The Formula One season’s endgame began on the night streets of Singapore. There were no surprises, only time and the occasion to reflect on the strange and beautiful season we’re witnessing. Warning: spoilers.
I found myself in the vicinity of a young man two weeks ago. He was standing a few feet away, his limbs thin and delicate, and he faced a wall of cameras with a brave, nonchalant smile. He was wearing jeans and a navy blue polo shirt, I was wearing a white shirt and gray wool trousers, and we didn’t know each other, but I happened to know how he’d spent his afternoon two days before. He had put two wheels of a Formula One racing car on the grass at Monza and passed Fernando Alonso’s Ferrari like a man possessed. His name was Sebastian Vettel. I stood very still and watched him. He was on stage with a Japanese businessman, introducing a special edition of the Infiniti FX50 named after him.