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"Damn it! What the hell was that?" the Briton complained to his race engineer over the radio. Marcus Dudley understood his driver's frustration but also observed the disarray among the pit crew. George had come into the pits for fresh tires and to serve a five-second penalty. He—along with many other drivers—had allegedly been speeding at the pit entry; at least, according to the FIA. Marcus shook his head, George’s voice still ringing in his ear as he demanded an explanation.
"I don't know, George. That certainly wasn't our intention. There must have been a misunderstanding," the race engineer replied, hearing the Briton huff loudly. "A misunderstanding?! What was there to misunderstand? No work is allowed to be done on the car for five seconds. How could that lead to a mix-up within the team?!" George was clearly furious. To him, the move was completely unnecessary, and he already suspected it would result in another penalty. That is exactly what happened a few laps later.
"George, you’ve received another penalty from the FIA. Because you didn’t serve your five-second penalty, you’ve now got a drive-through penalty. You are not allowed to come into the pits." Silence on the other end. Marcus looked away from the monitor and toward Toto at the other end of the table. The Austrian was focused on the screen, listening to both his drivers whenever they had something to say. Marcus wasn't sure if George had heard him, so he asked again. "Drive-through penalty. Did you copy, George?"
Silence returned. Laps went by before George turned into the pit entry. The pit crew sat in the garage, following their two drivers' race. Car 63 drove down the pit lane at 80 km/h without turning into the Mercedes garage. The leaders swept past Russell without difficulty. A specific sound from the monitor caught Marcus's attention. The message read: George Russell63 / Disconnected.
Toto’s gaze met Marcus’s—an exchange that spoke volumes, far more than words ever could. The Austrian’s smile returned as Kimi was the first to cross the finish line. Peter Bonnington congratulated the Italian on the victory, and Toto praised the teenager as well.
Upon reaching Parc fermé, Russell climbed out of his car, reattached the steering wheel, and shook Kimi’s hand to congratulate him on the win. Next came the weigh-in, after which George disappeared into the Mercedes garage. The Briton strode past his race engineer and Toto without a word. Once inside his changing room, he removed his helmet, tore off his gloves, and angrily flung them onto the floor. He was seething inside; the result was tension in his shoulders, mental arguments in which he held Toto to account, and his teeth clenched tight.
George kept his interviews brief, as he had no decent explanation for the "mishap" and wanted to get away from the track as quickly as possible. Before that, however, the team debrief took place; it wrapped up within twenty minutes, and everyone was free to head home. "George." The Briton stopped abruptly when he heard his boss's voice. "I’m not letting you go home in a mood like that." Toto stepped closer, stopping about three meters away from George. Russell reluctantly turned toward the Austrian and looked at him impassively. "I can certainly understand why you’re angry, but the pit stop incident has already happened—there’s nothing we can do to change it now, and..." Toto got no further, as George clearly had an objection.
"That should never, under any circumstances, happen to a team! A podium finish might have been within reach for me, but the crew's incompetence penalized me for something that wasn't my fault. If Kimi had received the five-second penalty, that certainly wouldn't have happened during the pit stop. But when car number 63 comes into the pit lane—well, things like that can happen. There is absolutely no way I can catch up in the title fight like this!" The Briton’s blue eyes were wide, revealing nothing but rage.
"George, that was unforeseen and certainly not the team's intention. We are doing everything humanly possible to see both Mercedes cars at the front of the pack. Mishaps like this are a strategic disaster; they help neither you nor us." Toto placed both palms on George’s tense shoulders, hoping to improve his mood. "You know what? Other teams would make a much greater effort if they had a Formula 1 driver as experienced as me. It’s great that Kimi has come so far in just his second year. But a team principal ought to be just as happy for his other driver when they achieve a truly good result—without favoritism—yet that’s something you can’t do." Toto’s brow furrowed, and he was taken aback when George knocked his hands off his shoulders. "Don't you ever touch me again!"
