I HAVE AN ILLNESS.
It's one shared with many and particularly with the sort of people who pick up motoring magazines. Perhaps you have it, too. Let's call it Icoulddothatitus. Luckily, I get regular treatment for the condition. In this job, you're often treated to passenger rides with exceptional driving talents. Just recently at a Ferrari event I got to sit beside Carlos Sainz Jr in a 296 GTB. Roughly seven seconds after exiting the pitlane I knew deep in my bones that I would never be able to drive like him. The aggression, confidence and control were mind scrambling, elating and soul destroying in equal measure. I've had similar experiences over the years with WRC drivers, former DTM champions and ex-F1 drivers. There is no doubt in my mind that high level racers work in a different realm. Out of reach.
It's a different story with professional drifters and all that Gymkhana nonsense, though. This is the area where my strain of the disease is focused. While those of sound body and mind boggle that Insert Rad Dude name here can drift a flame snorting 1,000bhp monster with grace and accuracy, I wonder why anyone is surprised. These cars are designed solely for that very thing. They are stiff, relatively light, have the balance between power and grip swung radically in favour of the former and they have a hydraulic handbrake. A three-year-old could get them sideways and hold big angles with ease. Assuming they could reach the pedals. I accept and celebrate the entertainment aspect of this art form but the 'skill' is low level at best.
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