Michael Jordan vs. LeBron James: Pitting the GOATs from age 19 to age 39

HoopsHype does a complete year by year comparison of Michael Jordan and LeBron James from ages 19 through 39, head-to-head style.

As if the GOAT debate hasn’t been beaten into the ground already, we’re going to put a new spin on the Michael Jordan vs. LeBron James discourse today by comparing them head to head for each year of their careers, from age 19 through age 39.

Everybody feel free to cherry-pick the outcome you like the most for use in your GOAT debates, which can be found on the final slide.

Ready to dive into the legendary careers of Jordan and LeBron, year by year? Let’s get started.

NFL mesh concepts: How defenses try to stop mesh routes disguised by wideouts (Part II)

NFL receivers and defenders explain why simple and timeless mesh concepts still work so well.

Chaos around the line of scrimmage, defensive backs smashing into each other and a wide-open receiver picking up easy yardage are all key objectives of NFL mesh routes.

The mesh point of an offensive play creates a discombobulating influence that can turn a great secondary on its ear. In a game where fractions of a second are the difference between touchdowns and turnovers, every ounce of separation gives way to pounds of production.

Finding those moments of hesitation get increasingly more difficult as you move up football’s food chain. By the time you get to the NFL, defensive backs have seen nearly every mesh variation you can think of. They’ve drilled it thousands of times between practice and game scenarios. They’ve bred out the instinct that creates the panic an average human feels seeing a 200-pound ball of muscle charging directly at them. They’ve worked out systems to mitigate and change of direction forced by a complex route tree.

But mesh still works. We see it every week, in short range situations and downfield. It’s a perfect concept occasionally run imperfectly to prove it still has the capacity to surprise. That doesn’t mean it’s infallible.

Case in point: the Detroit Lions’ second failed fourth-down attempt in the second half of the 2024 NFC championship game. A confluence of shallow crossers in the middle of the field is designed to create an easy throw for Jared Goff at the first down marker. Two different Detroit targets run from the left side of the formation to the right, bumping San Francisco 49ers’ defense off its man-to-man coverage on a pivotal down. One on-time pass, and the Lions’ march toward the end zone, in a three-point game, continues.

But the 49ers know something the Lions don’t. It’s not man coverage. And when Logan Ryan peels off his wideout to settle into the spot where Jameson Williams expected to have an easy catch, the play goes off the rails. Pressure means Goff has to improvise. His scrambling throw to Amon-Ra St. Brown falls short and another scoring drive is erased in San Francisco’s eventual 34-31 win.

Even if it didn’t work, the 2024 NFC title game gave us yet another example of a concept that’s existed since the forward pass and is still relied upon in the biggest moments of a team’s season. Let’s talk about that, as NFL wideouts and defenders share why this simple strategy works so well, even after millions of reps.

NFL mesh concepts: A timeless, unstoppable offensive strategy — if you do it right (Part I)

NFL mesh concepts: A timeless, unstoppable offensive strategy — if you do it right (Part I)

What is mesh? Simple in its execution and perpetually difficult to stop.

Covering an NFL wide receiver isn’t the most enviable job. Defensive backs are tasked with tracking some of America’s fastest athletes, and every head fake, every stutter step, every foot plant is designed to throw them off the receivers’ scents and create space for a big gain.

Now imagine doing all that with a 6-foot-3, 230-pound ball of muscle and anger running straight at you.

That’s exactly the challenge New England Patriots defensive back Jalen Mills faced in a Week 7 showdown with the Buffalo Bills. He was designated to trail tight end Dawson Knox, who split wide toward the sideline. Knox took three steps, shook his hips and turned inside with his eyes on the goal line. Mills moved up to challenge him, hoping to take away his inside leverage in a crucial red zone snap.

Then, just as he lurched forward to make his move: Bam!

Running back Latavius Murray, running his own corner route, sliced through Mills’ peripheral vision with a jarring hit. Knox ran free, catching an easy completion in the most compressed part of the field and gliding into the end zone for what would have been six points, if not for a reasonable offensive pass interference penalty flag — one that doesn’t always get called.

That’s the beauty of the mesh concept; it’s timeless in offenses, ranging from the run-heavy early NFL to pass-heavy, air-it-out era in which we’re currently thriving. Simple in its execution and perpetually difficult to stop. It creates space for vital gains while breeding confusion near the line of scrimmage.

The forward pass became a staple of gridiron football in 1906. Mesh wasn’t far behind; the lure of mashing two defenders into each other proved too tempting for even the simplest coaches to pass up.

The mesh concept is easy enough to help inexperienced quarterbacks thrive playing freshman football. It’s difficult enough to stop that you’ll see All-Pros execute it in prime time until the death of the universe.

And while the mesh concept has been around almost as long as the game itself, it’s drawn extra scrutiny in recent years. A rising tide of analysis — ranging from reporters with greater access to game film to announcer booths stocked with former players eager to call it out — has helped make a mainstay route more visible than ever before.

But what is mesh? Why do teams continue to rely on a call basic enough to come from Baby’s First Playbook?

The concept is simple, really.

NFL mesh concepts: A timeless, unstoppable offensive strategy — if you do it right (Part I)

What is mesh? Simple in its execution and perpetually difficult to stop.

Covering an NFL wide receiver isn’t the most enviable job. Defensive backs are tasked with tracking some of America’s fastest athletes, and every head fake, every stutter step, every foot plant is designed to throw them off the receivers’ scents and create space for a big gain.

Now imagine doing all that with a 6-foot-3, 230-pound ball of muscle and anger running straight at you.

That’s exactly the challenge New England Patriots defensive back Jalen Mills faced in a Week 7 showdown with the Buffalo Bills. He was designated to trail tight end Dawson Knox, who split wide toward the sideline. Knox took three steps, shook his hips and turned inside with his eyes on the goal line. Mills moved up to challenge him, hoping to take away his inside leverage in a crucial red zone snap.

Then, just as he lurched forward to make his move: Bam!

Running back Latavius Murray, running his own corner route, sliced through Mills’ peripheral vision with a jarring hit. Knox ran free, catching an easy completion in the most compressed part of the field and gliding into the end zone for what would have been six points, if not for a reasonable offensive pass interference penalty flag — one that doesn’t always get called.

That’s the beauty of the mesh concept; it’s timeless in offenses, ranging from the run-heavy early NFL to pass-heavy, air-it-out era in which we’re currently thriving. Simple in its execution and perpetually difficult to stop. It creates space for vital gains while breeding confusion near the line of scrimmage.

The forward pass became a staple of gridiron football in 1906. Mesh wasn’t far behind; the lure of mashing two defenders into each other proved too tempting for even the simplest coaches to pass up.

The mesh concept is easy enough to help inexperienced quarterbacks thrive playing freshman football. It’s difficult enough to stop that you’ll see All-Pros execute it in prime time until the death of the universe.

And while the mesh concept has been around almost as long as the game itself, it’s drawn extra scrutiny in recent years. A rising tide of analysis — ranging from reporters with greater access to game film to announcer booths stocked with former players eager to call it out — has helped make a mainstay route more visible than ever before.

But what is mesh? Why do teams continue to rely on a call basic enough to come from Baby’s First Playbook?

The concept is simple, really.

How Ukraine native Peter Danyliv turned his pro basketball dreams into a renowned training business

Peter Danyliv’s basketball journey went from a  feel-good Hollywood movie to a drama-filled obstacle testing his love for the game.

At his gym, Peter Danyliv is floating atop a sea of Yeezys, Kobes and Jordans for his 330,000-plus Instagram following to admire.

