Herta's miscues:
Bryan Herta's having another rough day. There's a hint of a passive-aggression in Herta's radio communications with Bobby Rahal, the driver whining about this-and-that handling problem, and the owner trying to be encouraging with a shade of weariness and condescension in his voice. On Lap 19, Herta tries an inside pass on Pruett in Turn 3. There's not quite room enough for both cars and some light wheel-banging ensues. Herta spins and stalls in the middle of the corner, while his prey continues onward.

Herta comes in for his first pit stop on lap 29. From amidst the team's equipment just a meter inside pit wall, the work of the Shell crew looks like the movements of an elite commando team or a beautiful-designed piece of machinery. Each man's action's appear efficient, precise and unhurried. The only signs of urgency are the insistent sounds of the four air wrenches and the impatient revving of Herta's engine. The new tires are installed, and the vent man drops the car off the jacks, preparing to retreat once the last drop of fuel has gone in. The fueler disconnects and backs away, followed by the vent man. There's a microsecond pause to make sure the crew is clear. Herta gets the signal to go, engages the clutch, and then silence. Nothing. No sound, no movement. Herta has stalled the engine. The crew reacts quickly, inserting the external starter and sending Herta on his way, for a net loss of eight seconds. A sinking feeling of anticlimax lingers in the now-empty pit box, as I imagine the vent man's thoughts: "I'm risking my life to get you in and out of the pits in twelve seconds, so when we're finished the least you can do is leave, OK!"

Troubles for the Boy-Wonder:
Montoya's not having a good day either. Starting an uncharacteristic eighth, the points-leader gets penalized on Lap 31 for running over Tony Kanaan's air hose. The call is controversial, because it's unclear whether the hose was inside or outside the boundaries of the Drive-Thru Crew pit box. Montoya is moved to the back of the lead lap cars, facing a lot of ground to make up on a narrow concrete-walled track.

Charging forward through the field, Montoya picks up five positions in three laps and comes upon Max Papis. A dogfight begins for P11. As the pair head down the back straight on Lap 47, Montoya tucks to the inside just behind the Miller Lite car, hoping to outbrake Papis at Turn 3. But Papis is moving towards the inside also, and there's nowhere for Montoya to go. A blue tail taps a red nose, and both cars do an agonizing left-right-left cha cha, missing the wall by mere inches before continuing on course with Papis still ahead. A white-hot Montoya screams over the radio "Papis fucking blocked me again!" and Chip Ganassi replies "I'll take care of it."

Papis rises to the occasion and runs the fastest lap on the track, as Montoya hounds his owner for news: "Are they gonna call it? Are they gonna call it?" Chip replies with a three word command, delivered slowly and firmly, "drive...your...car."

Meanwhile Chip is giving the CART officials an earful in the hopes of getting Papis penalized for blocking, but Chief Steward Wally Dallenbach sticks to his usual policy of issuing a warning for the first offense. Chip tells Montoya the news, and the young driver is incensed. Ten laps later, Montoya makes side-to-side contact with Michel Jourdain Jr in Turn 5, knocking both drivers out of the race.

Reporters rush down to the Target pits in the hopes of catching Montoya's comments. When the driver arrives, there are multiple camera crews waiting. It's a strange sensation watching Montoya's mouth from a few feet away, yet hearing his voice on a slight delay through the scanner. Montoya gives three consecutive interviews complaining about Kanaan's hose and Papis' blocking, yet accepting responsibility for the incident with Jourdain, ("I didn't see him.") The young driver with eleven career start jawbones the officials in each interview, his tone dripping with the resigned bitterness of a grizzled veteran: "Cart is inconsistent in rules application. It's always been this way..."

A Drag Race on Pit Lane:
As soon as the yellow comes out on Lap 75, everyone with a credential dashes towards the end of the pit lane in a rush to catch the race leaders' final servicing. Dario has an advantage on the front group, but quick work in the pits is likely to determine positions 2-4 between de Ferran, Fittipaldi and Tracy. The action is going to be packed into a tight space, since Fittipaldi is in the second-to-last pit box, de Ferran is in the third, and Tracy is in the eighth.

