The Undercut | Max Verstappen

prologue; the beginning

"I don't know, Joe. He's a two time World Champion, arguably the best driver on the grid. Yes, his attitude isn't always the best. But could it really be that his temper might cost him his F1 seat?" said the TV show host, and although he was looking at his colleague, the question was asked in a way that was meant to engage the viewer in the conversation. Really, he was asking YOU, what you thought about the situation.

It was the talk of the town, so to say. Everyone in the motorsport community from drivers, team personnel, journalists, down to the most casual of viewers had something to say about it. Max Verstappen, two time Formula 1 World Champion, ruthless on track, sometimes even more so off track. But lately he'd been out of control, or so it seemed. Verbal quarrels with journalists, refusal to speak to fans, and altercations with his fellow drivers were becoming a weekly occurrence for the young athlete. The FIA had already issued a warning to his team, telling Red Bull Racing that if the unsportsmanlike behavior continued he was going to face the consequences of his actions.

Which is how we've arrived to this point. Only 88 kilometers away from each other, two people sit in front of a TV screen watching the very same discussion between Channel X Sports' Formula One experts Joseph Henderson and Edwin Poll. Only 88 kilometers apart, yet two very different reactions to the debacle.

~

Max's POV
Milton Keynes, UK.

"That's such bullshit!" I raise from my seat and move to turn off the TV since Christian is still holding the remote controller in his hand. In fact, he's clutching it so tightly I begin to wonder how long it will take for him to fling it at my head. "They can't do that. I'm not going to lose my fucking seat and they know that!" I say, standing in front of my Team Principal.

"Max, you're no longer a child, you're too old to be throwing tantrums." he says, ever so patient, and yet I can see in the creases underneath his eyes that he's had enough of me. Wouldn't be the first time he's looked at me like this. Wouldn't be the first time I let someone down either.

"It's not a tantrum, but you know they're dragging me through the mud for no reason. Are you guys seriously considering terminating my contract?" I wasn't planning on sounding so hurt when I said it out loud, so I try to mask it biting the inside of my cheeks and looking away from Christian's incessant stare.

"You know we're not, kid. I wouldn't do that to you. You're still our top driver, you're still outperforming everyone and that's why they're angry." he said calmly, the stark contrast between his tone and mine reaching my ears like a punch to the gut. "But that doesn't mean there's no truth in what they're saying." he speaks again, one of his index fingers pressed tightly to his temple, rubbing circles against it, surely feeling a headache coming up. "You can't risk the FIA taking measures against you."

I sigh. Because I know he's right. I know I've fucked up. Big time. I shake my head, not even wanting to think about what happened at the last race. "I've fixed it. I... I spoke to him, I apologized. He said he understands. I don't know why they're doing all this circus shit, I—"

"Because this is what the media does, and you know it. They don't care about the facts, they care about what piece of drama will make them more money. So it doesn't matter whether you fixed it or not. It matters what you do from now on." he said.

For the first time in a long, and I mean a long time, I feel at a loss for words.

"You're not going to like what we're doing next." he warns and my eyes instantly shoot up from the ground to meet his own. "In fact, I'm ready for you to hate it, but I need you to understand why it's completely necessary."

"Stop babbling, Christian. Get to the point." I don't say it aggressively, but I think he understands that I'm not messing around, not when it comes to the one thing I've dedicated my entire life to, for better or for worse.

"We're pulling you out of Drive to Survive for this season. And we begin shooting separately. A documentary series for our youtube channel. We are reclaiming the narrative. You say nothing to the press, or to anyone for that matter, without our prior approval. From now on, at least until the season is over, if they want to reach you, they'll have to go through us first. We're re-writing the story."

There is a silence that follows, and I'm sure he thinks it's the calm before the storm. And it might be. I'm not sure. I hate media work. I hate feeling like I'm a hamster stuck spinning inside a wheel, just going through the motions while someone observes me, picks at everything I do and say, just for their own entertainment. Drive to Survive was already hard enough, I'd even spent time away from it. But at least people were aware, for the most part, that it wasn't entirely accurate. And I wasn't always the focus of the show. What Christian was asking of me this time was something different. It wasn't lost on me when he said "we" are reclaiming the narrative, because it's true. This isn't just about me as a person. Max Verstappen isn't just Max. I am Red Bull, in a way. And what I do reflects on all of us. I'm well aware of it, yet I can't seem to keep the most basic parts of our agreement: do my job and stay out of trouble.

This was different. I had to be the focus. Only me. Constantly followed. My words would be heard by an entire team of people, my body language would be picked apart, everything would be edited into a curated version of Max Verstappen that perhaps I didn't even know myself. And I had no choice. I'd gotten myself in this situation, and now I had to get us all out.

"I'll do it." I said, firmly, calmly. Defeated. I had no choice. And I hated everything about it.

"I know you will." Christian said with a father-like stare, or at least, what I think that looks like. "I believe in you." And I think he is the only one who ever has.

~

Micah's POV.
London, UK.

"Well, damn."  I stated. Am I fidgeting? I think I'm fidgeting. Oh God, yes, I'm fidgeting. Can they tell I am nervous?

"Stop fidgeting." said my boss, half a smile plastered all over his face and I'm glad at least someone is finding a semblance of enjoyment in my never ending pain. "What do you think about it?"

"I— Well, I don't know." I contemplate, blinking a few times to leverage some time to think carefully about my next words. They might determine the future of my entire career. "You just showed me a fifty eight minute compilation of this guy being... less than delightful. And then you asked me to make him look like a good guy—"

"No. I didn't say <<make him look like a good guy>>." he paused, confusing me even further. "I said, make him look like an angel. There's a difference there." Wow, I'm glad he's got time for humor. Because here I am, debating whether I had girlbossed a little too close to the sun with the whole Sports Journalism thing.

Sure, I had done paddock interviews for feeder series, Formula E and the World Endurance Championship. But this? Conducting a year long documentary project with, arguably, the best racing driver of our generation, who also has a reputation of berating journalists on Live TV? I had to singlehandedly push this man to clear his image to the outside world, I was going to be responsible for the narrative his team wanted to push. My questions, the narration, the dialogue, it was all up to me. This sounded like it could be the biggest opportunity I'll ever get career-wise, if it goes right. But if it all goes wrong, this could just as easily become the biggest mistake of my very short run as a journalist.

"When do you need an answer?" I asked.

"Within the next five to ten minutes would be great. We've already gone through every single bit of this contract, Micah. And you know how big this is for us. I wouldn't risk losing everything by recommending you for the job if I didn't seriously think you were capable of doing it perfectly."

The silence that followed was deafening. Not because I was angry. I was simply just scared shitless of disappointing the one person who had always believed in me and vouched for me all throughout my career. But more than anything, I believed in him. And if he really thought I could do it, I was going to fight tooth and nail to prove him right.

"Okay. I'm in."

Help.

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Hello dear readers!!
I hope you enjoy the prologue! This story was inspired by a prompt on tiktok, I asked the creator for permission and she kindly allowed me to write the story.
I hope you enjoy the ride!!
- Em.