One particular pair helps explain the rise of a basketball trainer sought out by pros and amateurs who’s as much of a respected instructor as he is a social media sensation. There, in one of the Instagram slides, stands Danyliv with Allen Iverson’s signature shoe in each hand. One was the AI Answer IX. The other was the AI Answer X — his first-ever pair of basketball shoes.

These are the kicks that tell his story. One that began in Ukraine, brought him to America as a teen, shattered his childhood basketball dreams and birthed new ones. 

https://www.instagram.com/p/CZj308ZLxb6/?hl=en

Both iconic sneakers hold a special place in Danyliv’s heart. They represent a humble beginning and take him back to a time when he didn’t have much. Before the large Instagram following, which has become one of his favorite tools for showcasing his 90/10 Training brand. Before cracking north of one million followers on TikTok, an app that Danyliv uses to share informative, motivational and humorous videos for millions of basketball consumers across the world. And surely before he began running a nationally known basketball training business from the comfort of Immanuel Lutheran Church in Lawrence, Kansas, where some of the nation’s elite college players like Luka Garza, Mark Mitchell, Christian Braun and Marcus Garrett dedicate their time and resources to progress as players. 

Before all that, there was just a pair of Reeboks and a dream — things that would play a significant role in creating the brand that is 90/10 Training.

***

Danyliv’s introduction to the game of basketball was hardly unique. Casually taking in a local college’s open gym while alongside his grandfather is what initially sparked his interest in hoops. But seriously pursuing basketball as a career path and doing so in the United States? Well, how that came about was certainly unusual, and all the credit goes to two DVDs: NBA Street Series Ankle Breakers and the AND1 Mixtape collection.

“[Ankle Breakers] had Stephon Marbury, Steve Francis, Allen Iverson, T.J. Ford,“ Danyliv said. “…it was the first time I had ever seen anything that has to do with the NBA and America. Ever since I was introduced to that around age 11 or 12, I really fell in love with the game more.”

A dream rarely becomes reality without some sort of action, and in Danyliv’s case, Ukraine native Boris Vukobrat’s action is what set everything off. Danyliv was 15 years old at the time Vukobrat served as an international scout for the Minnesota Timberwolves. Vukobrat would regularly host basketball camps in Kyiv for the European youth to attend at the time, and Danyliv made his way to one. Inspired by the open gyms he’d consumed and the basketball films he’d watched over the years, Danyliv put his skills on full display. Vukobrat noticed, was impressed with what he’d seen and connected Danyliv with a high school basketball program at Westlake Prep in Florida, where a full scholarship materialized shortly after. Without hesitation, Danyliv was off to America.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CPI3uAKANHH/?igshid=N2Q2MGM2OGQ%3D

But Danyliv’s basketball journey quickly went from a feel-good Hollywood movie to a drama-filled one with obstacles that would test his love for the game. 

By his senior year at Westlake Prep, Danyliv had mostly seen his college basketball interest fall by the wayside thanks to a career-threatening knee injury that required a microfracture surgery — the same operation that threw daggers into the careers of NBA greats like Brandon Roy and Greg Oden. 

The injury left Danyliv without a Division I basketball offer after high school and led him to a junior college in Oklahoma. He held onto hope that his knees and basketball career would last a bit longer, but as time went on, it became apparent nothing would heal Danyliv’s body in a way that would allow him to perform up to his standards. Like Roy and like Oden, Danyliv’s microfracture devoured another promising basketball career in its early stages. And although he knew the ball would stop bouncing one day, this kid chased his dream halfway around the world and wasn’t ready for it to end so soon.

After acknowledging his playing career was all but over, Danyliv knew he needed to find another way to finish school and also stick around the game he loved so passionately. That prompted him to take matters into his own hands. Danyliv exchanged emails with several NAIA schools, trying vigorously to latch on at a four-year program. Eventually, he made his way to Ottawa University in Kansas, not as a student-athlete but as a student-assistant coach. 

There, his life would forever change. 

***

Danyliv quickly realized how little went into being a student-assistant coach. He had minimal say in the day-to-day management of the team — practice plans, input on plays, skill development — and mainly spent time running errands for coaches. And while Danyliv was beyond thankful for the opportunity Ottawa had given him — allowing him to come in on scholarship, no less — he just knew there was more he could offer the program than assisting with the coaching staff’s day-to-day chores. He owed it to the program to become more valuable and was on a mission to figure out what that value was. So, Danyliv made it a priority to hang around and make himself available outside of practice. He began working out guys on the team who wanted additional reps and slowly adding his own flair.

“I was doing some B.S. cone drills, some tennis ball drills, some heavy ball stuff,” Danyliv said. “I had no clue what I was doing. But guys seemed to like it, and they were working out hard, so they felt like they were getting better. And that’s how everything kind of started for me.”

https://www.instagram.com/p/CNFj4UaA_Vq/?igshid=N2Q2MGM2OGQ%3D

The workouts remained team-specific until the university’s chaplain, Briley Rivers, took note. Rivers, blown away with the amount of time and energy Danyliv was putting in during his free time to help the student-athletes, asked if he would be willing to do individual training with his 10-year-old son. Danyliv happily agreed and officially had his first client. The reward for his services was $10 per hour, twice a week — a price that now ranges between $55 and $125 per hour, depending on the specific types of workouts (individual or group) and the frequency of them.

A few training sessions led to a few more until Danyliv’s calendar was packed with new clients and they outgrew the facilities at the university. Rivers, appreciative of Danyliv and all he was doing, went out of his way to find him a small gym located inside a local church. It was a bit outdated but came with perks that more than made up for it — namely 24/7 access and no usage fees.

It took a lot of DIY renovation to get it in shape: scrubbing and putting new finishes on the hardwood floors (for both visual aid and performance enhancement), installing new backboards and rims and rehabilitating the walls surrounding the court.

When all was said and done, Danyliv and his business partner, Ashley Beets, ran a successful basketball training gig at the Ottawa-based church for two years. Beets and Danyliv originally met when she’d brought her son in for training while Danyliv was still in his student-assistant coach role at Ottawa University. Like Rivers, the Chaplain mentioned previously, Beets was impressed enough to want to help. Once Danyliv finished school, she helped him set up the basketball training business that became 90/10 Training, a business they’d put their all into.

“We put so much of our heart and soul into making that a beautiful place that kids wanted to come into and wanted to work hard,” Beets said. “We took so much pride in the fact that the two of us legitimately did it ourselves.”

But the church’s congregation began to dwindle. Fewer and fewer people were attending worship services, and dollars stopped coming in and the doors to the church closed completely, leaving Danyliv and Beets in scramble mode to find a new home for their growing partnership. They briefly set up shop at a recreation center near the University of Kansas, but that lasted less than a year. Between volleyball and basketball practices occupying bits and pieces of the 14-court facility and pickup games taking place on others, it was nearly impossible to orchestrate a proper distraction-free workout. 

Danyliv was losing hope by the day. His patience dwindled. Then he stumbled upon another incredible blessing when a friend suggested the basketball gym at Immanuel Lutheran Church in Lawrence. 

https://www.instagram.com/p/B-8aIroANmV/?igshid=N2Q2MGM2OGQ%3D

***

For Danyliv, the idea of this church that he’d routinely driven by every day having a functional basketball court where he could run 90/10 Training felt impossible. Nevertheless, he called the church, set up a tour, and was, well, blown away.

“I’m thinking carpet floors, bad backboards, or something small and not very good,” Danyliv said. “When the lady at the church met with us and showed us around, my jaw just dropped. [It was a] state-of-the-art gym with a regulation-size backboard, backboard padding, mats on the wall, a lounge room with a big couch and a TV. It had a kitchen, a storage room, AC and heat.”

