Well put, Mark. Couldn’t’ve said it better myself.
Meanwhile, don’t take this too literally please, tomorrow during the start.
Caption suggestions are all over the Twitterverse, ranging from “Check this out, not bad for a second drviver, eh?” to “This is what Red Bull’s tried to do to me all season.” Or “How about this for a tie-breaker proposal?”
Don’t be fooled. people. Whatever he may be, Mark Webber is not a wimp.
The lad arrived from Australia in a totally different mood from the others. Aren’t you a bit worried about losing your grip on the title? I asked him.
“Not at all. I’m totally, totally relaxed,” he says. “Couldn’t be more relaxed, frankly. Motivated, but relaxed.”
So you don’t care whether you win the title or not?
“Of course I care,” he says. “It’s fucking obvious. But I’m relaxed about it. Being relaxed is the best way to win.”
How about Vettel, then? He says he’s still racing you. Mateschitz backs him all the way. Meanwhile, Dr Strangelove and your boss are scratching their heads how to deal with the team orders or no team orders mess. Are you a first driver?
“I’m a relaxed driver. That’s what it’s all about, Mr E.”
Hamilton is running around totally fired up, says he’s gunning for the title with all his might.He has a responsibility to McLaren, England, and his fans. In that order, I believe. Aren’t you feeling his pressure?
“Lewis should be more relaxed. He’ll die young if he goes on like that. I’ll tell ya, stress is bad for you, mate.”
My man. This is what true F1 Champions should be made of. Conspiracy swirls around him, competitors are baying for his blood, team bosses breathing down his neck. The press is laying siege on an ongoing basis. But the man’s relaxed.
Hope he’s not on drugs.
Try to imagine this. A room full of Koreans, a karaoke machine, ready to go. All eyes are on the Big Celebrity, the F1 Championship Leader. And then it starts to sing.
On the other hand, Koreans are terribly polite. And they know how to keep their faces straight. Even so, it will be the ultimate test.
Best not to let it come that far.
… in fact, it’s getting worse. Apparently someone at Canberra Milk, or worse, their ad agency, has figured out Mark couldn’t hit a note if it was sitting on the apex of an F1 circuit’s corner. So their advertising serfs came up with this version.
Let me tell you, Canberra Milk Morons: Mark’s ‘singing’ was the only entertaining thing in the whole bleedin’ commercial. So get it into your Ozzie dairy farmers’ heads: this ain’t funny. Not even close.
Mark, I know there’s probably a contract sitting out there that you signed when you weren’t the prime Championship contender you are today. But if there’s even a shadow of an escape clause in there, grab it. Get the lawyers on it. The last thing you want is to become the World Champion Canberra Milk Boy.
Memo to all the other lads: stay away from dairy and other loser stuff. Leave that to Danica Patrick and all the other household appliances. You’re supposed to be real men, the lot of you. Stick to promoting manly goods like spark plugs.
[Thanks, dear reader Lyn, for sending me the commercial.]