamored. “If only Honda hadn’t thought of Jorge first,” journalists mused. Through it all, Pol shrugged, smiled, overdelivered. Then came the offer. Now comes the reckoning.
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Tuesdays With Horry 