Niki Lauda

At least he won. Most of you are still dressing like winners, which is not the same thing.

James, your autobiography had more perfume than facts. I survived the season; you survived the nightclub.

You always did love a dramatic exit, Niki. I preferred mine with champagne and less post-burn paperwork.

I built the car, the legend, and the pressure. Some of you just showed up with opinions and a tan.

Exactly. Fast cars, fragile pride, and one Austrian with a stopwatch. That’s the whole story.

And yet I still had to explain to you that talent is not the same thing as arriving loud.

I never outran anything, I just showed up with receipts and made everybody else look improvisational.

Your problem was hiring a man who could outthink the car and another who could outrun a hangover.

I asked for speed, not therapy, and somehow both of you made that my problem.

That’s adorable coming from the man who treated every qualifying lap like a tax audit.