Formula One - Blog Posts
BREAKING!!!! sebastian vettel is on pole position for the 2025 australian grand prix!!! another great qualifying for our 4 times world champion!!!!
drop sites where to watch pre 2018 f1 qualifying i wanna see my goat seb putting that car on pole on loop
wait my question is how many of us didn’t grow up with f1 and didn’t get into it thanks to drive to survive… put in the tags where you’re from and what year you started watching and maybe why/how you started watching
you all should read this.
—seven days. [ i ]
pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.
summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.
author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.
part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6.1. part 6.2.
You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.
You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.
Dear ________,
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.
I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.
Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.
Sincerely,
[First Name] [Last Name].
You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.
“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”
Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.
Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”
Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”
Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”
“It's Max.”
You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”
That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.
The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.
“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”
That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”
Oh.
He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.
“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you sure you don't need help?”
You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.
You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.
It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.
What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.
You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.
You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.
“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”
You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.
Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”
Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.
“You're taking good care of me.”
His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.
“Aren't I always?”
You are paid to take good care of him after all.
“Always.”
You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.
You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophia!
You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.
Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.
“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”
“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.
“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.
“I don't know.”
“Okay.”
He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.
Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.
But then, she left. Now what?
“I want to tell you something.”
You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.
“It is in my will that if I die—”
“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.
“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”
“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”
“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”
You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.
Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?
Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.
“Have you told Max?”
The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.
“No.”
“He wouldn't be happy with this.”
You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.
While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.
Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.
"No, stay."
Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."
You did not know why you believed him.
2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.
2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.
2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.
“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."
"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"
It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.
"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."
“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”
Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.
“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”
Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.
“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”
Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.
You get a text from Max an hour later.
him: i feel like shit
him: thanks for the advil and the soup
him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me
Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.
F1 sleepover protest lore:
South African Grand Prix - 1982
Involved: all drivers
In 1982 all drivers locked themselves into one shared hotel room and refused to drive at the South African GP as a protest against clauses on their super licence contracts.
Not even their teams managed to get them to leave the room, only one photographer was allowed inside.
There are photos of Alain Prost sharing a mattress with Gilles Villeneuve, and Patrick Tambay saying “If those two have kids after this tonight I might as well retire now.”
Elio de Angelis played the piano.
Niki Lauda was sharing a bed with Patrese
Someone next to Rosberg was snoring until Villeneuve put a blanket over him.
They were just having fun.
In the end Balestre and Exclestone (the people in power) agreed to all the changes they wanted and it was enough for the drivers to head back to the track
Kidnapped Fangio lore:
Cuban Grand Prix - 1958
involved: Juan Manuel Fangio
In the 1950s, Juan Manuel Fangio, also known as “El Maestro,” was dominating the Formula 1 scene.
However, just before the Cuban Grand Prix, he was kidnapped by a group of Cuban revolutionaries.
The revolutionaries were looking to make a political statement and thought that taking the world’s best driver hostage would bring them the attention they needed. (and you are telling me that I’m an attention seeker)
Surprisingly Fangio was treated nicely during his captivity. He was respected and even allowed to listen to the race on the radio.
Fangio later reported that he had friendly chats with his captors (Fangio’s new besties) and was never harmed.
His kidnappers (new besties) released him unharmed after the race. Fangio never held any grudge against them and in fact, described the experience as “uncomfortable but not frightening.” (bro was just unbothered)
Btw: I’m serious when I say he befriended some of his captors, who were, I quote “just young men passionate about their cause”.
Jim Clark had a fight with a policeman and got arrested during the Dutch Grand Prix in 1963.
Thank you and good night.
The iconic F1 DNQ, DNF and DSQ lore:
German Grand Prix - 1977
involved: Hans Heyer
Hans Heyer in 1977 failed to qualify for the German Grand Prix.
However, Heyer was well known by the marshals who looked the other way on lap 1 when he pulled out of the pit lane and joined the race.
The stewards had no idea that he had joined the race until the local crowd erupted after seeing him drive by.
Hans retired from the race on lap 9 with a gearbox problem and then was disqualified leaving him with a DNQ, a DNF AND a DSQ in single Grand Prix. that’s just impressive at this point
Okay we all know about Max’s Maxplaining but what about Ayrton’s Sennaplaining ayrtonplaining? Idk
Frogs and cheese incident lore:
Australia - 1990
involved: A.Senna & G.Berger
This takes place during a holiday stay in Australia with Senna, Berger, McLaren boss Ron Dennis and then-wife Lisa.
One evening when Berger went on a run there was this golf course with some “big things jumping around” (frogs/toads) so he decided to prepare a nice friendly surprise for his good friend Senna.
He went to the concierge and gave him 100$ and told the concierge to “bring him some”.
The concierge then proceeded to give Berger a full bag of about 50 frogs (or toads god knows what it was) so Berger asked Lisa Dennis to help him with this little project.
When they had dinner Berger picked up Ayrton’s room key and together with Lisa went to his room and put those bloody frogs everywhere.
The next morning furious Senna confronted Berger about the situation to which Berger replied “Where did you find the snake?”
To this situation Senna responded with buying the most disgusting and strong smelling cheese and stuck it into Berger’s AC unit and turned it on full blast.
The briefcase incident lore:
Monza - 1991
involved: A.Senna & G.Berger
When Ayrton Senna and Gerhard Berger were flying in a helicopter to the Italian GrandPrix, Ayrton had a briefcase with him.
He claimed that the briefcase is indestructible because it’s made out of carbon fibre so Berger decided to test that theory.
When they were flying above the Monza track he literally threw out the briefcase (it had McLaren contract inside) out of the helicopter and watched it fall from the height of about 150m and hit the ground.
