Earlier we watched the BBC coverage before the race, where Jenson Button and Lewis Hamilton competed against the BBC team of Martin Brundle and David Coulthard for the fastest wheel change.
It was a bit of fun, something none of them usually do. There was no prize involved, nothing was at stake. But Hamilton was jumping up and down and fairly vibrating with adrenaline, and both the McLaren boys were, um, extremely focused. The whole thing couldn't have been more competitive if they were competing for the podium on the last turn of a race.
Husband and I talked about it, about the legendary competitiveness of racing drivers in all things, about the way some games seem to make men of all backgrounds gleefully, boyishly competitive.
We remembered that time on a beach in Dorset when a can floated by, and one man desultorily started flicking stones at it, trying to hit it. Then another man joined in, then another. Before long the entire beach was engaged in the age-old gladiatorial combat of man-and-pebble-versus-target, and the race to be first to hit it was on. Wives and girlfriends were surreptitiously searching for the perfect stone, men were sitting up or lounging, trying to look nonchalent.
Husband landed one first with a resounding TING. I hissed, "YES," under my breath, Husband picked sand from under his nails and examined the sky. There was an almost audible sigh from everyone else, and the beach subsided. No comment had been voiced no eye contact made.
But a battle had been fought, and one man emerged victorious...
I don't know if I have a point to make about this, only to say that I love it when guys get into their games... and I'm now going to check that the current WIPs have a least a few moments just like these...
