Page 39 of Dirty Air
They play the finish and only the finish. Different angles, different speeds. They finally pause the footage when just the tip of his front wing is over the line.
“Do you think this is the beginning of VFIBR fighting at the top of the pack?”
Fritz laughs before he realizes it’s a serious question. “Oh.No,not at all. I think we were lucky today. My team had a good tire strategy, but it relied on Andes crashing. I do not think we would see points if the red flag did not happen when it did.”
“Brutally honest, I like that,” the announcer says with a chuckle.
He didn’t make a joke.
Fritz doesn’t know where to go next, so a handler walks him through the hallways to the cool down room. He knows what to do, but it’s so strange to get to perform the ritual.
Team hat down, race hat on, water up, sit down.
The other two mutter some remarks as they watch the replays. An ‘ooh’ or ‘ouch’, but nothing interesting.
“We should speak louder,” Fritz says, loudly.
“What?”
“After every race I say ‘I cannot hear what they say’ becausethe microphones are bad. But I like to hear the analysis, so be louder.”
Lucas laughs, but Thomas looks almost offended to be told what to do.
Fritz ignores him, watching the screen. “I cannot tell which car is who.”
“I THINK MILLER IS ON THE LEFT,” Lucas bellows. “HERNANDEZ IS THE ONE WHO MOVED UNDER BRAKING.”
That’s German humor.
It’s fucking funny.
“It was Hernandez on the left,” Henry says, poking his head around the makeshift wall. “It’s hard to tell, because of the rain?—”
“LOUDER!” the Germans reply, breaking into a fit of laughter.
“They’re ready for you.”
First place is the last to be called, so Fritz gets to hang back with Henry as the crowd roars. “Thanks for doing this with me. It would feel wrong without you.”
“I had to bribe a bunch of different people with dinner.” Henry sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “This is the first win in VFIBR history—they all wanted to be a part of it.”
“Will you buy Craig a gold-plated dinner?”
“No, you will. And for me too. I’m only here because you asked me to be.” Henry shakes out his arms as he bounces. “I hate crowds and cameras. I can’t believe I agreed to this. Fuck.”
The coordinator sends Fritz out and the crowd is almost deafening. It fills him up until he’s lighter than air.
Is it childish to wave? To fist-pump? The number 1 finger?
Who cares? He does all three.
The step is higher than Fritz expected, but he still manages to clear it without falling over.
He whips off his hat for “Das Deutschlandlied” when it hits him. The anthem is playing for him.
It’s the same track that they use for Lucas, but this one is his. His own personal rendition, playing because the top step belongs to him.
He’s not too proud to cry, and Fritz wipes his tears before the team’s anthem plays. He doesn’t care about this one as much, but it’s British, so he turns to watch Henry mouth the silent words, tears gathering in his eyes.
