Under The Knife 5/12/25
Don't Miss Greatness
Alex Palou is doing something absurd. Not just impressive—absurd. Four wins in five IndyCar races to open the season. No one’s done that since A.J. Foyt in 1964. Let that sink in: Foyt. The guy who’s basically carved into the side of the Mount Rushmore of American motorsports. Yet, if you weren’t watching the Indy GP this weekend, you missed Palou pass Graham Rahal just past halfway, and from there? Game over. He vanished. The only thing smoother than the overtake was the inevitability that followed.
This isn’t dominance. It’s demolition.
And here’s the twist: almost no one outside the paddock is paying attention.
Palou is putting together a statistical masterpiece that, in any other sport, would be treated like the second coming. If a baseball player opened the season hitting .420 with 10 home runs and 20 stolen bases in the first month, we’d be frothing. If an NFL quarterback started 5–0 with 20 touchdowns and zero picks, he’d be on every talk show. This? This is the motorsports equivalent of Pedro in 2000 or Bonds in 2004. We’re talking Randy Johnson mowing down 18 in a midweek game while the Mariners are getting blackout local coverage.
IndyCar has a visibility problem and it’s not just because NASCAR screams louder or F1 glitters more. It’s because fans are missing the rarest thing in sports: greatness unfolding in real time. Unlike the others, Palou isn’t driving the fastest car every week. He’s just better. Technically brilliant. Emotionally unfazed. Strategically flawless. He’s what happens when execution meets elegance.
We talk a lot about wanting to witness greatness, about being there “when.” Well, here it is. Right now. Palou is when.
So please, if you claim to love sports, watch IndyCar. Start with the 500, sure, but don’t stop there. Tune in when they hit Road America, Mid-Ohio, Laguna Seca. These aren’t just races, they’re live clinics. The guy running them isn’t flashy, but he’s writing a chapter you’ll regret skipping when someone calls him one of the all-time greats five years from now.
Baseball fans remember Mark Buehrle’s perfect game, even if they missed it live. Don’t miss Palou’s. He’s throwing one right now. Every week. Now let’s get to the injuries:
MIKE TROUT, OF LAA (bruised knee)
Mike Trout talked to the media on-record, letting everyone know that the bone bruise in his knee is healing. He’s taking swings and doing “baseball activities,” but running isn’t one of those yet. That’s going to be the big test, when the knee moves and apparently doesn’t have as much cushion as Trout is used to, given the excision of some of his meniscus last year. This isn’t a bruise like we normally think of, like a foul ball off the leg. This is internal, where we often refer to that as bone-on-bone, but it’s not quite so simple.
Bone on bone isn’t a diagnosis, it’s a description, and usually a dire one. After a meniscectomy, where part or all of the meniscus is surgically removed, you’ve lost one of the knee’s critical shock absorbers. The meniscus, that c-shaped cartilage pad between your femur and tibia, spreads out load and cushions the joint. Take it away, and you’ve got friction. Grinding. That remaining meniscal tissue? At risk of even more damage.
Now every step, jump, or pivot sends force directly through cartilage that’s not designed to be a solo act. It wears down. Fast. Eventually, the smooth articular cartilage on the ends of the bones erodes, exposing raw bone. When those surfaces start grinding against each other — no buffer, no glide, no cushion — that’s “bone on bone.” It’s painful, it’s loud (literally), and it’s often the end of the line for high-level movement.
This is why meniscectomy is a short-term fix with a long-term cost. You feel better fast, but the meter’s running. For athletes, it’s a race against time, and for regular folks, it’s a countdown to osteoarthritis and possibly a knee replacement.
Bottom line: if a doc says “bone on bone,” they’re not just describing pain. They’re telling you the suspension is gone and you’re riding metal on metal. That squeal? It’s not your brakes.
And on that bombshell, it’s the paywall!