Why F1 is actually pretty cool

There was a time when I, being the cynical supercilious bastard that I am, did not consider Formula One racing as much of a sport.
It was just a bunch of cars driving round in fancy circles pretty quickly, I observed while sipping Brunello di Montalcino from a diamond chalice.
It’s not much different from looking out at a busy road, what soulless joy could be derived from that?

The sense of speed is not well translated onto a television screen without the use of dramatic camera angles and clever editing as human beings mostly get a sense of speed through the movement of fluid in the inner ear.
Watching cars race on a television screen while lying supine on a couch, fingers stained orange with cheetos dust, does not do much to stimulate the inner ear, so what appeal could F1 have that makes it one of the more successful spectator sport in the world?

Not until one lazy weekend having exhausted all other forms of distraction I could think of and switching through the channels on the old goggle box did it finally come to me.

F1 is in fact a subtle allegation to sex.

As most people would agree the most exciting part of any F1 race is the high speed crashes, pieces of car is strewn upon the tarmac with the occasional chance of flames to liven things up, it is the unpronounced desire of every driver stuck in traffic fulfilled in full orgasmic fashion, and the drivers usually get away with their limbs attached so there’s no need to deal with the messy stain of guilt.

But wait! I hear you say, if that’s all there is would it not be easier to watch the highlights of every race, to this I reply ‘foreplay’.

Once one comes to this understanding, the implications to reality can be staggeringly poignant.

Usually, crashes happen near the start of every race, with the remainder of the race spent trying to get back into a situation where another crash would likely occur. These situations may come teasingly close to yielding that excitement of the start but many times this would not come to fruition. Occasionally, one must stop to refuel. In the end, the people involved are left exhausted, and drenched in sweat at times shedding up to one kilogram in bodyweight, and when it is time for celebrations one would spray foaming liquid at each other.

When look at in this light, F1 is a piercing reflection of life as all art should be.
And this is why F1 is actually pretty cool.