Ayrton had no idea that that happened because he was sitting in the front of the helicopter with the pilot and with a headset on (Mr. Important).
But after they landed a marshall came running towards them with Ayrton’s briefcase in hands.
At that moment Senna turned toward Berger and said “You didn’t do it”
An era is about to begin that no one is ready for
I NEED HIM TO GO AWAY
He forces his opinion on everyone AHEM (invites trump to GP) yet drivers can't share their opinions
Fuck this man, fuck everything he stands for, and FUCK EVERYONE FOR KEEPING HIM IN THIS POSITION!!!
Vettel, Hamilton, and Norris all stand up for what they believe in and because one puny self centered egotistical, small dick fuck got butt hurt because the drivers started to stand up and make voices heard you’ve decided to clamp down on everything and punish them. I can’t imagine what the drivers feel like because they can’t speak on anything anymore, if I was the drivers and the Team Principles I would make sure grievances are heard and honestly tell him to fucking shove it and speak up louder ever before
”Many people don't know this, but at the time I was still suffering with vision problems from my crash in Silverstone.
So the track sometimes started to go really wavy for me, and during that race I was battling, of course, Lewis catching me but at the same time battling myself because I was struggling with my vision.
It was like riding a wave on a boat while going at 300km/h.
So I had to try and control my breathing in a different way to try and get rid of the problem- nothing else was working. For quite a number of laps, I was almost about to stop the car because I couldn't see properly.
It happened at tracks that were very bumby or had loads of advertising boards.
I never told anyone at that point as I had a Championship battle.”
Oh Maxy… ❤️ The fact he felt unwell a long time after Silverstone hurts my heart! Wonder if that was the reason in Jeddah. 💔
𝓓𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂!!!!! 😈😈😈😈
Why does he always look so good???
🥵🥵🤤
Boss 😎❤️👀
a distinguished gentleman - t.w.
pairing: fem!reader x toto wolff
warnings: allusions to smut, mentions of oral (m! receiving), mentions of fingering (f! receiving), some cursing, lemme know if there's anything i missed, yadayadayada
a/n: this isn't necessarily a cohesive fic, more like a spitballing of the thots i have related to this topic. i hope y'all enjoy them hehehe <3 thank you to @chaerylecq for the inspo!!!
when it comes to driving, toto is the one who always offers.
after all, you are his passenger princess.
i feel like he wants you to be comfortable as possible in his car, so he always has a little makeup bag or cosmetics bag with deodorant, makeup remover, makeup wipes, perfume, etc., for you in case you ever need to touch up. he also has a plethora of hair accessories for you to use in case you ever need one. all you have to do is just reach in the glovebox, or he keeps the pouch in the center console for your convenience.
when he starts to drive, his hand is either resting comfortably on your thigh, or his fingers are intertwined with yours. for longer drives, he always offers for you to lay your legs on top of his. (even if it not necessarily the safest route)
his windows are tinted (duh) so there are numerous times in which his fingers are plunging into you, curling as they pump in and out. for clean up, he'll usually just have you suck on his fingers, groaning and cursing under his breath as your tongue laps at the juices.
if he can't wait until you make it home, he'll have your head bobbing, one hand clutching the wheel while the other is palming the back of your skull, applying pressure so that you'll go deeper and deeper. he prefers to keep the radio off, so the filthy, obscene noises will flood the intimate space. his desire to fuck you only soars by the second, his tip pressing deeper and deeper down your throat.
if he's desperate enough, he'll nearly swerve off to the nearest exit, pulling off in an enclave or parking lot. with his large stature, he typically has you ride him in the driver's seat, savoring the way your figure molds with his perfectly as the windows fog.
other times, he just wants to hear your voice, engaging you in deep conversation. there are a variety of topics, each with their own nuance and question he'll begin with. there's nothing more that he cherishes than drives with you, because he gets to build more and more emotional intimacy. getting to know you is one of his favorite things to do, so of course he's going to seize the opportunity.
he is the type of person to request kisses at stoplights, even if they are brief. there was one time he took you cruising along the brackley campus, purposefully stopping for as long as possible at the lights or signs, just so that he can get a smooch.
of course, you don't mind. you love him. oh so dearly. of course you're going to kiss him whenever the opportunity is presented.
also, you are the one who has the aux most of the time, your phone paired to the bluetooth the second you're in that passenger seat. he enjoys your taste in music, finding a new favorite song or two each time. sometimes he'll ask you to add the song to his personal playlist, not shy in the fact that he gets a lot of his new music from his girl.
whether it's cruises at night, enjoying the skylines of whichever city you're in, or countryside tours, you just love being in that passenger seat. there are times in which you tease that he needs to get that section of the dash engraved, customized with your name.
little do you know, he has that in the works.
not just for that car, but for every vehicle in his fleet.
may our manifestation circle bring us many a good race for our papaya boys 🙏🙏
inspired by the lovely @wanderingblindly
pierre may have killed two bunnies but alonso just killed two ferraris
fellow americans:
is anyone else not seeing f1 qualifying on tv
alessandros entrance was like something out of succession
the superbowl asked indy how many commercials they wanted and indy said all of them
kmag was so close to getting a win
YALL WTF AM I MISSING WHY IS OLLIE IN THE F1 INTRO?!
was zak brown in monaco? cause how the hell is he in indy
WHERE DID THE RACE IN AMERICA GO? WHY ARE THEY SHOWING CATHOLIC MASS?
if max really loves lando he will let him win this race
lando said on the lie detector that he had many girlfriends and it was true
magui fans and bbfamous is going to go crazy
praying for a pin win 🙏