You see one of those frankfurter cars driving by and everything just halts. It doesn’t matter who you are. That pink and white vehicle commands respect. We all know the dream, the lyrics ring in our heads, “Cause if I was an Oscar Mayer Weiner, everyone would be in love with me.” It is an honest desire. To be loved. For being lunch.
Andy Richter served as honorary “Commander in Beef.” A barbershop quartet sang the jingle. It set the mood for five miles of buns-to-buns warfare. The Midwest representative, the Chicago Dog, drove aggressively. Shockingly. He usually plays it cool. But not today.
Five regions fought for supremacy. Chi Dog from the Midwest held the line. New York Dog brought the East Coast energy. Slaw Dog covered the Southeast. Seattle Dog represented the Pacific Northwest. Chili Dog fought for the South.
Last year’s Sonoran Dog didn’t return. Enter the Corn Dog. Representing the Southwest, this newcomer filled the gap. The lineup felt tighter. Faster. Maybe spicier.
Spicy mustard might not be your speed, so watch on mute if the announcers get too carried away.
IndyCar commentators delivered heavy doses of innuendo. You can watch the recap if you dare. Car and Driver caught up with Zoweenie and Hot Diggity. They drive the No. 6 Chili Dog. They let us peek inside the marketing machine. Inside the bun, as it were.
There is a “bun box.” Think of a glove box but with significantly more fun potential. Zoweenie mentioned the pilots practiced at the track for a single day before the race started. Just one day. High stakes, low prep time.
They received private coaching from serious talent. Nolan Siegel, Sting Ray Robert, Scott McLaughlin—these IndyCar pros drilled them. It is serious training for serious hotdogs.
The winning Hotdoggers claimed the Borg-Wiener Trophy. They stood in the Wieners Circle. Fitting, right? They sprayed mustard to celebrate. A messy end to a clean competition. Who else would win? No one. Probably.
