#il predestinato having them at his mercy....

[orgasming-caterpillar]

Formula One: The Curse Of The Prancing Horse

There is something so inherently poetic about Ferrari— all the glory behind it's name, the decades of history behind the logo— and it's failures. The sheer splendor of decades worth of building its name to what it is, only to be stuck a step behind from greatness. Too close to rest, to far to push.

And yet, no matter how much they lose, it's still the dream of every young man stepping foot on the grounds of Formula One. It is the Formula One dream. The deep devotion that drives anyone with a Ferrari badge on his chest, the blind faith despite every blow. It's larger than a religion. A cult.

Because even in all its misery, Ferrari is Formula One.

Time after time, we have another spectacular driver who's won it all and won it again, coming to Ferrari in hopes of winning it all with a legacy to support. This deadly hope in the heart of every driver coming to Ferrari that "I'll be the one to change things. I'll be the one to give them back their glory." It happens over and over again because a martyr that does not die lives to create more like him.

It's a cut that always bleeds because not only do you lose your lustre and yourself in the process, you watch another young driver take your place and go through it all over again. Do you think the past drivers look at Charles and pity him? Do you think they warned him? Do they understand the feeling of losing yourself in the process of finding glory for the prancing horse? Do you think charles will feel the same about whatever rookie joins him in the coming years?

Because it's Charles' relationship with Ferrari that's the most poetic of them all. Every race weekend he gives his body and soul to the team, and this team— they don't know what to do with it. It’s all very Renaissance, bold reds and religious zealotry. He’s a walking tragedy. He knows how to suffer and does it well — he was raised Catholic, even if he doesn’t acknowledge God anymore. He acknowledged misery and that's close enough to God.

Charles knows what's wrong with Ferrari. Over the years, he's become well familiar with how they break you, but he no longer cares. Not when occasional glory is poured down his throat like white hot nectar. It burns, but the blisters too are rosso corsa, the colour of prestige.

He says "If this is a cage then I'd like to be kept in a cage my entire life." As if he thinks he has a choice. As if he has it in him to make the choice. He won't change being Il Predestinato in red to being Charles Leclerc in any other color. He was born for rosso corsa.

He says "At times I have not been merciful towards myself" but oh sweet boy was it ever your choice to make? This is what the prancing horse does to those who put a saddle on him.

They call him Il Predestinato, but for what? Predestined for what, glory? Ha, no. Predestined to be the next sacrificial lamb, is what they mean. Predestined to stand on the altar ringed with fire, bearing a prophecy that hovers its fingers over his heart, digging its nails into the warm flesh the longer he is unable to fulfill it.

And it's how we watch it all unfold. How we watch driver after driver sacrifice himself to the team, the team sacrifice him to victory and Victory's satiated sigh at the taste of winning blood before doing what she wishes. It's poetic— all the blood spilled with no respite.

It's the cycle of misery, the curse of the prancing horse.

Ferrari will forever be red on the canvas of history because it is stained by the blood of the heroes that tried to save it.