I'm not here to play shrink - I'm here to win money. But I'd be lying if I said that my attention on the 89th running of the Indianapolis 500 on Sunday was purely sporting. That is how it began, but as the day progressed and the action heightened, I couldn't help but let my mind wander towards the cosmic forces that were at work in my life on the day of racing's oldest and most prestigious occasion. On the same day that Englishman Dan Wheldon held off upstart Danica Patrick and 31 others to seize the checkered flag and a spin in victory lane, my brother welcomed his first child (a son) into the world and a friend whom I've known for over 10 years buried his father. I will not waste your time trying to figure out the connection between these occurrences, but to ignore them entirely as random acts would be Lunacy.

From my stool at the bar in the Whispering Pines Inn, the 500 seemed like a reasonable backdrop for ontological contemplation about the life cycle on this Memorial Day weekend. Races themselves are similarly dizzying exercises - circular tires on oval tracks as human and machine work symbiotically to wage war against Time, the very fuel of life. The resultant threat of impending doom and the lurking specter of death are fundamental components of what makes auto racing so enthralling to people. Perhaps it is watching someone recklessly wager their life and tempt fate for a shot at fame and fortune that makes people somehow more conscious and appreciative of their own mortality.

(This very well could be the psycho-babble of an emotionally drained mind, but consider: the history of the Indianapolis 500 is rooted in bloodshed. The first race ever held at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway back in 1909 was a harrowing event that saw the deaths of drivers, mechanics and spectators. The crowd loved it. Word spread quickly about the event and the people began to flock there year after year, laying the foundation of the spectacle we saw on Sunday.)

So I was left to ponder the meaning of all of this while young Danica Patrick boldly controlled the wheel and the attention span of millions. And like so many others, I couldn't help but be mesmerized as she danced with fear and uncertainty at 200 miles per hour, trying to become the first woman to ever win the Indy 500. Her speed and handling were impressive. But just as impressive were her gusto and resilience. She stalled her engine on the second pit stop, she banged off Kosuke Matsuura's tires and nearly lost it, and she spun out while trying to avoid Scott Sharp just prior to the restart on lap 155. But Danica recovered, and when she got the drop on Wheldon during the lap 189 restart the excitement of the moment reached its zenith.

However, Wheldon was able to deny what seemed all but destined. He entered the race as the IndyCar Series points leader and continued his torrid start to the season, earning his fourth victory in five races in one of the most competitive Indy 500's ever. There were an amazing 27 lead changes swapped between seven drivers, and it wasn't until Wheldon slid in front of Patrick with just seven laps remaining that order was restored. His average speed was 157.603, and he completed the 200-lap, 500 mile trial in 3 hours, 10 minutes and 21.079 seconds.

I knew Danica Patrick wouldn't win a week before the race - it would've been too good to be true - but I wavered a bit on Wheldon and it cost me. On Thursday I featured 12 of the 33 drivers in the field, and that dozen included the top nine finishers, the overall lap leader (Sam Hornish Jr., who was a hard-luck loser after a crash on lap 147), and Kenny Brack (who saw the fastest car in the field sidelined with a mechanical problem on lap 92). All in all, I didn't have too bad a week when it came to prognostications, but I couldn't make it pay as much as I would've liked. I was 0.1302 seconds away from a nice pickup with either Vitor Meira or Bryan Herta, but if we all got paid for close calls in the gambling world, well, we'd all have a bit more time to ponder man's existential dilemma, wouldn't we?

Afterwards I was left torn over how to react to Danica Patrick's effort. On one hand it is impressive that she could stare down the reaper and be so competitive in a sport that is more testosterone-fueled than most. On the other hand, to note her accomplishment as anything other than a fourth-place near miss actually reduces what happened at IMS. What I mean is, she has already been accepted in the racing community because of her competence and is not seen as anything more than a competitor by her peers, so for members of the mainstream media to qualify her finish because of her sex is counterproductive. She is no more fragile or delicate than any other racer, so if people were simply impressed with her skill and resiliency without noticing her gender that would be infinitely more meaningful than everyone pointing out how special it is that she doesn't have a Y chromosome.

Even Patrick, who was named the Rookie of the Year, must've noticed this hypocrisy (though her marketing managers will have her singing a different tune now that she has a chance to be the "Tiger Woods of open-wheel racing") because after the race when someone asked her how her performance will affect the sport she said, "I made a hell of a point for anyone; are you kidding me?"

Women are the Givers of Life, and more than one idol-worshipping columnist has credited Danica Patrick with breathing new life into her sport. The numbers - television ratings for the event were 40 percent higher this year than last - seem to back up this assessment. But I will always remember her performance thusly: she started fourth and finished fourth. What happened in between was incidental. She completed the circle, and for the most fleeting of moments sent the sports world spinning.

(This story is dedicated to the memory of David Nolan Sinclair)