Formula 1: The GOAT

The television commentators’ voices crackled with escalating excitement, narrating the drama unfolding on the Albert Park circuit in Melbourne:

Jonathan Legard: {He’s got a good run on him now… Oooh, Vettel went very deep into that corner!}

Martin Brundle: {Indeed, he has. He’s kept track position, though, and he’ll just… Kubica trying to go around the outside… they’re side-by-side!}

(On screen, Vettel’s Red Bull and Kubica’s BMW Sauber were locked in a desperate battle for second place.)

Martin Brundle: (His tone becoming more analytical, almost a warning) {Always brake it early there… It’s brake very early for that one…}

Jonathan Legard: (Voice spiking with urgency) {There’s gonna be contact there, surely! Yes, there is! They’re coming together! There goes Kubica! There goes Vettel!}

The images on Fatih’s television showed the two cars making heavy contact, both skittering off the track and into the run-off area, their podium hopes evaporating with just laps remaining.

Jonathan Legard: (Lamenting) {Oh, the last thing they needed to do! Vettel’s lost his front wing! And Jenson Button will be romping clear now! That’s the last thing Red Bull and BMW Sauber needed.}

Martin Brundle: {So, the Safety Car will be instantly deployed, no doubt about that. And Jenson Button surely is the victor of this Australian Grand Prix! That moves Barrichello up into second place for a Brawn GP one-two! And Vettel… look at him, nursing that car, shredding his left front tire there… and well, that was clumsy stuff from the pair of them, really. A disaster for both Vettel and Kubica who were looking set for a podium.}

Burak, watching the first race of the 2009 season at nine in the morning, had a look of utter disbelief etched on his face. The race had ended exactly how Fatih had predicted it would yesterday. Fatih had forecasted a Brawn GP one-two finish, and until three laps before the race concluded, that had seemed highly improbable. Then, the crash and the subsequent safety car ensured it happened.

Even if the one-two hadn’t materialized, another of Fatih’s predictions would still have been correct: he had confidently stated that the race winner would be Jenson Button of Brawn GP. This was a team resurrected from the ashes of Honda (who had decided to completely pull out of Formula 1) for the nominal price of one pound, making them the least likely contender for this year’s championship. Yet, instead of being backmarkers or even midfielders, they had gone on to win the very first race.

“One correct prediction is luck, but getting two of them right… that’s insane luck,” Burak muttered to himself as he turned off the TV. He had to get to the academy for his morning driving lessons.

“If I had bet on that outcome, how much would the payout have been?” he wondered as he closed the door of his apartment and walked down the corridor to call for the elevator.

If he had placed bets on both Jenson Button winning and Brawn GP securing a one-two podium, he was sure he would have earned at least a tenfold return. But what intrigued him most wasn’t the potential betting returns; it was how Fatih could have possessed such confidence in Brawn GP’s performance. Their financial situation was precarious, their engine supply from Mercedes was a last-minute deal (requiring McLaren to forgo their exclusive engine supply agreement), Honda had agreed to finance their year’s operations only as part of the exit, and they faced numerous other challenges.

“I’ll just ask him during the next practice class,” Burak resolved as he boarded the elevator, already looking forward to Monday, Wednesday, and especially the upcoming Sunday – the first race weekend of the TOSFED Minik Kart Şampiyonası. The academy had already ensured everything was in place for Fatih and their other four competitors in the championship. Only Fatih was on a full scholarship while the rest were covered their own participation fees and expenses through the academy, whose prices had risen slightly this year to discreetly cover Fatih’s costs – a measure the academy director had implemented to avoid any financial losses from the scholarship.

………..

“I told you so,” Fatih said, turning to his mother with a triumphant smile as they watched the Brawn GP cars take their one-two finish behind the safety car.

As usual, when his mother had found him in the living room earlier that morning, already awake and waiting for the race to start, she had asked him who he thought was going to win.

Fatih, ever the opportunist, had replied, “Will I get something if I guess right?”

Rümeysa, used to his playful nature, chuckled. “What do you want this time? Let’s hear it first,” she said, settling down beside him to watch the race together.

“I want a computer as my birthday gift, and I want to use the money from winning the karting championship to buy a camera,” Fatih declared, trying to put on a serious negotiating face, which, with his lingering baby fat, came out as nothing but adorable.

“Why are you already thinking of spending money you don’t even have yet?” Rümeysa asked, a smile playing on her lips, though she genuinely wondered where his unwavering confidence in winning the championship came from.

“I’m confident that I can win,” Fatih stated firmly. “So, does that mean you agree to my terms?”

“Only if you can correctly guess the top three finishers of this race, in order,” Rümeysa countered, sure she had him. “If you get even one wrong, you’ll only get a computer if you win the championship, and I’ll keep any prize money safe for you to use on normal things when you’re older. Okay?” She had asked him for winners before, but never the full podium.

“First place will be Jenson Button, Brawn GP. Second place, Rubens Barrichello, Brawn GP. Third place, Jarno Trulli, Toyota,” Fatih recited with a serious expression knwoinng that the third place is going to be very controversial.

“Wait, let me write that down,” Rümeysa said, feigning utmost seriousness to not forget, though internally she knew that even if his guess was wrong, she was already planning on buying him the computer for his birthday. She could use it for her work from home, and she recognized that computer literacy was becoming increasingly essential; an early start for Fatih would be beneficial.

“But what do you need the camera for?” she asked as she jotted down the names and their finishing order.

“I want to be a YouTuber!” Fatih exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought.

“Why? Don’t you want to be a racing driver anymore?” Rümeysa asked, surprised that her son was showing such keen interest in something other than becoming a racing driver.

“Because I can be both,” Fatih said simply, “and make more money.”

But in his mind, there was a deeper reason. He aimed to build an undeniable reputation for his strategic vision in motorsport. By consistently demonstrating uncanny insight into race outcomes and strategy, he would ensure that when he became an F1 driver, his calls wouldn’t be met with resistance. Teams would learn from his proven record to trust his judgment most of the time.

This would eliminate the need to force unconventional strategic actions, like pitting when told to stay out and demanding specific tires based on future knowledge of impending rain or other factors, which, while they may be considered legendary later, could easily create a difficult or unreliable impression early in his career before he’d built that pattern of perfect calls.

Furthermore, building a wide audience from social media’s infancy would dramatically enhance his appeal to the public and sponsors, making him a highly attractive asset for any team. It would also provide an independent source of funds he could use to exploit his memories further. He was, in essence, killing many birds with one stone.