It was a bright afternoon in Milan at Jimmy Damgaard's million-dollar mansion. While nude girls partied at the pool downstairs, he was in his snooker room, watching something on a tablet. F1 commentary echoed from the audio. It was clear he was watching a replay.
In a way, Jimmy was just like Luca. But unlike Luca who moved on easily, Jimmy often stayed trapped in scenarios. Again and again, Luigi's last-minute overtake in Shanghai filled the screen, nearly a hundred times. And each time, he bit the stem of his finger whenever the W12 lunged past.
"How could I just… let him??" he hissed.
Moments later, someone stepped in with one of the cues. When he saw Jimmy still hooked over the Chinese GP, he sighed. Jimmy sighed back before the tablet was reluctantly put away.
"But I drove well, right?" Jimmy said. "P2 is great. Awesome even. And–hey–finishing ahead of Luca is a W if nothing else, yeah?"
