As over-blown as this WEB, VET, RBR Hullabaloo may or may not be, it has certainly highlighted a couple of things for me:
1. F1 is a pretty spectacular fusion of zero-sum and non-zero sum theory. On one hand, you’ve got A Team. A Team that has to work together for the benefit of The Team so that The Team can win. Then, at the center The Team, there are two people and their only goal is to fucking defeat all the other drivers everywhere, all the time, and your mother. How the tension of that fusion is harnessed is pretty amazing. You could say, use it to power A Team to victory/use banana peels to power your Delorean into the future or, OR, you could use it to fucking obliterate everything/all other drivers and you’re left a winner. . . in a desolate, post-apocalyptic wasteland. Fun stuff!
2. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Sport, in general, is kind of a stand-in for battle, no? As much as it sucks, sometimes, to win (which, um, is the point. No, wait! It’s how you play the game! Augh, no! It’s winning! Augh!) you have to be a dick. I know, I know: We’d love all battle to be noble; we’d love all our heroes and anti-heroes to adhere to some sort of moral code on and off the battlefield. It’s all pretty fucking easy for us to say when 25 Driver Points are just. Within. Our. Grasp. The world/F1/Marriage (what?!) is a cruel place.
So, there: Actual Sincerity ™. We all bitch about Team Orders and Bernie the Puppetmaster and this and that but, really, we watch and love this sport for the very things that make us crazy!
And that is how, on this day, I drew a straight logical line between F1 and my wife. Love you, honey! Love you, too, honey!
P.S. (Gentlemen! Feel free to use the above logical progression next time you get into it with your wife. Let me know how it goes!)