Ladbrokes: Red Bull boss Christian Horner was today ruing the possibility that his erstwhile slapstick F1 team could – against all rhyme and reason – actually end up winning something come the end of the season, writes our serendipity correspondent, Maximum Disraeli.
The high speed hallucinogenic fizzy drink billboards began the season breaking down everywhere before moving onto more human forms of sabotage as its own drivers proceeded to systematically dismantle their own success by driving into each other or – if unavailable – the next nearest competitor.
By the time of the team’s Belgian Grand Prix 200mph theatre of the burlesque in August, it was widely thought that the narrow advantage Mark Webber had somehow eked out on his fellow competitors was – like the team itself – largely an accidental expensive blip in poor taste.
Red Bull were accused of turning season into pair of these
Yet 2 more races and a month later, the absence of bumbling wheel-to-wheel mayhem, infighting and foot-shooting has for the first time, left some experts together with the boss of the team itself, contemplating the possibility that 2010 hasn’t simply been one massive great piss up against a wall, after all.
“The outbreak of apparent competence at Red Bull has certainly surprised many”, paddock pundit Jazz Hans told us.
“On more than one occasion this year it seemed the team was being run as a medical experiment in which the drink’s physiological effect on vulnerable personalities was recreated on the track through psychological means.”
“Don’t let this hat fool you: I will well fuck you up, innit!”
“But recently there does appear to be a suggestion that – just because you’ve got a few billion quid to throw at the most expensive sport in the world – doesn’t mean you should behave like a gibbering Blofeld-wannabe 24-7,” he concluded.
Analysts meanwhile, have suggested that the recent emergence of what appears to be a degree of professionalism, sensible strategy and coherent management replacing the previous group psychology of partisan self-destructive hype-fuelled mania could ironically be linked to a reduced intake of the stuff the team were set up to try and flog in the first place.
“Have you ever had 8 cans of this stuff in a row?” a sweating, goggle-eyed clubber screamed at us incoherently in between blowing a whistle and hugging everyone.
“It makes you like…you’re so..I LOVE YOU!!!! But burpy as well!! I want to burp!!! [BLA-A-A-A-R-R-T] Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!! Wait…Oh my god, I can’t feel my tongue. Where’s my…Jeanie? Jeanie! Where’s my fucking tongue?!? Where is it??!!!??? Sweet Jesus I’ve lost my fucking tongue!!!” he added before knocking himself unconscious after running into a wall.
A spokesperson for Red Bull told us he had been awake since last Tuesday and that the constant noise of chewing in his head was just the caterpillar trapped under his eyeball, trying to pupate.
