AUTHOR'S NOTE: Trying something a bit different with this chapter! Playing around with the media and timeline and storytelling and yada yada. Hopefully this is a smooth read.
June 3rd, 1996 - Spanish Grand Prix
An excerpt from "Burke Rises Again!" — written by: Charlie Wheeler
And while Timothy Burke's victory and ten second lead against the runner-up driver is nothing short of historic, that wasn't the only great achievement worth paying attention to from yesterday's big event. For the first time since the season-opener in Australia, Chandler Bing finished ahead of his teammate at Sauber, placing fifth with Joseph Tribbiani at seventh. With an immaculate overtake maneuver right at the very last second, Bing managed to cross the finish line before Gavin Mitchell and Tribbiani respectively, gaining an extra two points against his teammate and closing the gap between them from four to two.
There's lots of discussion around Joseph Tribbiani right now— he's been the hot topic ever since that stellar testing session in January, and now there's already rumours of a move to Ferrari once Paolo Fusco makes his departure from the Scuderia. While Tribbiani is definitely putting up a great performance given his experience, it's hard to ignore the work Bing has been putting in for the last three years. Against his first teammate, the illustrious Kip Allagash, he managed to hold himself up well up until that disastrous season finale. Even now, it seems clear he won't be backing down just because a new guy is in town.
June 16th, 1996 - Canadian Grand Prix
Transcribed Excerpt from a Post-Race Interview between Tag Jones and Joseph Tribbiani, broadcasted on ESPN
JONES: Joseph! Magnificent drive that was today, yeah?
TRIBBIANI: Well, it could've been better, I think…
JONES: Nonsense. You know, it was interesting to watch you and Chandler go wheel-to-wheel for that whole race. You two just kept switching back and forth, I had no idea who'd finish ahead!
TRIBBIANI: Uh-huh…
JONES: And as we all saw, It was Chandler who got that finishing lead. And now you're tied for points.
TRIBBIANI: That we are.
JONES: Is it hard? Driving against someone you're good friends with? I recall you telling me earlier in the year how close you are.
TRIBBIANI: …
JONES: Joseph?
TRIBBIANI: Sorry, spaced out, haha. I mean, yeah…it's difficult. At the end of the day, though, we have to do what we have to do. We just have to try and not let it get personal.
JONES: That must be hard, considering how ruthless you are when it comes to racing. Even Chandler seems to have become a bit more aggressive over the past few months, huh?
TRIBBIANI: I guess.
JONES: You must really bring out something within him.
TRIBBIANI: I guess…
July 1st, 1996 - French Grand Prix
An Excerpt from "Chandler BINGS It Home!"— written by: Janice Hosenstein
Our beautiful boy at Sauber had arguably one of his best performances in his whole career during yesterday's France Grand Prix! There wasn't much hope after the announcement of his ten-place penalty, from a decision made by the team to replace his engine. He started eighteenth— almost dead last— but as always, Chandler did what he did best and drove that car all the way to third place! And he looked amazing after doing it— did you all catch that wink on the podium? I could seriously just eat him up!
A lot of his previous critics have seemed to pipe down, too. All those claims about him only being in Formula 1 because of the money— where'd they go? That's right, Bing shut them all up! And he's now ahead of his teammate by four points, talk about role-reversal! He's really doing everything he can to prove himself this year.
Unfortunately, Chandler declined doing an interview with us here at Dreamy Teen Magazine, but I know I'll definitely get one from him one day. Maybe two weeks from now when we're racing in England? I hope he's waiting for me!
July 14th, 1996 - British Grand Prix
Transcribed Excerpt from a Post-Race Interview between Tag Jones and Chandler Bing, broadcasted on ESPN
JONES: Chandler! Chandler! You got a sec' to talk?
BING: For you, Tag? I've got all the time in the world.
BING: But make it quick, Baywatch is airing tonight.
JONES: You never fail to make me laugh, Bing. Say, this has been your second year now in Formula 1, and we're all really impressed with how far you've come.
BING: Yeah, I mean, England is no bike-ride away from New York.
JONES: Haha! You're seriously quite the jokester, we love to see it.
JONES: You know, I have to ask… with Joseph gaining an extra two points against you today, are you worried at all? Having this rookie come on the scene and putting up an equal fight?
BING: You call that equal?
BING: Haha, kidding. Well, I'm no veteran. Everyone talks about this kinda stuff as if I'm this old washed up guy, but I'm just as young as he is. I've still got prime years ahead of me.
JONES: But isn't it scary at all? Joseph putting in the same numbers as you with two less years of experience?
BING: Ask me this again when the season ends and I'm a landslide ahead of him.
JONES: That I will.
JONES: I really admire your guys' ability to have such healthy competition and remain friends while doing so.
BING: You should admire the trophies instead.
JONES: You're giving me a lot of homework today, huh?
BING: Get to it, Jones!
July 28th, 1996 - German Grand Prix
The luscious greens of Baden-Württenberg was the home to the Hockenheimring, where the German Grand Prix took place every year. Monica was excited to return to the country— something about Nürberg intrigued her when they were there back in April, and she's already taken a liking to Hockenheim. Chandler didn't see what was so great about this town, he far preferred Nürberg for other reasons.
