CONCORD, N.C.

May has gone by quickly because I'm getting older, and time seems to get outfitted with a supercharged Hemi after you hit 40.

Of course, speed is the name of the game this month.

May celebrates speed the way it celebrates mothers, without regard to borders, personalities or nationalities. Speed -- and the quest for it -- and May go together the way baseball's Opening Day goes with April. From Monaco to Darlington and Charlotte to Indianapolis, May welcomes a distinct, deafening madness of its own.

Indianapolis has always been the epicenter of all that madness.

But for the past decade or more -- since the rise of NASCAR to 800-pound gorilla status -- May has also ushered in a debate centering on what is wrong with Indy. Why doesn't the Indianapolis 500 mean what it used to?

Countless pages of sports publications and hours of air time have been devoted to that simple question -- a simple question that has a very complex, if incomplete, answer.

There are two things that the Indianapolis 500 no longer delivers:

First, Indy qualifying used to produce the fastest man this side of Chuck Yeager. That is no longer the case, even though speeds will probably once again eclipse 230 miles per hour very soon. Arie Luyendyk's track record has been safe for a long time, especially since the IndyCar Series has opted for normally aspirated engines as opposed to the turbos of Champ Car.

Second, it no longer delivers the absolute best drivers in the world who have made a pilgrimage to the Brickyard with dreams of their likenesses on the Borg-Warner trophy.

And that is the thing that can -- and should -- change.

The powers that be on the IndyCar scene have to first admit that NASCAR is indeed the 800-pound gorilla and plan accordingly. They have one thing, one bullet to fire every year, and it is Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

Beyond that, they are relying on the marketability of Danica Patrick, thanking their lucky stars for Milka Duno (something we were treated to ad nauseam Sunday, thanks to ABC) and wishing Sam Hornish, Jr., their best American driver, had a glimmer of personality. (In case you missed it, ABC actually did a short on how boring Hornish is. Thanks again.)

Tony Kanaan and Helio Castroneves have loads of personality but are working on green cards, so ever-xenophobic America will never love them as much as it should. Who do they think they are? Seve Ballesteros?

As an international series, Formula One actually relies on nationalism to sell its product. Those Italian flags fly for Ferrari and Felipe Massa.

That is not the case here, but NASCAR's marketing machine tapped into that sentiment long ago by pushing its drivers to the forefront. Fans were basically told, "Pick a driver, pick your team colors and fly your flag."

And they have.

Now, those flags need to fly at Indianapolis in May the way invading F-1 fans fly the Brazilian and British colors, etc., during the U.S. Grand Prix.

Whatever it takes, even if it means scheduling the Indy 500 for Memorial Day, NASCAR drivers need to be given the opportunity to compete at Indianapolis.

A Monday date would at least offer the best drivers in America a chance to prove it. You want a comparison to A.J. Foyt or Mario Andretti? Fine, drink the milk.

Tony Stewart? Don't even bother to ask. Robby Gordon? You bet. How about Coca-Cola 600 winner Casey Mears?

"I'd love to run that race. Over the years, since I've been down here, this feels more like home because this just is more comfortable than (Indy cars)," said Mears, a name synonymous with Indy because of his uncle, Rick Mears, a four-time Indy winner. "If they could reschedule it as a possibility, I'd definitely see what I could do to make that happen."

Mears doesn't think he'd be alone, and he is correct.

In the hearts and minds of a lot of drivers, Indy is still the center of all this.

With the swallowing of a little pride and the tweaking of the schedule, Indy can prove that it is.