8/7/23
"Okay, here we go...
Focus.
Speed. I am speed.
One winner. 42 losers.
I eat losers for breakfast!
...Breakfast? Wait, maybe I should have had breakfast? A little breckkie could be good for me-
No, no, no, stay focused.
Speed!
I'm faster than fast, quicker than quick!
I am Lightning!"
~~~~~~~~
He went flying down the track, fast as lightning—if not faster—as he and his fans always claim. He was nothing but a red blur rushing past, accented by a few strokes of orange and yellow from the gradient lightning bolt of halftone dots graciously plastered along both sides of his car, as he circled around the well-lit track. It's clear he was a true racer, domineering the track as if it were his own in his own backyard. Faster than fast, quicker than quick, down on that track he truly was Lightning. Lightning McQueen, that is.
The infamous rookie that joined the Piston Cup circuits that very season. A zero to hero one could say, coming into the spotlight completely unknown, but now everybody knows his name. Flashy he was, evidenced by his styled blonde hair, sharp racing suit, and shiny race car that might as well be defined as electrifying with all the bright fiery colors it sported. Very confident, maybe even too much so, as backed by the numerous crew chiefs he fired this one and only season alone because, as McQueen always claims, he's a "one-man show" and needs nobody else. Yet for some reason, it's that confident and cocky outlook that caught the eyes and hearts of many fans. Of course, also brash as most popular figures are, at least once the popularity and nationwide admiration gets into their heads. And to think that even now, in this very race, he is still a mere rookie even though he races like a longtime pro.
It hadn't taken him long to get to the head of the pack in this race. It never does, though. So up with the leaders, he cruises on along, always looking for the next opening to overtake his rival, Chick Hicks, and eventually, the legend that is The King. The legend racing his last race, trying to get that one last Piston Cup before retirement. The runner-up, the man who has always finished second—or sometimes third ever since McQueen showed up—to the King, always just a second too late and following in the leader's shadow. And finally, the rookie, on the verge of becoming the first in Piston Cup victory to get his hands on that prized golden trophy as a rookie. Three cars, points all tied up, racing tonight to see who would ultimately be the winner.
The three continued the ride, and eventually McQueen saw his chance from where he had been for the last few minutes, right behind Chick Hicks and riding his draft. He pulled ahead of the green racer, with his car completely overwhelmed with sponsor stickers, but Chick wasn't having it. Every so slightly touching the front of his car to the back corner of McQueen's bumper, he sent the rookie veering sharply to the side where he skidded to a halt in the grass.
Lightning grunted as he slapped his steering wheel in frustration, glaring eyes never leaving Chick's race car that was quickly disappearing around the turn. Slamming the gas pedal to the metal of his car, McQueen's tired fought to gain traction for a few seconds before he finally sped off of the greenery and back onto the track.
Up ahead, Chick cackled as he looked out his window to see the rookie at the back of the pack, two turns away from where he once was before Chick intervened. "Dinoco is all mine!" He declared aloud merrily to himself. Pulling the same stunt as before, he nudged the side of the racer next to him, which send the car flying into the wall and backwards into the racers behind. A huge crash ensued from behind the leaders, with cars skidding all over and sometimes even flying right off the ground and aimlessly into the air a few feet. Racers were forced onto their sides or even upside down completely as smoke from hundreds of skidding tires broke out into the air. "Get through that, McQueen!"
But as cocky and brash as McQueen was, one of his best and most respectable qualities was his determination and his drive to win. He was going to get through the wreckage, he just was. Narrowing his eyes in intense concentration, he started to race not with his mind but with his instincts as he swiftly maneuvered through the precarious scrambled mess in his midst. Although deep in the zone, McQueen relished in the immense pride he was feeling from the adrenaline of effortlessly powering through without fail. His cockiness strengthened when he noticed something up ahead that would result in the greatest and flashiest escape route ever.
Readying the clutch, his car skidded to its side in a manner so precise that he was able to get a little air off one of the crashed race cars. Turning the opposite direction at the very last second, it allowed him a straighter launch that would result in a more manageable landing. His car landed perfectly on one of the flipped cars, tires landing on tires allowing for the perfect bounce as he was propelled into the air. "Yeah!" McQueen sighed to himself proudly. With that, his car landed back on the ground and he raced onwards.
That spectacular move hyped up the audience tenfold, with cheers erupting louder than ever. "Yeah! Ka-chow!" McQueen yelled, pumping his fist out of his window and into the air victoriously as he clicked on his lucky lighting bolt sticker, giving the crowd his trademark flash as the sticker's bright light pierced their eyes.
McQueen slowly calmed his adrenaline and drove easy knowing he had the track all to himself. Cars too damaged to continue racing were forced off the track. Everyone else desperately needed to hit the pits, the majority because of the damage suffered in the wreckage. The King and Chick Hicks were merely smart racers and knew they needed to take care of their cars. And by staying out on the track, not only would he take the lead but he would be first to take off after the restart. McQueen smirked with a small chuckle when he saw Chick Hicks getting caught up in the pits as he tried to leave.
