Bob Cutlass, RSN Primetime
The news had broken late over the weekend, and most of the staff was still at the track for the post-race interviews. Bob was halfway home when the headline broke, and in his driveway by the time he saw it: Ray Reverham found dead in Kentucky hotel room.
Bob's not often in this position, but he'd found himself reflexively refreshing hashtags, repeating his Google Searches, waiting for something to update, for the medical examiner's report to come out, for someone to make a statement. He'd put his children to bed with his eyes glued to the same article reiterated - flagrant copy-paste journalism as the news hit every racing website and sports media blog like a pack of jittery dominoes.
It's been a long time since Bob's been in journalism in that first-to-press, on-the-ground sort of way, but usually when the big stuff breaks, he's ahead of the curve. He knows which teams are going to fold, whose rideslot won't be renewed. What chaos the new rules package will feed. These are the dramatic, pressing questions of the Piston Cup, and nine times out of ten, Bob is the first to know.
By this, he feels blindsided. And he can't shake the feeling that this wasn't supposed to happen.
Cars don't die like that. Not young ones.
He does the math. Reverham's the same age he'd been when he and Lydia'd greeted Child #1. And that felt like some time ago, now.
He keeps refreshing, hoping for just one more clue. He's never Google Searched Ray Reverham in his life before. But he needs to know what happened. He needs to know why.
Bob, you need to go to sleep, counters Lydia.
RAY REVERHAM FOUND DEAD IN KENTUCKY HOTEL ROOM, Bob reads, one last time.
Four hours later, he's parked, awake, Lydia nestled against him and snoring softly. RAY REVERHAM FOUND DEAD IN KENTUCKY HOTEL ROOM.
No further details come to light until Tuesday, and Bob is not the one who writes RSN's take (of the many dozens of takes that immediately become available). But he reads it, and aside from Reverham's resume and his current employment with IGNTR, the one thing Bob now knows about Ray Reverham is he'd had a chronic oil pressure issue. Took additives for it - maybe had missed a dose. Maybe hadn't. It's not easy to tell. But something had clotted, and one night alone in a Kentucky hotel room, Ray Reverham had burned. By the time the cleaning service found him, his spark of life was gone, and he was metal.
It's a simple story. No scandal, no drama, no lunacy. All natural. That should make it better, but it doesn't. Cars aren't supposed to die like that - when all you'd need is a new filter, another tube.
It's not wholesome.
Bob watches his wife take her own fuel additives. Her family's always been predisposed to build-up.
What if?
On Wednesday, he and Darrell interview Jackson Storm. The meeting had been on the schedule since Florida; it's not like they'd scheduled it because of Ray. Nothing like that. By contrast, they'd planned to discuss Storm's projections for the season, his rivalry with Cruz. His opinion of road courses. The usual.
They're not sure what they will ask Storm now, for the simple fact that cars don't die very often. Aside from the occasional extremely elderly donor or sponsor, the last unexpected death the Piston Cup had weathered had been Doc Hudson, and that was years ago now. Next closest was Lightning McQueen. (RSN's reporting strategy after the Hornet's passing: Valorize. For McQueen they'd planned for respectful kindness if didn't make it. Since he did, they'd gone with realism.)
But Ray Reverham is not the Hudson Hornet.
How long can you sing the praises of a car you hardly know? And whom your viewers know even less?
"We're not going to sensationalize this," Bob decides, and Darrell agrees.
"No feelings. No asking for the juicy details," Darrell adds. "Cars always want that stuff. You know, cars who hang out in the hashtags and get all obsessive about some celebrity death, even though they never cared before. Cars like that."
"Cars like that," Bob echoes. His mind whispers, Ray Reverham Found Dead in Kentucky Hotel Room, hashtag piston cup hashtag igntr hashtag blue ridge marriott
But RSN will take the high ground. No trauma tourism. No rubbernecking. They'll just talk facts.
hashtag lydia have you been to the mechanic lately? maybe we should all get checked out. you know, casual 16-point inspection. just because. look, here's a coupon.
"Now, we know you won't be down at Heartland until Thursday practice, but you've probably seen the viral photos going around, of the memorial growing on pit row. They say it's a lot of flowers," says Bob, after twenty minutes of normal interview and twenty minutes of moral crisis.
It seems stupid to pretend that Reverham's passing isn't on everyone's minds. It's stupid to act like nothing happened.
Darrell, generally encouraging of Bob taking an edgier stance now and again, gives him a look.
Storm's unfazed. "The flowers weren't my idea," he says.
Darrell tries to steer them back to racing - something he can yodel about, something that will make any sense at all when RSN's bombastic, high-energy jingle plays them out and the camera swoops high and mighty before cutting to commercial. "IGNTR hasn't announced a new crew chief for the 20 team. Can you tell us if you're in negotiations?" he asks, because RSN is not built for death. "Are you concerned about racing with a crew chief you haven't worked with before - or potentially no crew chief at all?"
Storm just says, "It's been done before."