Basketball is religion in Kansas, after all, so it made all the sense in the world that a house of worship would provide the best facilities around.

The church’s proximity to Kansas’ campus boosted Danyliv’s business by expanding its clientele in Lawrence and Topeka. But more importantly, it was a move that fully opened the door to accessing the Jayhawks men’s basketball team, even if it would mean mending a past relationship with the program. 

One year earlier Danyliv had trained then-Jayhawks Marcus Garrett and Sam Cunliffe at the team’s practice gym, which he didn’t know was against NCAA rules at the time. A member of the Kansas staff had to be the bad cop regarding the situation, but the connection between the two sides would smoothen out over time thanks to a previously formed bond with the Selden family.

Wayne Selden is the former Rock Chalk star turned NBA player most college fans are familiar with. His younger brother, Anthony, had taken up training with the 90/10 crew back during Danyliv’s time in Ottawa. One day, little bro brought big bro to a training session to get some work in with Danyliv. Acknowledgment of the workout was shared and later reposted by Wayne on social media, which immediately caught the eye of many other Kansas players.

@peterdanyliv

WAYNE SELDEN IS A BEAST😤#basketball #foryou #highlights #familytime #weekendtrip #sidehustle #itcostthatmuch

♬ Ski – Young Stoner Life & Young Thug & Gunna

“Ever since we posted that workout on our Instagram, and then Wayne reposting it, we started getting other guys that were on the team to reach out,” said Danyliv. “LeGerald Vick and Silvio [De Sousa] were reaching out asking [me] to work them out. And that’s kind of how it started. Then, when we moved to Lawrence, one of my first full-time guys was Silvio, and then after Silvio, we started having Marcus Garrett and then Jalen Wilson.”

A simple social media repost marked the initial breakout for Danyliv and Beets’ 90/10 brand during the 2010s. Instagram and TikTok have since taken the basketball training brand to new heights in the 2020s. Ironically, the breakout arose from another one of the team’s fork-in-the-road moments.

“The first things we were posting when we first started using Instagram was nothing but players,” said Beets. “It wasn’t Peter at all, he was hardly in any of the videos that we posted. It was all about the players and the moves that they were working on, the skill that they were building, and it wasn’t actually about [Danyliv] teaching as much as it was about them learning. 

“That kind of started to change for us with social media absolutely blowing up right around the time of COVID. We couldn’t get anybody in the gym and everything that we had to film to continue to stay relevant had to be Peter. It had to be him teaching and showing what it is that he knew, and it had to be his face, his likeness and his voice. That started to change things for us.”

Originally hesitant and totally against the idea of sharing his work with the world, Danyliv is now fully embracing the concept. He understands the vision, and with his social media posts, he’s influencing an audience and a generation of hoopers in the same way the former NBA icons and streetball legends did for him. In doing so, the business is running to him. Danyliv’s earned access to shoe and apparel companies he’d only dreamt of sporting as a kid, has formed a social media following that enables his work and message to reach millions of basketball fans worldwide, and now has access to the world’s most high-profile athletes — collegiate and professional.

Needless to say, the doors to the Jayhawks’ basketball facilities are open once again for the 90/10 crew. You can look up and down past Kansas rosters and find many players who excelled at the collegiate level before moving onto the professional ranks — many of which have trained with Danyliv during off-seasons. The list of clients is seemingly endless, including former Kansas national champions Christian Braun and David McCormack and current Jayhawk standouts Gradey Dick and Jalen Wilson. 

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CXd93dYFSbD/?igshid=N2Q2MGM2OGQ%3D

So when you revert back to Danyliv’s Instagram page and find him lying in a pile of shoes, see videos of him training NBA players or doing any of the fun things his lifestyle provides, don’t forget his story. Think about a guy who left the comforts of home to go out and chase a dream. Think about a guy who continuously pulled himself up and bet on himself each time the going got tough. Think about a self-made basketball icon who’s embracing the way basketball training and social media should coexist.

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How 20-year-old HBCU student Rajah Caruth went from virtual racing to NASCAR

Just five years ago, Rajah Caruth had zero racing experience. Now, he’s got a full-time NASCAR Truck Series ride.

The first time Rajah Caruth climbed behind the wheel of a race car, he knew nothing about it would be easy.

A rising senior at a Washington, D.C. high school in the summer of 2019, his only racing experience was on a virtual track with his iRacing rig. He wasn’t scared but had no idea what to expect, and he certainly wasn’t prepared for the physicality his virtual world could never fully simulate.

He instantly felt the pressure and vibrations in his hips, chest and legs, initially struggling to merge his iRacing experience with his novice on-track skills. On a real-life track, the stakes are exponentially higher.

“You have a reset button on [iRacing], so there’s almost zero consequences for crashing,” Caruth says. “Versus in real life, you slip a tire at one point or place your vehicle in a spot it shouldn’t be in, it’s game over.”

He doesn’t come from a family of racers with NASCAR ties. The Caruth family’s D.C. home is about 100 miles from the nearest NASCAR track. His parents work in academia and stressed education, despite college not being a priority for some aspiring racers, many of whom begin competing before they’re teenagers.

But Caruth’s fixation on NASCAR and becoming a professional driver only grew as he did. Already an avid student of the sport, Caruth kept digging.

Now, the 20-year-old racer and Winston-Salem State junior, who had zero NASCAR or racing experience just five years ago, is making his full-time debut in the third-tier NASCAR Truck Series on Friday at Daytona International Speedway.

Caruth, piloting the No. 24 Chevrolet for GMS Racing, is in an exclusive club with Cup Series driver William Byron, believed to be the only other driver who traversed the rare but conceivable route of converting simulated racing into a NASCAR career.

https://www.instagram.com/p/ClPOPx_gIv1/

***

Rajah Caruth is a Cars kid. His racing curiosity was piqued as a toddler with his first glimpse of Lightning McQueen before evolving into a full-blown motorsports obsession.

“Racing was always it for me,” Caruth tells me in the lobby of a downtown Los Angeles hotel ahead of NASCAR’s Clash at the Coliseum earlier this month.

Dressed in all black with a Chevy pullover and Chicago colorway Air Jordan 1s, he’s reserved, at first, but it only takes a couple minutes for his charismatic personality to burst through. He seems to shed initial signs of fatigue from his coast-to-coast flight earlier that day, each response becoming more animated and detailed. He’s just excited to talk racing.

He’s got an air of coolness about him, though he’s quick to admit even he has no idea how he’s balancing his fledgling career with his motorsports management major — four classes a term, all in person, while getting all As and Bs for the first time last semester, he says. But his parents insisted he have a backup plan.

Entranced by the cars and their speed, he was the kid who coaxed his family into planning Sundays after church around NASCAR races. Especially the Daytona 500, Sunday’s Cup Series season opener. He’d douse his Diecast cars in Wite-Out to create his own customized paint schemes and endlessly studied racing on YouTube. Motorsports even made its way into school projects, as he idolized Wendell Scott, the first Black driver to win a Cup race in 1963, and seven-time champion Jimmie Johnson.

When he saw NASCAR up close for the first time on a surprise family trip to Richmond Raceway when he was 12, his zeal intensified. NASCAR, especially at the 0.75-mile short track, blitzes the senses with deafening engines and the lingering smell of burnt rubber.

“Everything just seemed so infectious,” Caruth recalls. “From that point forward, it was like, I want to be a race car driver.”

iRacing, he thought, was going to help him get there. So as a rising high school junior in 2018, he shifted his focus.

Juggling school, basketball and track, plus a summer job, Caruth and his family fundraised for an iRacing rig. Every spare second he had was spent in that seat, teaching himself to be a better racer.