The racers, keeping minimal speed, soon approached the checkered line. With a wave of the flag, the restart commenced and the race was back on! McQueen sped off, whooshing down the straight always and burning through the turns like they were nothing. His lead continued throughout the race for laps on end. Eventually, he heard a faint bleep in his car, and with a look at his dashboard he saw he needed gas. Well, tires too but he didn't have time for that.
He pulled into the pits and immediately, his crew started to fill his car up with gas. When others started to bring out tires, he leaned out the window and shouted, "No, no, no, no! No tires, just gas!"
"What?! You need tires, you idiot!" One member yelled back furiously, but the response he got from McQueen was nothing short of impolite. The rookie rolled his eyes with a scoff, pulling his upper half back into his car and sped off, ripping his car from the gas pump. The crew member slammed the tire he was holding onto the ground with an audible growl.
McQueen retained his lead from earlier as he exited the pits, and kept it for the rest of the race right up to the very last lap. He had crept right up onto the bumpers of the racers at the back of the pack. He was in the verge of lapping others. McQueen smirked to himself proudly, knowing his victory was secure. "Checkered flag, here I come!" He cheered for himself as he neared the final turn of the track.
However, his confidence was short lived when one of his rear tires exploded.
~~~~~~~~
"Oh, no! McQueen has blown a tire!" Announcer Darrell Cartrip's voice rang out into your cozy little room.
"And with only one turn to go! Can he make it!?" Bob Cutlass chimed in.
"Come on!" You quietly pleaded as you anxiously watched the broadcast of the final Piston Cup race of the season. You were literally on the edge of your seat, on the verge of falling off your bed as you leaned even closer to the screen of your television.
The cameras kept switching between rookie Lightning McQueen, whose tire had just popped only moments away from the finish line, and The King and Chick Hicks, the other tied leaders for the season that were rapidly approaching.
Suddenly, another one of McQueen's tires popped. "Yes, yes!" You quietly cheered. You were not a fan of the rookie. You thought he gave racing a bad name. He was too cocky, too egocentric, too....stupid, reckless, and irresponsible. After all, he should've seen this coming. He was asking for it when he blatantly argued for no change of tires in the pits only laps ago.
Now, you didn't pick favorites when it came to racing. You loved racing as a sport and cared not about who came with it. However, you could definitely say you always Chick Hicks, and now you had a strong distaste for Lightning McQueen. But now, since today was The King's very last race of his career, you couldn't help but favorite a racer just this once. You wanted Strip Weathers to win this race, and McQueen's tired blowing out just seemed like destiny. The downfall of the rookie due to his cocky arrogant behavior and a blessing to the kind and admirable king of racing who deserved that one last Piston Cup.
"The King and Chick are coming up fast!" Darrel declared. The anxious adrenaline in his voice was clearly audible.
"They're entering turn-3!" Bob shouted.
The cameras went back to McQueen, showing just his close he was to the finish line. Well, so close but so very far in his state. "I don't believe what I'm watching, Bob! Lightning McQueen is hundred feet from his Piston Cup!"
"C'mon Weathers, let's go!" You smiled excitedly, fists clenched.
"The King and Chick rounding turn-4." Bob said. This was it! The final seconds, mere seconds, of the race!
"Down the stretch they come! And it's, and it's..." Darrell's voice trailed off and it seemed like the world started to go in slow motion. Neck and neck, The King and Chick Hicks entered the frame. It seemed like they cross the line at the exact same time, but surely one was an inch more ahead, right? And what about McQueen? He looked like he had just barely made it to the line before the other two, but it was so hard to tell considering he was crawling along the track at a snail's pace while the other two were absolutely rocketing through their speed gauge.
"It's too close to call! Too close to call!" Bob shouted, exasperated.
"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" Darrell shrieked with excitement. The two announcers then began to loudly talk over one another, both clearly excited at the spectacle that had just unfolded. Never before had you ever seen anything like this in racing history.
You opted to mute the broadcast until either the post-race interviews or the race results, whichever came first, appeared because as it stood now, hearing nothing but nonsense as the announcers continued their overlapping excited exclamations was a little disorienting. You were dying to know the results of the race. You really hoped the winner was Strip Weathers.
After a few moments, an interview with The King started up. Filled with so much excitement, your fingers stumbled across the remote and took you a few seconds before you were able to unmute the TV. You listened intently to his hopeful yet humble responses. As always, he didn't quite care about whether or not he was the winner. He was just happy to have been able to live out his racing dreams, and more than anything he was proud to have his last race be his most exciting. He was proud of everyone who raced that day.
