Formula 1: The GOAT

“How confident are you?” Aron Michael asked, his gaze fixed on his son. They sat under the shade of a large umbrella, the pre-race tension of the paddock a low hum around them. Jackson took a slow sip of his juice, the picture of calm.

“I’m confident that I can win if I get a good start,” Jackson replied, his voice even. He momentarily stopped drinking, meeting his father’s eyes. “I have to.”

“Good. That is the confidence you need,” Aron said, a proud smile touching his lips as he reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. Jackson instinctively pulled away, a faint blush on his cheeks, now at an age where such public displays of affection were becoming annoying.

Aron’s smile was a carefully constructed mask. Inwardly, he held little hope that his son would win. He had watched Fatih all weekend as a silent, dispassionate observer. He had seen the boy’s ruthless efficiency in the practice sessions, emerging from the pit lane, setting a blistering, untouchable lap time in just a few attempts, and then immediately withdrawing to conserve his tires, a display of maturity and strategic foresight that was frankly terrifying.

This pattern had continued through qualifying and the heats. Fatih had once again orchestrated his now-infamous gambit, using Jackson as a shield to neutralize Selçuk. He would pull Jackson along in his slipstream, only to subtly disrupt the airflow at the precise moment Selçuk was preparing an attack, a masterful manipulation of aerodynamics and racecraft.

Aron was still struggling to comprehend how a child could not only conceive of such a complex, multi-variable strategy but execute it flawlessly, lap after lap, without a single mistake. It required a level of discipline that defied belief. There were countless moments where Fatih could have given in to the temptation to push, to open a massive gap and prove his outright speed. But he never did. He understood, with a clarity that even some professional drivers lacked, that the moment he abandoned Jackson, Selçuk would use his raw aggression to pounce. Fatih would then be left to face that aggression alone, his strategic options drastically reduced. Knowing something and explaining it to a child was one thing; for that child to understand the long-term implications and resist the allure of short-term gratification was something else entirely.

He had learned of the sponsorship drama, the academy’s betrayal, and Rümeysa’s defiant stand. He was not satisfied with Aslan’s behavior, but he had remained silent. It was not his fight. A selfish part of him, a part he was not proud of, had even hoped the situation would hinder Fatih, giving his own son a clearer path to a hat-trick of championships in this category. He had rationalized it to himself that Fatih would still have two more years to win, while this was Jackson’s final season before aging out.

“We have ten minutes before we need to head back for preparations. Finish up,” Aron said, his voice gentle as he took a tissue to wipe a drop of juice from his son’s chin.

“Mhh,” Jackson acknowledged, quickly finishing his drink. He rinsed his mouth with water, and together, they walked back towards the academy tent to begin the final preparations for a race that could decide the fate of his championship defense.

……….

“This is your last chance to keep your championship hopes alive. You know that, right?” Aslan’s voice was cold, devoid of any paternal warmth. He stared down at Selçuk, who stood before him, his expression a mask of grim seriousness.

“Don’t just look at me. Answer my question,” Aslan’s voice rose, a sharp edge of impatience in his tone as Selçuk’s silence stretched.

“Yes, I know,” Selçuk answered quickly, his voice tight, not wanting to provoke his father’s anger.

“And how will you keep those chances alive?” Aslan pressed, testing him.

“By winning the race. By finishing ahead of Fatih,” Selçuk replied, the words sounding like a rehearsed mantra.

“Good,” Aslan said, though his expression remained hard. “And this time, I do not want to see you stuck behind him at the start. It has happened three times now. A fourth will prove you are incapable of beating him fair and square. Three times should be enough for you to understand his trick. Avoid it, or better yet, use it to your own benefit.” His dissatisfaction with Fatih’s new, dominant driving style was palpable. He saw it as a personal affront, a strategy designed specifically to humiliate his son.

“Yes, I will do my best,” Selçuk said, a flicker of conviction in his eyes.

The conviction was immediately extinguished. “I don’t want your best,” Aslan retorted, his voice cutting. “That is always expected. What I want is for you not to fall for the same trick for a fourth time.”

“Yes,” Selçuk whispered, his head bowing, the brief spark of determination crushed under the weight of his father’s disappointment.

………..

“Do your best, be careful, and don’t forget to enjoy yourself,” Rümeysa said, her voice a warm, comforting presence as she made a final adjustment to Fatih’s race suit collar.

“Yes, Mom,” Fatih replied, giving her and her mother a quick, tight hug before heading back into the academy tent to retrieve his helmet and gloves.

As he ran to the tent, Rümeysa watched Fatih for a bit longer before the two of them started walking to the paddock to find the best seats to enjoy the race.

…….

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the final race of the fifth round here at the Bursa Uludağ Motor Sporları Kulübü (BUMOSK) Karting Track, the fifth and second-to-last race of the championship,” Süleyman said as he began his commentary. “Depending on how the top three finish today, the champion could be decided right here, or it could all come down to the final race. And although, as neutral viewers, we’d love to see the championship go the distance, we can’t exactly root for that outcome, as these drivers have poured their sweat and tears into the previous four rounds, fighting to outdo one another. So instead of jinxing it, may the best driver win.”

“On pole position, we have Fatih Yildirim, who’s starting from the front for the fourth time this championship only missing out once due to race-ending damage during the third round’s qualifying heat. That incident sent him to the back of the grid for the final race after he was forced to change his kart.”

“In P2, we have Selçuk, who benefited from being placed in a different bracket than Fatih and Jackson. Fatih and Jackson were grouped together, which led to Jackson finishing all his heats in P2 behind Fatih. However, Selçuk managed to secure a heat win, giving him the edge due to his higher placement in the initial qualifiers, where he finished second overall. This starting order sets up a very intriguing race, and I’m eager to see how Fatih handles Selçuk and how Selçuk responds to Fatih’s pressure. Or will he suffer the same torment once again?”

“In P3 is the current championship leader and defending champion, Jackson…”

Süleyman continued introducing the top ten drivers on the grid, but the further down the list he went, the shorter his commentary about them became. All the drama and excitement were concentrated in the top five.

“I can’t help but agree with you about Fatih versus Selçuk being a kind of torture,” Zakir chimed in, his voice brimming with excitement. “If you fail to defend against Fatih at the start, your race is basically over, unless you’ve got a countermeasure for his slipstream-supported attacks. The only clear solution I see is for Selçuk to do everything in his power to stay ahead. We already know he’s aggressive enough to take that chance, but will he have the confidence that Fatih will back off? Or will Selçuk stick to his usual style and risk taking both of them out again, ending their championship hopes and handing the title to Jackson? On the flip side, will Fatih play it safe and focus on his own race, or repeat the same aggressive tactics against Selçuk and risk triggering retaliation that could also knock them both out? I can’t wait to see what solutions these two and their coaches have come up with for this dilemma.”

“And to answer your prayers and not keep you waiting any longer, the formation lap has begun,” Süleyman said as the screen showed Fatih weaving left and right, momentarily inducing wheelspin to scrub his tires as he led the pack around the track for final checks.

It didn’t take long for all the drivers to complete their formation lap and take their grid positions. Fatih, following his tradition, pushed his kart backward slightly to unstick his tires. But instead of copying him like he usually did, Selçuk pushed himself to the very edge of his grid box. Due to the kart grid layout placing drivers side by side with equal spacing, this resulted in Selçuk being slightly ahead of Fatih.

BIP… BIP… BIP… BIP… BIP…

The five red lights illuminated, and a universe of possibilities held its breath.