Joel Nicolosi
The cars swerved back and forth as drivers kept the tire temperatures up. Yellow caution lights flashed around the circuit as the field was grouped back together after a collision near the entrance to the tunnel. Just as in the beginning of the race, a black GT-R was out in front, but this time it was the teammate car, not the same one that Joel battled with at the race start. Joel worked the wheel back and forth as they made another round of the circuit while the race-marshals cleaned up the multi-colored bits of an NSX and a Corvette that had gotten together making the turn into the tunnel.
Exciting bit of strategy we’ve seen come out of the NISMO paddock this afternoon, Rob. One commentator chimed in. There would still be one more lap under caution while the wreckage was swept off the track.
Yes, they’ve certainly done the unexpected here. The British commentator came back. We were all wondering why the second car never made a stop on the first round, but what they’ve done here is they’ve loaded him up with a full tank and hard tires and allowed him to stay out until the second round, before switching to a lighter fuel load and a soft compound, though the real bit of strategy comes into play when you look at the second driver swap.
It’s more like a gamble, you’re not truly in the lead until you’ve made the second swap, so you take on fuel and hard tires at the start, expand your lead until the second round, make the stop and then hope for a caution in final third of the race. The first commentator replied. And then you make your second swap under caution before the field is grouped back together. If the caution doesn’t come, you’ve essentially disqualified yourself. It’s a very gutsy move.
Perhaps not the most sporting of moves either, particularly when you already have the championship under wraps for the season. Said the Brit. But the rules only state the drivers have to change places twice per car, there’s no requirement for laps driven... Some might call it slightly underhanded at this point, Sol City being the final race, others may call it an effective bit of strategy.
Yes, it’s the same boldness we’ve seen from the NISMO team all season. The helicopter camera panned over the field. Masterful tacticians, they plan to win whether they’re ten laps down or ten seconds ahead. There’s never a thought of settling for P2. The camera moved to a steady shot of Joel in the 300. They’ve got to be feeling good about themselves right now.
It took Nicolosi about thirty laps to get round them on the first leg. The man’s accent denoted a sense of drama, hope and impending finality. He’d called races for decades and was very good at his job. Now he’ll have to do it in less than ten. I wouldn’t rule him out, but it’s going to be a tall order for sure. The camera cut to numerous scenes of the crews staring up, pointing at diagnostic screens, crossing arms and sharing concerned glances. A brief clip flashed by of Marlin and Tommy talking from the top of the hauler. The camera looked up from the ground below as Lou stood and wiped a hand over his face. Joel’s dad spoke something and both nodded in agreement. The safety car peeled away into the paddock and the full throttle roar of the remaining pack howled across the starting line and back up the hill.
Tommy watched the live feed alongside Marlin. Part of him couldn’t believe they were still in it and another part of him hated the helpless feeling of being a spectator. He clinched his teeth. No one spoke. All eyes were on the race feed. Again, Joel followed the GT-R around the circuit neither gaining nor loosing. Two more laps ticked away and the radio was quiet. With crossed arms, Tommy began to roll his fingers with one hand and tap one foot. He looked at Lou and Joel’s dad. How they stayed so calm was beyond him. He was reminded of how he was not originally a racing driver by profession. He was a football player and watching the car go across the cameras, still behind, felt like slowly watching them loose the Super Bowl. The quiet continued another two laps.
“You gonna get this show on the road or are we taking second place today?” Joel’s dad said finally breaking the silence. The radio was quiet in reply.
The sound of his father’s voice came through as they took the uphill again. That same tone he had heard since childhood: The same one that told him when to get his act together. Sure, he had a plan. He wasn’t going to settle for second, but it was that tone. That growling rasp that made him feel like he was twelve and they were at the go-kart track again. For Joel, there was never any fun when they went to the track in his youth, you either won it all or you went home a loser. All the karts were the same, you just had to be the best. Being there for “fun” was a joke for those that didn’t mind losing. The 300 hadn’t even been expected to be competitive the first couple years they raced the Grand Prix, but this year, for the first time it was an even match. He knew what it meant and could feel the rage building in his chest.
The nose of the 300 was tucked under the back the sleek GT-R again. On an open circuit the refined downforce generated by the black car would have easily allowed them to pull away, but on the streets of Sol, none of the hours of wind-tunnel testing or multi-million dollar development mattered. It was a street-fight. The older Nissan pushed underneath the tail wing loosening the rear tires grip on the track. The Japanese driver fought against the fishtailing of the car as Joel mimicked his every move through the street section. He could feel the 300 push against the weight of the GT-R in his seat. He knew he was faster. The afternoon brightness of the harbor came up again and they swept into the tunnel. Squinting hard against the change of light, he cut to the inside then back out. He knew the driver wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on him and be prepared for the tunnel exit. Joel was alongside as the blast of daylight came up in white blindness.
Nicolosi to the inside out of the tunnel! The commentator shouted. The two cars were side by side down the hill as the first chicane came up. Both drove in hard, smoke ignited as the brakes locked up on each car. Neither gave an inch. The GT-R had the preferred line, but Joel dug hard to keep alongside. The next chicane was reversed. They kept their delicate dance in line abreast barely scraping fenders as the next turn came up.
Joel could see people were no longer sitting along the harbor- Everyone was standing. He felt the cars touch as they came around the long left-hander through the harbor. He thought he could hear the shouts of the crowd even over the engine. The black car was still there, right alongside. Joel fought against the tail of the 300 sliding as they came around the last corners carrying far too much speed. He stomped hard on the gas early in spite of it bringing the wall up dangerously close. The side mirror’s shadow nearly made contact with the grooved steel that rushed by. The Japenese driver did the same and they touched again, harder this time. The line was in sight and the flag was waving. He could see both teams pit crews hanging on the inside of the pitwall fence. He forced the GT-R to the inside in a quick flick of the wheel, not giving the man a chance to push his advantage on the straightaway. They scraped fenders again and it was almost surreal. The track ahead was clear. It was a drag race now, just like at the airport. Joel held his breath, his grip on the wheel tightening with every centimeter of track they covered side by side. He put his full weight on the accelerator pedal as if he were going to push it through the floor. The angry scream of the GT-R’s exhaust note was blaring in his right ear. The grid lines came up and flashed underneath. He could see the wave of the flag and the ripple of the checkers in the official’s hand. They flashed underneath the gantry door to door.
@PrinceAlexus
