Another name jumps up the standings towards the top, degrading the others one by one and setting a current record, increasing the lead by several hundred seconds.
I correct myself in my chair, staring at the screen more intently, hoping to notice solution to that problem. At first it seemed just a minor mistake. With each subsequent race, however, it became a warning.
But now it's too late to do anything. I see the last driver take a better lap than mine. I hear the voices of the mechanics, despite attempts it fades into an indistinguishable echo. Some camera sets its lens in my direction. Commentators around the world are expressing opinions at this moment about the lack of form I represent. "The great fall of the king" - I've already encountered such a headline.
I lean back into the back of my car and let everything drown in a void, wishing that I would end up there too.
Strange how a whole life can collapse in such a quick time, unnoticed. Did I really delude myself that this fate would not befall me? That's the kind of assurances Formula One doesn't like. I deserve to fail, no matter how painful.