“That was my only shot,” he says.

And it worked.

NASCAR driver Rajah Caruth sits in his truck before a race
(Daylon Barr)

***

Caruth subscribes to the idea that you get out of iRacing what you put in. Treat it like a professional craft to master, not a video game, and you could end up with professional results. But making it to NASCAR requires more than that. Opportunity and financial support are necessities, and he needed to maximize iRacing to procure each piece.

The summer he turned 16, he was racing online for the first time in the eNASCAR Ignite Series, and his rapid improvements elevated him into NASCAR’s Drive for Diversity program the next year as the first participant with a majority-iRacing background.

Through the program, which NASCAR estimates has about 80 alumni, and help from Max Siegel’s Rev Racing team, Caruth was finally behind the wheel of a real race car. The following season in 2020, he won his first Late Model race at South Carolina’s Greenville-Pickens Speedway.

He went from iRacing to Legends to Late Models and ARCA, and after just four years, he made his NASCAR debut with seven Xfinity and four Truck races, all in 2022.

“That program gives you the leniency to develop and make mistakes, for the most part, and grow into your abilities and who you are as a person,” he says.

In his third Xfinity start, he made an unfortunate error, crashing on Lap 2 and taking out another driver. He says veterans — Bubba Wallace, Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Austin Dillon among them — were quick to reach out. They know the learning curve is almost insurmountable, but they also recognize significant potential in young drivers, says Brandon Thompson, NASCAR’s VP of diversity and inclusion.

“I’ve gotten that same text from drivers or from team owners or whoever it may be, like, ‘Hey, we’ve all been there,’” Wallace says. “The biggest thing you can do, though, is make sure you don’t do that again because that means you’ve learned from it. … I’ll go to his ass on certain things, but I keep it real with him.”

***

Making the jump from virtual to real-life racing was hardly seamless, Caruth remembers.

iRacing feeds drivers an abundance of information, and simulators are a common tool for the best of the best. But the virtual world can’t simulate all the physical sensations from a real car and track. It can be overwhelming.

He had to shake his bad habits, like toning down the aggression, not oversteering and not smashing the gas and destroying his rear tires. He reminds himself to be more present with his actual race car.

“I can’t be on 10 all the time,” he jokes.

He’s extra hard on himself, especially when, at first, the real-life results weren’t there. He describes 2019 and 2020 as “a pretty tumultuous” time.

Even as he adapted to real cars and tracks, confidence eluded him. So he turned to his family for guidance and began therapy last year, saying the combination led him to a turning point in the past six months as he released some of his self-inflicted pressure.

Rajah Caruth stands near his race car at a track with his father, sister and mother
Rajah Caruth with his father, Roger; sister Liyah; and mother, Samantha. (Daylon Barr)

“I’ve kind of learned to give myself grace,” Caruth says. “You’ve got to hold yourself accountable, but you cannot have negative self-talk.”

Not all the attention the rising star has gained is positive, though. He faces misinformed stigmas about starting in iRacing and seizing his Drive for Diversity opportunity as a young Black man breaking into a predominantly white sport with an ugly, racist history.

Both factors fuel his haters, Caruth says, despite NASCAR progressing to be more inclusive and diverse. He’s been booed at races and trolled on social media, leading him to delete the apps from his phone. Just a few weeks ago, during an iRacing event, he recalls a racer he passed a couple times chirping at him afterward: “‘Everybody knows how you got your ride.’”

Those comments are “pretty frequent,” Caruth says. And if critics aren’t questioning his credentials as an iRacer, they point to the Drive for Diversity program as giving him an unearned ride, when the program’s goal is quite literally the opposite. Aiming to provide equitable opportunities in motorsports for those historically discriminated against, the program helped launch NASCAR careers for Wallace, Daniel Suárez and Kyle Larson.

Previously the only Black full-time driver in NASCAR, Wallace is, unfortunately, all too familiar with taunts and disingenuous arguments about how he got his Cup ride. Because of that, Wallace, as a mentor and friend, has been able to help Caruth navigate his growing spotlight, encouraging him to tune it all out.

“Bubba has been one of the most helpful to me, not only for on-the-race-track things but … also on a personal level, like understanding the similar things we go through,” Caruth says. “Since I was in Legend cars, it’s been big to have him in my corner.”

NASCAR drivers Bubba Wallace and Rajah Caruth laugh while standing near cars on a race track
Bubba Wallace and Rajah Caruth (Daylon Barr)

By 2021, only about three years after he began iRacing, Caruth’s shot at a full-time NASCAR ride was in sight. But he needed financial support to help him advance from the ARCA racing to the next level: the NASCAR Truck Series.

When Warrick Scott — founder and CEO of the Wendell Scott Foundation honoring his late grandfather — met Caruth at Charlotte Motor Speedway in 2021, he asked the young driver what was needed. Simply, help securing sponsors.

“It resonated with me because we’re the family that never got sponsored, and I understood that he would need that help,” says Warrick, seeing Caruth’s potential for global stardom.

Warrick was determined to provide an opportunity that escaped his grandfather, so the Wendell Scott Foundation teamed up with GMS Racing to be Caruth’s primary sponsor for the 2023 season.

With Wendell Scott’s name on the hood of Caruth’s truck more than 60 years after the Hall of Famer’s first NASCAR start, there’s a clear throughline connecting him to Caruth and the future of the sport. For Warrick, the foundation’s investment in Caruth is not hollow; it furthers Wendell’s legacy and posthumously celebrates his career while also offering Caruth the chance to build on the history of Black NASCAR drivers.

“His parents have raised him to be a leader and to be a champion, so that’s my expectation,” Warrick says.

“This is not some type of diversity and inclusion ploy. No, no, no. This is a collaborative effort through strategic partnerships, racing proficiency and internal know-how that we think will create a situation for him to become the best.”

A truck speeds down a race track with the crowd blurred behind it
Rajah Caruth during practice for the NASCAR Truck Series NextEra Energy 250 at Daytona International Speedway. (Sean Gardner/Getty Images)

***

About five years after he conceived his path to NASCAR, Caruth’s experience with iRacing and on a real track now complement each other.

Even with his full-time Truck Series ride, he says he’ll continue relying on iRacing, not only for reps but also to help prepare him for tracks he’s never raced on, like Circuit of The Americas, where he’ll compete in his first NASCAR road course race in March.

With an insatiable hunger, Caruth studies his own film and that of racers he wants to emulate while drivers, like Wallace, share competitive feedback and push him to utilize the track limits, he says. He’s seemingly always taking notes, perhaps compensating for having only run a few more than 100 races on a real track.

“He’s really a student of the sport trying to hone his craft, and I truly admire the efforts he’s made,” says Johnson, a co-owner of Legacy Motor Club, the sister organization to GMS Racing.

“The interest he’s created in the corporate world and the way he carries himself and conducts himself and his performance on track so far, he has all the ingredients to be a Cup champion.”

NASCAR driver Rajah Caruth writes with a pen on the roof of his car at a race track
(Daylon Barr)

One thing clear to anyone watching Caruth race is his speed. His crew chief, Chad Walter, says thanks to iRacing and studying YouTube videos, Caruth is able to share detailed feedback about how the truck is handling in a way drivers twice his age are unable to describe.

“I really don’t want to jinx anything, but success is not as far around the corner as he thinks,” the veteran crew chief said. “It really isn’t.”

Caruth easily rattles off the many areas for improvement but is almost speechless about where he excels — somehow all while exuding confidence. The self-described superhero geek invokes Captain America’s “whatever it takes” Endgame line as his mentality for rising to the Cup Series.

