NO SPOILERS HERE. It’s the morning after the Game of Thrones finale and I’m feeling a bit lost. Normally, I’m reviewing a recording of the show, but for the first time I watched it live, and now secretly guard all the answers. It’s like the end of a Marathon, filled with mixed emotions after a long journey. Another of my regular viewing favorites in retirement, Showtime’s Billions did not air last night, preferring not to compete with the hype of its cable competitor. As a result, my traditional Monday morning routine has been disrupted. Next week will be a holiday for my wife, and I’ll probably wait another day to catch-up on favorite shows. Although, GOT will no longer be a focus. I have found the new release, Chernobyl to be intriguing, but it will be tough to stretch it into more than one season. In addition, Season Two of Big Little Lies starts next week, a show my wife and I will watch together, as has been the case with Fosse/Verdon.

I felt a bit nostalgic yesterday watching the battle for the first and last Indy 500 qualifying spots. I like the new format with the Fast Nine and Last Row Shootouts. It’s quite an adjustment for me after years of drawn-out bumping action. I remember going to the track every day throughout the month without much variation in the activity. With the addition of the INDYCAR Grand Prix and the Shootouts, May in Indianapolis is really much more exciting, despite protests from the traditionalists. I was pleased to see a friend’s son, Conor Daly, lock into the 11th starting position in the 33-car field. He was very close to making the Fast Nine. Last year he started the race on the precarious bubble. This will be his best starting position in six appearances, racing for the first time with Andretti Motorsports. His best finish was last year at 21st, and worst moment was 2015 when he lost an engine in the pace laps to finish last.

Unlike any other sport, the winner of the Indy 500 takes a celebratory swig of milk. This dates back to 1936 and 3-time champion Louis Meyer, who would drink buttermilk on a hot day to refresh himself. There were a couple of years that I sat next to the “Milk Lady,” an executive with the American Dairy Association, who would make her way down to Victory Lane in the closing laps with her cooler of milk bottles. Her job on race day was to orchestrate this great tradition with each year’s winner. This evolved into the “Winners Drink Milk” marketing campaign, milk mustaches, and “GOT Milk?” commercials. This is what I immediately associate with “GOT” – not Game of Thrones. As promised, no spilled milk and NO SPOILERS.