Well, I know that wasn't a great race in the sense you want to hear about. No records were broken (that I remember), no heroic feats were achieved.
Look, it was Monaco, 2003. I wake up at 5 a.m. or so, to watch the race. I sit in front of the TV (my wife was aslept), right at the bottom of the bed. I turn the volume almost off. The race starts, Juan is doing very well.
My son wakes up at 5: 30 a.m. He was maybe four years old. He sits on my lap and we watch together the race, in silence. He's young, but he knows who is driving what, there is no need for explanations from me. The kid is as brilliant as dad (and as handsome!
).
Juan wins, to my surprise. I feel the little hand of my kid clutching mine: he squeezes my hand when the car crosses the line. Then, we see Juan stepping in the podium, we see the flag, we hear the anthem. Then, Stephania hands Juan a bouquet of flowers. My kiddo asks me: "Who is she?". I answer, without thinking too much: "She's a real princess". I see his face: his eyes are twinkling. Guys, I swear, my eyes felt wet.
As for my son, he has driven karts since that day: he wants
his princess, I know.
Formula One doesn't get better than that, lemme tell you.