Though guided by others before him, Caruth paved his own way to the NASCAR Truck Series. But he hopes other aspiring drivers, especially children of color, will try to follow him.

Comfortably a member of Gen Z — a demographic the sport needs to engage — NASCAR and those in racing see his star-power potential too. He joined icon Richard Petty, a Legacy Motor Club team ambassador, last month in the Rose Bowl Parade on NASCAR’s 75th anniversary float celebrating the sport’s history and future.

NASCAR legend Richard Petty and Truck Series driver Rajah Caruth wave while standing on a float in the 2023 Rose Parade.
Richard Petty and Rajah Caruth in the 2023 Rose Parade. (AP Photo/Michael Owen Baker)

“Rajah is in a unique position because he represents both the future of what Cup racing could be one day, but also the present of someone who is experiencing success in the moment,” Thompson says.

“Standing next to someone who has 200 wins and has defined the sport for a generation, having Rajah be there to sort of represent what that next generation of drivers looks like, I think it’s pretty significant.”

He possesses a sophistication unusual for someone who was a teenager last year. He craves Game 7 moments on the track, now trusting his instincts and abilities as he gains invaluable experience. He wants to be the best, ever, in NASCAR, and that, in his eyes, would mean surpassing Johnson.

“I feel like he’s the best of all time,” Caruth says, “and that is who I want to beat one day.”

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Meet the artist who live paints NASCAR’s champion within minutes of the checkered flag at Phoenix

Bill Patterson captures NASCAR race winners at Phoenix Raceway with stunning paintings completed in about an hour.

AVONDALE, Ariz. — As NASCAR’s top drivers roar toward the finish line at Phoenix Raceway with the checkered flag in sight, Bill Patterson is in Victory Lane hard at work.

You may not recognize his name or face, but he’s a staple for NASCAR races at the desert track, leaving in Victory Lane a rainbow of paint splotches that didn’t quite make it from his brush to his canvas depicting the latest winning driver and car.

With team members, sponsors, reporters and fans flooding the area waiting for the winner to pull his car center stage, Patterson is frantically painting a vibrant masterpiece celebrating the win all in a matter of minutes after Phoenix’s two Cup Series events each season, including Sunday’s championship race. A live painter, most of his work is created on the spot, and in an hour — sometimes a little more, sometimes less — his blank canvas is transformed into a fantastic array of colors evoking tremendous speed.

Every brush stroke counts. He doesn’t have time to think. Just paint continuously and quickly.

“It’s all about trying to express the emotion and the speed,” 69-year-old Patterson says. “And once I figured out that I could do that fast — and because I did it fast — the thing has energy in it. … I don’t have time to make it perfect. It stays raw and keeps this energy, and I don’t have time to go in and screw it up.”


(Courtesy of Bill Patterson)

Although his hand-designed wooden easel is usually parked in Phoenix’s Victory Lane — or near the adjacent stage if it’s the title race — his work begins long before the checkered flag. It has to if he wants to capture the drama of a NASCAR race, plus the desert landscape in the background, in such a short period of time.

With a pencil and sketchbook, he’s glued to the race, outlining different ideas or storylines he wants to include. It sometimes takes him several sketches to solidify his depiction of the race and how the winner finished first, though he doesn’t always paint the finish. A cactus — like the recognizable neon green one at Phoenix’s start-finish line — is usually prominently featured.

Patterson blocks out the pandemonium, focusing only on his 60-by-42-inch canvas and 10-color palette. He grabs a wide brush and paints huge streaks of color across the canvas, serving as the background’s foundation.

“The moment I start until just a couple minutes in, it’s a little scary,” Patterson says. “Once I feel like I can see all the parts and pieces, even though they’re just blobs of color, then I just get to have fun. It’s probably like stage fright.”

Every live painting of his is unique. Some live artists will repeatedly paint the same subject, like the Statue of Liberty or Jim Morrison, Patterson notes. But no matter how many times he’s portraying a NASCAR winner, he’s painting a new scene each time.

He works carefully to establish his vantage points early. Perspective is the most challenging element of his live paintings, and “it would be really easy to get the perspective completely out of whack.” The finished product needs to look good both at a distance and up close, so he’ll periodically take a couple steps back to make sure nothing is too distorted.

Joe Gibbs and Bill Patterson at Phoenix Raceway. (Will P1 Images/Will Patterson)

With background colors, perspective and cues in his sketchpad in place, Patterson has his outline. And once he can trace the throughline from his sketch to his outline and how he envisions the final work, he then begins to construct various elements of the painting simultaneously.

“I’ll build a little grandstand, I’ll put the timing tower, I’ll put the mountains in the background, I’ll start outlining the car,” Patterson says. “I work on the whole thing, back to front, and it’s sort of a stream of consciousness thing.”

Though he seldom looks over his shoulder as the mayhem around him increases, he picks up on people’s observations from nearby. When it’s still a mess of colors on the canvas, he overhears some unimpressed viewers comment how their six-year-old could do what he’s doing.

But as his mastery over his subject matter grows clearer, he hears onlookers retract their comments.

Patterson describes his style as somewhere between expressionism and impressionism, meaning his work is not an exact depiction and it’s definitely not a photocopy. It’s his interpretation of the race with beautifully blended colors and impressively minute details.

“It’s certainly a unique thing,” said Chase Elliott, the 2020 champ and a title contender again on Sunday. “I can’t hardly write my name, so it’s amazing that somebody can freehand a [painting] like that and it be that memorable and special. And to do it that quick is incredible.”

Bill Patterson’s depiction of Chase Elliott’s 2020 NASCAR Cup Series championship hanging at Phoenix Raceway offices.

***

Speed has long been part of Patterson’s life. As a toddler in Calgary, he started competitively ski racing around the same time he began taking art classes. But he said it wasn’t until he moved to Argentina when he was 11 that he was first introduced to the world of motor sports up close.

He was instantly enamored, drawing parallels between two racing disciplines in extremely different sports.

“I got to go to my first car race down there and the first car goes into the first corner on the first day of the first event and I’m like, ‘Ohhh, I get it!’” says Patterson, who now lives in San Antonio.

“It’s so much like ski racing, it’s about the apex when you’re going in, when you’re going out. What do you want to avoid, what do you want to take advantage of? And so I got hooked.”

https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ3TUrmLdeH/

Though his interest in motor sports grew, his love for art never vanished. He’d attend local races in Buenos Aires and began combining his passion for speed and motor sports into art. But he was still years away from pursuing art as a profession, instead studying to become an architect.

He desperately wanted to be a painter but didn’t know how to make it a profession. He needed direction, he needed a subject, a genre, a market in which to actually sell anything he created.

Then came his epiphany. He was at the Mexican Grand Prix in the mid-1980s when he spotted an American selling art out of a backpack.

“I realized, ‘Oh my god, there’s a guy that’s doing what I want to do, that found a niche,’” Patterson recalls. “And so I went home, and about six months after that race, I quit my job and just committed to the starving artist routine, as long as I could stand it.”

***

It wasn’t until 2005 that Patterson first started working for Phoenix Raceway. Then-track president Bryan Sperber found some of Patterson’s work online and reached out about a one-off IndyCar piece, the artist said.

“He called me the next year and said, ‘Hey, would you be able to come and do a live painting in Victory Circle?’” Patterson remembers. “And I’m like, ‘Oh my god, you are talking to the guy that wants to do exactly that!’”

Bill Patterson’s depiction of Kevin Harvick’s March 2015 victory hanging at Phoenix Raceway offices.

