Unexpected

Part 31

The F1 media team has some of us react to a compilation video of the greatest moments for the celebration of the one thousandth Formula One Grand Prix. I'm with my teammate Esteban.

"I like your earrings," says the presenter.

"Thank you," I tell her, shaking my head so they gently jingle. They're long and dangly, with the word Nissan spelled out in gold letters. I had put my hair completely up so they would be easily visible.

The video starts with races that determined the championship. "So unsportsmanlike," I say as the two race leaders collide, almost certainly on purpose from one of them. And then Lewis's first championship. "I'm a fan of Lewis, but that was sad for Massa."

Refueling gone wrong, when the cars go up in flames. "Max!" I exclaim as his dad's face fills the screen. He's almost a carbon copy of his father.

"So Max is the barbecued version of his dad?" asks Esteban, laughing.

Weird F1 cars, old F1 things. "Oh!" I gasp, covering my eyes when the camera pans James Hunt from the bottom up, and the only article of clothing he is wearing are tiny shorts.

Esteban cracks up again. "You're not really embarrassed, are you?"

"I did not want to see that."

"And here he is with women," he says, continuing to look at the screen. "And now it is safe to watch."

I put my hands down in time to catch someone having a smoke.

More crashes, wheels just popping off, a huge multi-car pileup, Nigel Mansell pushing his car on the track and collapsing. Then a few clips close to our time.

"As a Lewis fan, were you sad then?" Esteban asks as the two Mercedes collide onscreen during the 2016 Monaco race.

"Not during that race, since he still had plenty of opportunities to win the championship."

As the weekend progresses I think of ways to say Sangil's name during a radio message. Maybe, just to get it over with, I can say his name three times in a row. Sangil, Sangil, Sangil. No, that's the cowardly way out. Keep thinking, I tell myself.

"Radio check, please," says my race engineer at the start of the first free practice.

"Shim Sangil, Snuper, Gunin Sochi, Nissan Formula One team." Hopefully the TV crew won't be interested in broadcasting this.

"Loud and clear," replies my race engineer. I hear laughter in his voice.

I vow to get my revenge on Lando.

But before that I have to say his name a couple more times. Another practice session, another radio check. "Sangil, Saniru," I sing. "Naze doraiba wa baka nano?" Why are the drivers idiots?

"What?" asks my engineer, confusion in his voice.

"Nothing. Ignore me."

"I can't ignore you, you're the driver."

"I mean, don't pay close attention to the radio checks. I don't say anything important."

"Understood."

I tell myself to never play Truth or Dare with those guys again. I don't think it's wrong to fully show all the sides of my personality, including the playful and funny bits, but this is bordering on embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as when Nico Rosberg and his wife called each other by their pet names after he won the world championship (nuppie and mukkie?), but still. Maybe if I had thought of something clever to say, it would be fine, but right now I want to sink through my car's floorboard.