‘But Sabatino’s keeping pace out of the hairpin, Ben. She’s right there with him.’
The camera switched to the far end of the half-mile-long Rettifilo, to look back, offering a long, head-on shot of the approaching cars. Through the heat shimmer, the Massarella’s black and business-like profile was all that could be seen, as Sabatino was tucked so closely in behind. Travelling at that speed, the Massarella seemed to bobble over a silvery-watery mirage on the surface of the track. Then the TV picture switched to a helicopter shot, directly overhead, giving the commentators something much more obvious to talk about.
‘There they go — nose to tail. Sabatino’s right up behind the Massarella. She’s getting a good tow, using the hole punched through the air by the car in front, to reduce the drag. But, of course, its turbulence will disturb the airflow over the Ptarmigan, reducing her downforce. But, here — at this very moment — on this straight — that’s okay. There’re no lateral forces on the Ptarmigan right now.’
Sabatino’s car was now almost bumping the rear end of the Massarella. Seemingly in an instant, the turquoise Ptarmigan dived out to the left.
‘Here she goes! She’s having a go down the left-hand side.’
‘Yes, but look at that — Luciano’s seen her in his mirrors — and is moving straight across — to the left — to try and block her.’
Sabatino, being aggressively squeezed over to the dirty side of the track, suddenly lifted off for a fraction of a second before changing direction, darting back the other way — back behind the Massarella — to try a dive again, this time down the right-hand side.
‘That’s clever, Ben — Sabatino knows Luciano can only make one defensive move, under the rules — and that he’s just made it. Now going down the right-hand side, she’s still got three-quarters of the Rettifilo left to mount her challenge — without legitimate influence from Luciano.’
The overhead camera followed the two flat-out cars down the start/finish straight. It showed all too clearly how close the cars were — almost touching — as Sabatino’s Ptarmigan started inching its way alongside.
‘Aargh, this is sensational. Two Formula One cars — absolutely at full throttle — throwing themselves down the pit straight at two hundred miles an hour — and we’re only interested in the tiny relative speed between them.’
‘Which is, what, Mike — no more than two or three miles an hour?’
The TV picture switched again — to the forward-looking camera mounted on the front wing of Sabatino’s Ptarmigan — only inches off the ground. The surface of the track swept by, below, in a hypnotic blur. Filling the left of the picture was the black wall of the Massarella’s rear-right tyre, spinning in another blur — while the car’s black radiator pods and front wing tapered away down to the blurred surface of the road ahead.
‘Wheel to wheel — inch by inch — they couldn’t be any closer.’
‘Is she going to do enough — do enough before the corner?’
‘Who knows, Ben,’ said the other commentator with a chuckle clearly delighting in the drama. The shot changed yet again, this time from behind. Viewers could see the rears of both cars — appearing, from that angle with the compressing of perspective, to be absolutely side by side. Beyond them, hazily in the distance, was the looming braking zone of Turn One.
‘I don’t think Sabatino’s going to do it — she’s not done enough. Her engine hasn’t quite got the grunt.’
‘No, and here comes the end of the straight. Luciano, surely, has the right to retake the line.’
‘I’d say so. And if Sabatino’s going to hold her current line, she’ll be in the dirt very soon, and on a very tight line into that corner.’
Sabatino finally had to yield.
‘Wow, what a shame, Ben — but what a charge! What a charge!’
‘Absolutely. What an effort. It shows one thing really clearly, though, Mike — Luciano’s going to have to be on his guard. Any mistake he makes out of the Parabolica, and Sabatino will surely have him.’
‘Provided that understeer of hers doesn’t let Luciano get away round the rest of the circuit. She’s got to be right up behind him into and out of the hairpin to stand a chance.’
Round they raced for another lap.
Their high-speed joust was repeated seven more times, with Sabatino harrying Luciano all the way down the majestic start/finish straight into the first corner, only to find she never quite got the shot she needed.
Then something happened.
‘Look, Ben, Sabatino’s trying a different entry into the hairpin this time.’
‘Let’s see if it works? Sabatino’s hanging left and braking slightly earlier. She’s turning in slower — but — but — she’s faster out. Look at that! She’s got a much better exit this time. She’s definitely closer as they straighten up.’
‘It’s looking good — she’s tucked right up behind, in Luciano’s slipstream. Can she do it?’
Sabatino darted out, this time to the right.
‘Here they go again. Look — look at them run.’
‘It’s a drag race!’
The two cars pelted down the full length of the magnificent long straight, inches apart. All the way.
‘Two hundred miles an hour, and we’re still only interested in the relative speed between the Ptarmigan and the Massarella. It looks like it’d probably be measured in feet per hour, this time.’
The two cars were hurtling down towards the end of the Rettifilo. The crowds started roaring. They had come for excitement — the excitement of Monza — the home of Italian motor sport. Expectations were not being disappointed.
‘Aargh — it’s all too much. She’s got enough time, hasn’t she, Mike?’
‘The Ptarmigan is giving its all — but where’s that extra handful of horsepower she so desperately needs?’
‘She is still gaining.’
‘Side by side. Wheel to wheel.’
‘At over two hundred miles an hour. Sabatino’s still pulling forward. She’s edging further forward.’
‘But will she do enough?’
Both cars hit their respective rev limiters. Straker willed Sabatino’s car on, almost unable to breathe as he watched the titanic struggle play out over nearly ten seconds.
‘That Ptarmigan Benbecular is giving its all. She’s gaining … gaining — so slowly. It does look, though, that she could just about draw level and take him.’
‘But can she do it in time?’
‘She hasn’t yet. It all depends on who blinks first. It’s all about braking, now — into Turn One.’
‘Wait, Luciano’s been spooked — he knows this is threatening his lead of the race. He’s starting to move — moving across towards her. He’s already staking a claim on the line — does he still have the right?’
‘It might just be to try and intimidate her. They’re getting closer and closer. Who’s got the nerve to face the other down? Does Sabatino have the nerve to hold her ground?’