Since 2006, Patterson has been part of NASCAR’s post-race celebrations at Phoenix Raceway for its two races each season and is contracted by the governing body, sometimes also painting other moments throughout a race weekend. He estimates he does 20 to 30 live paintings a year, and at least 90 percent of his work is in the motor sports world, ranging from NASCAR, IndyCar or IMSA races to charity dinners and car dealership events. And he’s regularly jetsetting around the country for them.

“I remember seeing him in Victory Lane and just being shocked at how he can do what he does in the amount of time that he does, and to have it look so perfect,” Phoenix track president Julie Giese said. “I love his style, I love the way that they turn out and it really captures the moment.”

In addition to Phoenix, Patterson can also be found at other NASCAR tracks like Watkins Glen International and Daytona International Speedway, where he depicted rookie Austin Cindric’s Daytona 500 victory in February.

“Bill Patterson is kind of an iconic artist when it comes to motor sports,” Cindric said. “His artwork is unique and very recognizable, and… I think why it works so well with motor sport is because it looks like it’s going fast. There’s speed in the artwork, which is always quite cool to see.”

Bill Patterson and 2022 Daytona 500 winner Austin Cindric the day after the race at Daytona International Speedway.

To master knocking out a gorgeous masterpiece in about an hour, Patterson approached it like an athlete: practice and film.

He’d station a camera and tripod in his backyard, repeatedly recording himself work. Working quickly is a given, but when he’d examine the video, Patterson discovered patterns he’d fall into that were hindering his pace.

“I was painting the same area six times and leaving other areas blank,” he says. “[It was] learning to pick up and understand when a part of it is done. And, ‘Oh, I should have stepped back to get a better look at the perspective because it looks weird now.’

“And I learned a lot in a short period of time, just by doing it over and over and over again.”

In developing his own expressionism-impressionism hybrid style, Patterson says he looked to the late LeRoy Neiman, whose work you’d likely recognize, if not his name. Neiman — who Patterson described as “king [expletive]” — was a prominent American sports artist in the second half of the 20th century and serves as Patterson’s greatest inspiration in the live painting arena.

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Especially early on, Patterson said he was conscious about not wanting his work to resemble an exact photographic copy of cars on track — though he did try that once. Over the course of weeks, he recreated a photo “with some mild personality,” and he loved it. But only for about 15 minutes, when he realized he didn’t want to be a human Xerox machine, so he pushed himself to find another dimension in his work.

“What’s missing? What do I need to do to change the paradigm here? And that’s when I realized, ‘Oh, I want to try to communicate speed. I want to try to communicate motion,’” he remembers.

“I went from this photographically perfect painting and then practiced basically sort of devolving, like subtracting, or just putting in essentials only and not any more.”

He found it liberating.

Now, Patterson is at the point where his live paintings are methodical and mechanical. He has his color codes in his sketches: a touch of black goes on that side, yellow on the other, blue and pink up top. He wants to feel the sketch, feel the speed and feel comfortable knowing he can translate it from his pad onto the canvas.

He paints with acrylics. But because of his masterful color blends, he says some artists assume he works with oil paints, which take a long time to dry, allowing the artist to continually play with color and flow. He can achieve the same effect with acrylics, but only if he works quickly.

Bill Patterson painting Kyle Larson’s 2022 Watkins Glen win in Victory Lane. (Matthew OHaren-USA TODAY Sports)

When he’s pleased with his idea, he drops his sketchpad on the ground near his easel but almost never glances at it once he begins painting — unless he’s lost and needs the reference. He’ll paint himself cues to follow as he completes the piece, like a white stripe signifying not only speed but where the wheel is supposed to be.

“We’re probably in [Victory Lane] for 45 minutes or so after a win by the time we get out of the car, do interviews, do all the pictures,” said Joey Logano, NASCAR’s 2018 champion who has two career Phoenix wins and is a 2022 title contender.

“And he’s over in a corner, and he’s painting the car or maybe a scene of what the end of the race looked like, the first couple of cars. And I always thought that was really cool to watch it come together while we’re taking pictures.”

***

Strategy and planning are crucial for Patterson’s quick execution of a live painting. But he can’t start painting too much before the race ends because, as NASCAR drivers and fans know all too well, chaos in the final laps of a race can jumble car positions and produce an unexpected winner.

And he likes to include a second car. Sometimes it’s the runner-up if it’s a close finish, sometimes it’s more about highlighting a compelling story from the race, like a car that kept challenging the winner for the lead or the title runner-up if it’s the championship race.

Bill Patterson at Phoenix Raceway. (Will P1 Images/Will Patterson)

By the time there are just five laps remaining on the one-mile track, Patterson says he has a pretty good idea of the winner and the second car he wants to feature. He can then begin envisioning the winning paint scheme and how he wants to portray it.

“The really fun part for me is when the driver goes over to see the painting — Bill’s got it finished at that point — and just to see the smile on their face,” Giese said. “I think the drivers, they very much respect it and enjoy seeing his work and being part of that history.”

The winner usually signs the painting but doesn’t actually get to keep it, which comes as a surprise to some.

Most of Patterson’s Phoenix paintings are at the track or track offices, lining the hallway walls. Cindric’s Daytona 500 victory painting currently is with his winning car on display at the Motorsports Hall of Fame of America adjacent to the Daytona track.

Patterson has painted a Kyle Larson victory multiple times, including when the No. 5 Chevrolet driver won at Watkins Glen in August and after Phoenix’s 2021 championship race — and that painting is the first thing visitors see at the track offices. Although Larson said he has some motor sports art, he hasn’t commissioned any copies from Patterson. “Yet.”

“Someday, I would like to get some paintings from him, for sure,” Larson said. “There’s another guy [Bobby Moore] that does something similar to him at the Chili Bowl every year, so I’ve gotten a lot of those paintings of my midgets and stuff that I’ve won in, but I don’t currently own any of Bill’s. His price range is a little higher.”

Bill Patterson’s depiction of Kyle Larson’s 2021 NASCAR Cup Series championship.

Since Phoenix took over hosting NASCAR’s championship weekend in 2020, Patterson is faced with the annual hypothetical challenge if the season finale winner is not the same as the champion. With Elliott and Larson winning both the race and title in 2020 and 2021, respectively, Patterson hasn’t had to choose.

But with more parity in the field this season, there’s perhaps a greater chance the champion and race winner won’t be the same driver. Should that happen, Patterson said he’ll paint the champ — either Elliott again, Logano, Ross Chastain or Christopher Bell — and that piece will eventually replace Larson’s title painting at the front of the Phoenix offices.

“I think the coolest and prettiest things in the world are race cars, so it kind of hits home for me,” Cindric said. “Anyone in the motor sports industry — or really, anyone a fan of motor sports — could look at artwork a lot differently, depending on your perspective.

“So I think capturing that perspective for as many different viewers is probably challenging. But I always like it when art looks fast because in the car, it feels fast.”

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Q&A: NHRA Top Fuel drag racer Leah Pruett on what it takes to pilot a car ‘faster than a rocket ship’

For The Win got tips on how to be a professional drag racer from Top Fuel star Leah Pruett.

MORRISON, Colo. — With more than 1,000 feet of straight track ahead and NHRA Top Fuel drag racer Leah Pruett coaching me from the passenger seat of a souped-up 2021 Dodge Charger Scat Pack, I floored it.

Literally.

I completed a mostly stationary burnout to scrub debris from the tires and heat them up a bit, as the pros do before a race, and was patiently waiting for the lights in front of me to signal when to hit the gas. Working with both feet, per Pruett’s instructions, I simultaneously released the brake and slammed into the throttle as my right foot literally hit the floor of the car when the lights turned yellow.