With those words, the Briton left the meeting room and the race venue, then got into his car. He drove straight home, parked in the driveway, and entered the apartment. He dropped his backpack next to the coat rack and went into the shared bedroom. He lay on the bed for about ten minutes until he heard the sound of a door opening. George got up and strolled toward the door. Carmen slipped out of her red shoes, set down her handbag, and greeted her boyfriend. "Hey, baby," she said, placing her hands on his cheeks and kissing him affectionately.
"How was your day?" Russell asked as he boiled water for tea for both of them. "Very interesting. We discussed how we want to promote my cosmetics line and are currently working on new ideas. The products are for both women and men, but we want to cater to every skin type—acne, oily skin, rosacea, and much more," Carmen said with a beaming smile as George served her the hot cup of tea. "Thanks, honey. How did the race go?" she asked as George sat down opposite her and carefully sipped his Earl Grey.
"Not good. The race stewards were particularly keen on handing out penalties today. There were several retirements, penalties for pit-entry violations, and a drive-through penalty for me," George replied, feeling anger rising within him again. "Why was that?" "Instead of serving the five-second penalty during the next pit stop, half the crew worked on the car, so the FIA flagged it as an improper procedure. That led to another penalty, and I ended up finishing the race in 12th place." Anger and disappointment consumed the Briton, and at first, he didn't notice that one of his hands was clenched into a fist. Carmen’s gentle hand rested on George’s fist, easing his tension.
"Hey, no matter where you finish, I’m always proud of you. I know you’re an excellent driver and always give it your all. The race is over, and you can start preparing for the next race weekend." George’s eyes were fixed on the tabletop as he thought about the discussion with Toto. "How can you be proud of me when I finished twelfth? It’s a total disappointment—a humiliation inflicted by my own team; they just have a mishap like that botched pit stop, and nobody really seems to care. Kimi crosses the finish line way ahead of me every time, and I feel like the biggest loser. He’s breaking every record, and he’s only in his second year of Formula 1. You should be proud of him, not me!"
Carmen leaned back in her chair and stared at the Brit. She rarely saw her boyfriend angry, and she had the feeling there was more to come. "George, I..." "Of course you're disappointed. You expected a lot more from me—just like everyone else. Every damn weekend I give it my all, yet I always end up the loser. Toto hands everything to Kimi on a silver platter and has no interest in my successes anymore. I could fight my way to the finish line in a wrecked car, and nobody would care. It’s all for nothing. Why do I even bother? I’m not impressing anyone with my DNFs and lousy race results. Not even the people who can't stand me."
“George, that’s…” Unacceptable. Yes! You’re right. Of course you’re right, and you’d advise me to throw in the towel on racing, too. I should have done what my brother did. “George, it…” Don’t interrupt me! Damn it! Every f*cking race, you act like you’re proud of me, but you know damn well you’re ashamed to be with a guy like me! Just admit it already!! SAY IT!!!
Instead of saying anything, Carmen chose to walk away from the confrontation with George; she went into their shared bedroom and locked the door. She had never seen George so angry before. No matter what she said, he wouldn't listen to her. Small tears escaped the corners of her eyes; it hurts to hear her boyfriend shouting at her, especially since she had nothing to do with the racing incident. The way George spoke about himself also made Carmen sad.
The two spent the rest of the evening apart. George took a shower, and Carmen read one of her books. She had already unlocked the bedroom door by the time she heard the sound of the shower running.
Absorbed in the plot of her book, she didn't notice until a few seconds later that George was standing in the doorway. She lay with her upper body on the mattress, studying him. He was wearing a loose white shirt and black shorts. His posture was no longer tense, and the anger in his eyes had vanished. "Sweetheart?" "Yes, George?" "I'm sorry. I was so damn angry and shouldn't have yelled at you—not at all. My anger had been building up during the race, and I yelled at Toto, too. Carmen, I'm so sorry." Regret resonated in his voice as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her apologetically.
Carmen put her book aside and sat up. "Promise me two things: one, never shout at me like that again, and two, never speak ill of yourself and your abilities. Understood?" Her voice was gentle yet serious. "Yes, understood," George replied, taking his girlfriend in his arms and kissing her tenderly.