Dario's already completed his stop and chuggs past, the speed-limiter making his engine gargle like a three-hundred pound man with a hangover. At our position between the Walker and Newman Haas pits, Kanaan's fuel tank blocks the upstream view of pit lane, so De Ferran appears suddenly and roars into his pit stall. As the Valvoline crew nears the completion of their work, Fittipaldi glides effortlessly into his pit box, navigating between de Ferran's front tire men and his own new set of rear tires in an outstanding bit of parallel parking. De Ferran's revving hard, expecting to see a glint of green and white in his left peripheral vision once Tracy completes service five pit stalls to the rear.

Just as Christian's tire man removes the left rear and sets it on the concrete, de Ferran gets the signal to leave and lights up the rear tires. He's using a heavy foot on the gas to steer the back end of the car to the right in an attempt to get a sharper angle away from the Newman Haas crew. It's a maneuver with a larger margin for error than using the steering wheel alone to guide the car, and something about so much power and wheel spin in such a cramped space feels instinctively wrong. De Ferran's back end almost touches the pit wall and suddenly there's a drag race to the blend line, as De Ferran cuts in front of Tracy who's screaming down the "fast lane" at the left edge of pit road. Christian blasts forward with nothing between him and pit-exit except his competitors fumes.

The race cars are gone, but the action is not over, as the entire Newman Haas crew gathers excitedly around a small beige TV/VCR combo unit like you would find in a suburban kitchen. Over and over, the crew runs a freeze-frame on the moment de Ferran left his pit box. Sure enough, de Ferran hit Christian's left rear tire that was resting on the ground, the violation captured by a fisheye-lens camera mounted on a mast atop Christian's fuel tank. The officials are notified and the polesitter is ordered to the back of the cars on the lead lap, his hopes for victory extinguished in a momentary puff of tire smoke.

Things go from bad to worse for Gil just seven laps later, when Greg Moore blows up in Turn 3 and sprays water and oil in Gil's path, causing a spin that may or may not have resulted in minor contact with the wall. De Ferran keeps the engine running, waits for an opening, radios in for new tires and gets back on course. As the Walker crew lays out a new set of Goodyears, a white-helmeted stormtooper marches towards the back end of Gil's pit. He's got all the trappings of a motorcycle CHiP, complete with aviator sunglasses, a bushy mustache, and a stride filled with attitude. A tattered copy of the yellow CART rulebook is nestled in a custom pantleg pocket reminiscent of an ankle holster. Cops are the same wherever you go!

Gil arrives and his crew gets to work, while the CART enforcer examines the right rear suspension. The cop knows what he's looking for, and holds up his clasped hands with his arms parallel to the ground. Back and forth, he alternates between a straight line and an upside-down V, signaling that a suspension part is bent. The busy crew ignores the official's silent gesture, and Gil hightails it like Luke Duke in the General Lee. But you can't escape the law. The cop strolls over to owner Derrick Walker, explains to him that a right rear suspension element is bent, and owner tells driver to come back in and park it, a nasty DNF that will move Gil from second to fourth in championship points.

Team Kool Green awaits victory:
Dario's in first, Tracy's in second. Owner Barry Green has been here before. In Houston last year, Tracy tried a banshee pass, making car-to-car contact with his teammate and hand-to-chest contact with Barry. Again in St. Louis, the teammates battled for position, touched wheels, and Tracy was knocked out of the race.

Barry shuttles back and forth between the command stations for Tracy and Franchitti. A knowing fan leans over the front row railing and speaks for the entire Canadian crowd, shouting "no team orders!" Dario's vent man leans over to a female employee of Team Green and shouts: "Barry just told Tracy 'You will maintain position, you will not attempt a pass!' and Tracy said 'OK, OK, I'm cool! A podium's just fine."

I lean over and ask Dario's father how he's feeling. "Terrible" replies George Franchitti, knowing that his son has been robbed of victory by this track before. The laps count down, one per minute, and the gap between Dario and Paul has stabilized between one and two seconds. Meanwhile, there's a battle going on for positions five to eight. Kanaan is knocking on Pruett's door for seventh, and is told on the radio "You can pass him, he's an old man!" Pruett hangs on to seventh for his best finish this season. As the checkered flag flies, the two teams Green become one in a giant and exuberant group hug, before running off towards victory lane. The final running order is Franchitti, Tracy, Fittipaldi, Moreno, Papis, Fernandez, Pruett, Vasser, Unser and Jones. Incredibly, five of the top ten drivers gained ten or more positions in the race, an unusual feat on Toronto's narrow streets.