If they switch from yellow and you see green, you’re already late, Pruett says, offering up tips as a veteran driver with nine Top Fuel event victories who’s now competing for first-year NHRA team Tony Stewart Racing, owned by her NASCAR Hall of Fame husband.

“As soon as I see any yellow, it’s an explosion, kind of like kickboxers and being an explosive tight end or something,” Pruett said. “Exactly wherever their cue is, it’s hitting it, and my queue is the yellow, amber lights.”

With Leah Pruett (Pat Caporali, Mopar Dodge//SRT Motorsports)

Of course, Pruett drives a dragster with 11,000 horsepower that can reach more than 330 miles per hour and pull up to seven g forces (it reverses to negative seven when the parachute releases to slow the car, according to her Funny Car teammate Matt Hagan). And reaction time is crucial in trying to out-duel the racer in the next lane to the finish line first.

The Charger Scat Pack we were in Thursday at Bandimere Speedway — which will host the Dodge Power Brokers NHRA Mile-High Nationals this weekend and where the speeds might be a tad slower because of the 5,764-foot elevation — was a far cry from what Pruett usually pilots.

In 2018, she won at Bandimere — where she also has a career-best 69.2 Top Fuel round winning percentage — going 316.45 miles per hour in 3.831 seconds, and enters this weekend ranked 10th in the standings.

On a smoking sunny day outside of Denver with temperatures pushing 100 degrees, it felt like 1,000 in the car. The windows needed to be up and the air conditioning off because we couldn’t risk condensation hitting the race. Plus, I was a nervous with a professional racer riding with me, ready to critique.

My reaction time off the start could have been better, but when Pruett shouted, “Go!” I was gone. It took about nine seconds for me to break 80 miles an hour, and suddenly, my thrilling run was over. No parachute needed, as we coasted up a hill at the end of the track and I gently pushed on the brakes while we quickly opened the windows.

Not nearly as impressive as my first ride with Pruett in the driver’s seat when she got us to 91 miles an hour in a smidge more than nine seconds. But she complimented my run — maybe she was just being nice — so I’ll take it.

After our jolts of exhilaration, I chatted with the Arizona-based racer about the NHRA’s mind-blowing speeds, how she trains to handle them and what she wishes people knew about drag racing.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Why a Blink-182 song might lead the Colorado Avalanche to another Stanley Cup

It’s all about all the small (Colorado Avalanche) things in the Stanley Cup Final.

DENVER — The background buzzing of nearly 18,000 hockey fans in Ball Arena during Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Final erupted into animated cheers during a TV timeout midway through the third period.

With Wednesday’s thrilling series opener between the Colorado Avalanche and Tampa Bay Lightning tied at three goals apiece, Blink-182 bassist and vocalist Mark Hoppus appeared on the jumbotron with a pre-recorded message. He gave the Avs faithful crowd a shoutout, and everyone knew what was about to follow.

The first seconds of All the Small Things, Blink-182’s 1999 classic, blasted through the arena and ignited already rowdy fans, jumping up and down and waving their white and silver pom poms in the air, awaiting the opening titular lyrics.

All the, small things. True care, truth brings…

In the last three NHL seasons, the song has become a staple of Avalanche home matchups, particularly in the third period. Although it’s not played during every home game, it’s a tradition celebrated by Colorado fans and players alike, and one that amplifies the Avalanche’s urge to steal the lead or hold onto it for just a few minutes of play longer — especially as they play for their first Stanley Cup since 2001.

When the puck was about to drop, the song stopped. But the fans, as they often do, carried on screaming the lyrics of the catchy tune.

“It just adds on to the excitement the fans have and how into the game they’ve been, especially this year and this playoff run,” left winger J.T. Compher said.

After a scoreless end to regulation, Avalanche left winger Andre Burakovsky netted the game-winner just 83 seconds into overtime, delivering a 1-0 series lead to the home team.

Blink-182 fan and Avalanche goaltender Pavel Francouz said the tradition has changed the way he listens to All the Small Things. Instead of being reminded of his Blink-182 fandom when he was growing up, Francouz said now when he hears it on or off the ice, he connects it to memories or hopes of winning with his team.

“Usually, it’s a good mood in the arena and we’re winning, that’s when they play the song,” he said.

“I feel like especially lately, the fans are kind of waiting for it. And they get more and more excited, so they sing louder. So definitely when they take off and sing by themselves, it’s interesting to hear it.”

Francouz speculated his teammates would probably agree it’s the squad’s unofficial theme song.

That, in large part, is because of Craig Turney, who’s better known to Avalanche fans as DJ Triple T and has been DJing games since 2007. After listening to the song back in the fall of 2019, Turney played it during the next Colorado game, and it quickly became a (usually) third-period tradition.

The Avalanche’s game presentation team, in 2020, even sent instructions up to the NHL’s Edmonton bubble for how and when to play All the Small Things, said Steve Johnston, executive producer of game presentation for the Avalanche. When the team returned to playing at Ball Arena the following season, the tradition continued and intensified. There’s also a Twitter account dedicated to the ritual.

“It’s really taken off this year,” Johnston said. “And our fan base has just taken it and run with it. It’s just been this awesome thing that our fans have just really jumped on. They sing along to a lot of songs, but there’s just something about All the Small Things that just really stuck.”

Turney declined an interview for this story.

There’s no hard rule for when or when not to play the Blink-182 anthem, Johnston explained. It’s based on the feel and flow of the game and crowd, and it’s not something he and Turney try to force. Often, the song comes on when the Avalanche are winning, but not always, like Wednesday’s Game 1 when it was tied.

Center Nico Sturm, who only joined Colorado’s roster in March, likened All the Small Things to other NHL teams’ traditions — despite some of those being a little more wonky. The Carolina Hurricanes have their Storm Surge, Detroit Red Wings fans toss octopi on the ice, Nashville Predators fans opt for catfish and the Avalanche’s crowd rocks out to Blink-182.

“I think it’s one of the better traditions in the league,” Sturm said. “It’s nice for the fans to have that one thing to rally around. And the atmosphere is obviously always great when that song comes on.”

It’s a fun song, and — especially if you’re familiar with it, like diehard Avs fans are now, if they weren’t before — it’s nearly impossible not to get into the music. So even if the Avalanche are winning, the tune combined with 18,000 raging fans in Ball Arena screaming the lyrics gives the players an extra push to hold on for the win, they said.

“It definitely sends some chills and gives you an extra little motivational boost there,” right winger Logan O’Connor said. “It’s pretty uplifting for everyone and just the momentum or atmosphere feels like it shifts more towards us, which is pretty special.”

Of course, several players said it’s often hard to hear the song when they’re on the ice and ultra focused. But the bench is a different story, and they “feed off that energy for sure,” Compher said.

Sometimes, that results in players, particularly on the bench, bopping along with Blink-182. Center Alex Newhook said he’s among the players who catch themselves sometimes singing with the raucous fans.

“I’m sure I could sing the main chorus that the fans sing and stuff like that, but I don’t know if I could go for the whole song,” defenseman Cale Makar joked.

Multiple Avalanche players said they’re not huge Blink-182 fans, but they now know at least a few of the words to All the Small Things. Even general manager Joe Sakic said he’s got some of the lyrics “figured out.”

But not everyone else on the team does.

“I’m French Canadian, so a lot of times, I just sing the syllables,” right winger Nicolas Aube-Kubel said, adding that it also gives him chills, and he “for sure” finds himself nodding along on the bench — and hockey Twitter notices too.

Sturm added: “It usually means we’re in a pretty good spot in the game, right? So hopefully we can hear it a couple more times.”

Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na, na…

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Meet the true hero of the Indy 500’s bizarre celebratory tradition: The Veteran Milk Man

The Indy 500 winner will be handed a bottle milk afterward. Here’s the story of why — and how it gets there.