The interview ended and seconds later switched right over to Kori. "We're here in Victory Lane, awaiting the race results." You groaned when she turned to none other than the reckless rookie. "McQueen that was quite a risky move, not taking tires. Are you sorry you don't have a crew chief out there?"
The racer chuckled dismissively from where he sat atop the hood of his race car. With one leg extended and the other pulled up to his chest, and one hand placed firmly on the car to give him support while the other arm dangled off the knee of his popped up leg, he shook his head lightly. Even just sitting he had to be cocky about it. "Oh, Kori, there's a lot more to racing than just winning. I mean, taking the race by a full lap? Where's the entertainment in that?" You could not believe just how arrogant this racer was. "No, no, no, I wanted to give folks a little sizzle."
"Sizzle?" You heard one of his crew mates scoff in the background as they were putting a brand new tire on, replacing one of the ones that had popped.
"Am I sorry I don't have a crew chief? No, I'm not. Cause I'm a one-man show." McQueen beamed proudly at the camera, jabbing his chest with his thumb.
"Hey, get out of the shot!" Someone in the background shouted, grabbing the attention of Kori and Lighting. They saw the crew members tending to the car, clearly in the way of the paparazzi's cameras.
McQueen started to walk away from Kori, waving his arms. "Yo, Chuck, what are you doing? You're blocking the camera! Everyone wants to see the bolt!"
The camera panned over to follow McQueen. "What?" The crew member, apparently named Chuck, shrieked.
"Now, back away!" McQueen shooed the man away, asserting his dominance by taking a few steps closer to Chuck. With each step forward, Chuck took a step or two back.
Chuck, now red in the face with fury, slammed his wrench onto the ground dramatically. "Ugh, that's it!" He growled, giving McQueen a furious glare. "Come on, guys!" He began to stomp off with his crew ages following behind. The camera followed them.
"Whoa, team! Where are you going?" McQueen called out, the camera turning back to him. His expression was unreadable. He didn't look annoyed, or surprised, or worried. He kind of looked...complacent? Like he knew this was going to happen. Or rather, he was waiting for the day it would happen.
"We quit, Mr. One-Man Show!" Chuck turned back and snapped, the camera on him once again. And with that, he stormed off and the Rust-eze team disappeared.
The camera was back on McQueen now, showing him roll his eyes playfully, clearly amused by the situation. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, okay, leave. Fine!" McQueen let out a small laugh. "How will I ever find anyone else who knows how to fill me up with gas?"
The crowd laughed, stroking the rookie's ego. You saw how his eyes quickly glanced to a bunch of random people that were standing around him, clearly looking for—and welcoming with open arms— the positive attention he was getting from the paparazzi surrounding him.
"Adios, Chuck!" He called out.
"And my name's not Chuck!!!" Chuck could be heard faintly in the background even through all the commotion. His voice was strained and shrill, clearly beyond the point of fuming rage.
"Oh, whatever!" McQueen cockily waved him off with a smile.
The camera turned back to Kori who looked unloaded by the ordeal. She had probably seen stuff like this plenty of times before. "Well...that was a very confident Lightning McQueen. Coming to you live from Victory Lane, I'm Kori Turbowitz."
The interviews then went to Chick Hicks, but you had already muted the television by that point. "Oh, that Lightning!" You scoffed. "I truly hope it wasn't him that won. He doesn't deserve it!" You started to pace aimlessly around your room as you began to vent to yourself. "I mean, he's so cocky! And rude and arrogant and just.... Ugh! Ew, come on!"
Eventually, amid your rants, bright flashing colors began to like up your room like strobe lights. Turning back to the television, you saw they were ready to announce the results. Literally diving into your bed to hastily grab the remote, you unmuted and eagerly listened.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in Piston Cup history..." Bob Cutlass began, the camera showing a victor's podium with a fancy backdrop behind it.
Suddenly, before Bob even finished speaking, Lightning McQueen came bursting through the fabric and jumped out into the stage, front and center. "Yes!" He cheered, a big confident smile on his face as he held his arms out wide, awaiting applause.
"We have a three-way tie!" Bob finished.
You couldn't help but sneer and laugh at Lightning McQueen's embarrassing premature celebration, as well as the fact that he quickly went rigid and eyes went wide like deer in headlights when he realized the true answer. "God, I can feel the embarrassment on that one from here. So stupid!"
"Piston Cup officials have determined that a tiebreaker race between the three leaders will be held in California in one week."
Your eyes brightened at those words. "Oh my god, California! That's here! Like, actually here!" You cheered excitedly. "I can't miss this! I have to go! I'm going to ask Pops right now!" You turned off the television, grabbed your keys, and burst out of your quirky little hotel room made to look like a giant traffic cone. You giddily slid through the window of your race car, put the keys in the ignition, and started the engine right up so you could speed off to tell your dad about the exciting news, a big hopeful smile on your face.