The instant Simon Pagenaud felt the ice-cold bottle of milk hit his hand, he raised it high in the air and poured.

As the whole milk flowed over his bright red Firestone hat, Pagenaud lifted his head, allowing the quart to spill over his face. Mouth opened and eyes closed, he enjoyed a few drops as he emptied the bottle on himself. He couldn’t help it; he wanted to soak up every bit of this famous Indianapolis 500 tradition.

“You usually get to spray the champagne when you win a race, and Indy is the only place you get to drink milk,” Pagenaud told For The Win, reflecting back on his 2019 Indy 500 victory. “So I just sprayed the milk all over my face because I just wanted to embrace the moment.

“That’s really when I thought, OK, I’ve joined the club. I can enjoy this just like they did before, but I’m gonna go even further. I’m gonna pour it all over my face just to show how happy I was.”

But while the Indy 500 and its iconic venue, Indianapolis Motor Speedway, can elicit magical feelings, the bottle didn’t just appear in Pagenaud’s hand. It was delivered to him by one of the “milk people.”

Editors note: Clicking this video will not replay the entire race. It begins with the post-race celebration.

Meet the milk man

When the Indy 500-winning driver’s car is ushered into Indianapolis Motor Speedway’s Victory Lane, a myriad of people are there eagerly waiting. But, perhaps, the most important person is holding a bottle of ice-cold milk.

The Veteran Milk Person. Yes, that’s an official title.

For the 2022 Indy 500 on Sunday (12:30 p.m. ET, NBC), the Veteran Milk Man is Tim Haynes, a 62-year-old dairy farmer from Garrett, Indiana who runs his family-owned Superior Dairy. As the veteran, he’ll be charged with the all-important task of delivering the celebratory 32-ounce glass bottle to Sunday’s winning driver.

His most crucial responsibility?

“The thing they joke about, dare I say, is ‘Don’t drop the milk,’ ” Haynes said.

Tim Haynes, the 2022 Indy 500 Veteran Milk Man. (American Dairy Association Indiana)

The American Dairy Association Indiana (ADAI) runs the show when it comes to the milk celebration, and their designated “milk people” are dairy farmers who make a three-year commitment to be part of Indy 500 history. After being the Rookie-elect for the first year, the chosen farmer becomes the Rookie Milk Person and inherits the duty of handing a bottle each to the winning team owner and chief mechanic. The following year, they become the Veteran Milk Person.

However, just because Haynes’ top responsibilities are at the end of the 500-mile race doesn’t mean he’ll have a casual and relaxing day. And after being the Rookie Milk Man for Hélio Castroneves’ 2021 Indy 500-winning squad, he knows what to expect.

He and the team of milk people will arrive at the track with the cooler around 6 a.m., surrounded by security — mostly to gain publicity around the milk, an ADAI spokesperson said. One year, the milk arrived in an armored car. Another time, the ADAI hired actors to play bodyguards for the cooler. This year, the milk and milk people will arrive with a police escort, where they’ll likely be greeted by fans wanting to take photos.

The milk people will then take the cooler to a secure location, and when the green flag flies, they’ll get a chance to watch the race. Or, at least, most of it.

“Usually about 15 laps before the end,” Haynes explained, “we head down to the presentation area where we wait for them to bring the winner. … It’s a maze of people. Everybody wants to be there.”

Before the Indy 500, the ADAI polls all the drivers for their milk preferences, should they win. They have three choices: whole milk, two-percent milk or fat-free milk. (Lactose-free milk is a secret fourth option, should any drivers request it.) The majority in recent milk polls requested whole.

Takuma Sato after winning the 104th Running of the Indianapolis 500 in 2020. (Mark J. Rebilas-USA TODAY Sports)

So when the winner takes the checkered flag, the milk people consult the poll, see the winner’s preference and pull the correct type of milk from the cooler.

“The taste was amazing,” said Takuma Sato, the 2017 and 2020 Indy 500 champion. “It was the best milk I had ever! Of course. It was 2 percent, chilled and felt amazing.”

Nine decades in the making

Although the celebratory bottle of milk is the Indy 500’s most famous long-standing tradition, going back to the 1930s, it’s undeniably a peculiar one. If you’re grossed out by it, take it up with Louis Meyer.

“It’s one of those great Americana events and traditions that really came out of no real pomp and circumstance [or] from some sort of directive,” said Jason Vansickle, vice president of curation and education for the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Museum.

Meyer was the first three-time Indy 500 champion, and he regularly drank buttermilk throughout his life, as his mother emphasized it when he was growing up. Though Meyer won the 1928 and 1933 Indy 500s, the first documented photo of him downing buttermilk after an Indy 500 win was in 1936, Vansickle explained.

The photo caught the attention of a milk industry executive, who vowed to have milk return to Victory Lane the following year. Little did that person know — with the exception of 1947 to 1955 — the tradition would continue for the next 87 years and counting.

However, every year the milk poll comes around, there are always a few drivers — this year, it’s Ed Carpenter and Felix Rosenqvist — who’d like to keep the milk tradition extra traditional and write in buttermilk, which isn’t an option.

“We just tried to educate them on the buttermilk,” Haynes said. “Buttermilk nowadays is totally different from buttermilk back when they drank it. Buttermilk nowadays is more for baking and stuff. If you ever drank it, it doesn’t taste very good.”

‘Magic’ milk

Ask just about any Indy 500 winner, and they’ll probably tell you how special the milk tradition is. But they’re not necessarily craving the bottle on what’s often a scorching Indiana day after racing at 200 miles an hour all afternoon.

“The milk thing is weird, I’m gonna be honest with you,” said Alexander Rossi, who won the 2016 Indy 500 as a rookie. “But so much of the 500 is about tradition, and it’s about the legacy of that race and what the people did before us. … I think just the sheer magnitude of the event is what’s kept all of these traditions alive for so many years.”

Alexander Rossi after winning the 100th running of the Indianapolis 500 in 2016. (Mark J. Rebilas-USA TODAY Sports)

Even if drivers aren’t big fans of milk or dairy in general, Vansickle said they still appreciate the history behind the milk tradition. It’s akin to another Indy 500 accolade.

Several drivers said they treat their bottles like trophies and have them on display at their homes or offices, some next to their Baby Borgs — the miniature version of the Borg-Warner Trophy the drivers actually get to keep.

One driver, now-four-time Indy 500 winner Castroneves, amended the celebratory milk tradition slightly — and it stuck. After his first victory in 2001, Castroneves became the first driver to take some sips and then dump the bottle on his head, Vansickle said. Not every driver has done this since, he added, but certainly most of them.

“I didn’t know what to do anymore,” Castroneves said looking back. “I took the milk, I chugged it and I’m like, ‘Ahhh, I wanted this so bad and finally got it!’ And then I started pouring [it] down my head.”

Hélio Castroneves after winning the 105th Running of the Indianapolis 500 in 2021. (Mark J. Rebilas-USA TODAY Sports)

Of course, the only issue with adding milk to an already sweaty fire suit is the subsequent smell — exacerbated by the drivers often keeping their suits on while they do media for several hours after the checkered flag.

Rossi said he felt “disgusting” after keeping his suit on for more than four hours after the race. Castroneves said the stench is also part of the tradition.

But Pagenaud and Sato, who called it “magic” milk, insist they didn’t smell.

“It was sweet, it was cold and it didn’t smell bad,” Pagenaud said. “The weirdest thing is it didn’t have a big effect on my suit. I didn’t smell bad after. I don’t know. They have special milk, I can tell you that.”

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