He remembers the night of the European Grand Prix clearly still; in the dark hallway where Joey's hotel room was only a few doors away from his own, he stood alone in his boxers hoping his friend was awake on the other side of the wood. His fingers wavered by his hips, debating knocking at the late hour. He wasn't even sure of what it was that woke him up and drew him to Joey's room— guilt was his best guess. He needed to do a better job at congratulating his friend after each race.
Eventually he knocked, and Joey opened the door for him, and he didn't ask why Chandler was awake and what he was doing at his hotel room— late night excursions were part of the norm by now. Instead, he wore a mischievous smile that Chandler knew even in the corridor shadows, and he whispered of a place he overheard from a friend. The hotel, high on a hill, had a glorious view of the Nürberg track, and the lights would stay on for at least another hour. With great eagerness, he assured Chandler it was a sight they couldn't miss, and Chandler didn't have anything better to do. So the gigglesome two snuck out of the building to a secluded spot amongst the trees, where the breeze wasn't too harsh and sure enough, the Nürbergring was in perfect view. Chandler got to see the lights of the track only in the reflection of Joey's eyes, but he could tell it was as beautiful as his friend hoped.
It's a year's worth of thoughts that whirl through his mind when Chandler's hands grip his steering wheel and the illumination of those five red lights feel like an eternity. When birds fly above in slow-motion and the sound around him becomes deep. His engine roared in wait. Facing the rear of Joey's car in the spot directly ahead of him, Chandler shook the German memory out of his mind.
He had no right to imagine Joey's mesmerized awe anymore. Weeks passed since their last altercation in Monaco and he never got a chance to check in on his friend— more accurately, he never had the urge to. The mere thought of having to face him again only made him upset, and thinking about how Joey never made an attempt to reconcile made him even more upset, no matter how childish he knew he was being. Joey used to loiter around Chandler's garage every weekend, and now the Italian avoided even making just eye-contact with him. Chandler wants to call him something evil in his mind, but then the picture of sweet Joey gazing out at Nürberg comes up again, and he just doesn't have the strength to utter any curses.
But there was no more time to dwell on his feelings any longer. The lights went out, meaning whatever troubled Chandler would have to take the backseat; meaning that Joey was just another driver to beat— no, the driver to beat. The one who drove in equal machinery as him; the one where Chandler had no excuses for losing against.
Chandler soared down the first straight, far more comfortable without the usually violent vibration of the car. He had an advantage against Joey this week: a new engine. A fresh performance that would surely give him an edge above Joey, and he wasn't going to let that power go to waste. With only five races left, he was going to work that engine to failure— right after the final finish line, of course.
However, Chandler's determination alone was not enough to beat Joey's sheer speed. Already, his teammate had created a considerable gap between them two. Enough that even David was afraid to speak it out loud.
"What's the gap between me and Joe?" Chandler huffed into the radio. It was a bad sign that he already grew tired, but he pushed against it.
"Just focus on the drive, Chandler."
"What's the gap?"
A beat of silence passed, where Chandler imagined the man on the other side gulped.
"Eleven seconds."
His hand tensed with the urge to punch something, but he followed David's order. He just focused on the drive. Something he hadn't really done since the car in front first entered his life.
His car was fueled with everything he hasn't gotten a chance to say— all those mundane anecdotes Chandler usually saved for his friend, sitting useless in his skull, becoming the oil that burned away with every lap. It's difficult not having anyone to talk to, or anyone to bother while pretending you have something to talk about; anyone's door you can hover around. Chandler swears up and down that he's still angry with Joey, but it's that name that slips out first when he's alone with himself; more violent tugs as self-punishment, always followed by gags of shame. He can't tell if God was more upset with his homosexual fascination or the deranged resentment that came from it.
The space next to Joey's car was inviting. Still a few seconds ahead of Chandler, but possibility rang high. If he timed it just right, Chandler could pull off an overtake that'll help maintain the lead he's built against his teammate.
He'd use Joey's own tricks against him— falling deep into corners at high speeds to keep his momentum going. It's a style he's far from mastering but he's paid enough attention to the Italian to figure it out. Every quick turn came with heart palpitations, and a single wrong move could very well send him to his creator; despite the fear churning in his stomach, he was still alive and still driving. Every second felt like borrowed time meant to be spent down below, but he kept driving.
"Eight seconds." David called out.
The gap was closing— that space that Joey defended with his life looking all the more inviting. Chandler knew them to belong together, that for him to be anywhere else but right beside Joey would be the wrong place to be. Even being ahead still doesn't sound right sometimes. Cooldowns in his shower remind him that the man with the target on his head was still someone he loved and craved; cold water would trickle down his back and he'd shut his eyes tight, pretending they were Joey's hands grazing the inner curvature of his back.
But it's not the same, because he knows what they really feel like. The ghosts of Joey's fingers still traced lines in his aching calves and for a long moment, Chandler wished they were in Belgium again. Things were a lot easier when they weren't teammates.
"Seven seconds."
Joey wasn't backing down. Throughout the whole race he kept the same quick pace that Chandler envied. Even through the thick blue helmet, he could tell Joey wasn't gritting his teeth like he was. Joey faced death in the eye with every reckless turn, but it seems even his own demise was weak to Joey's charm.
Chandler's sudden determination wouldn't fly without David's worry. "Slow down, Chandler."
"I need to close the gap." was all he said in return.
The team wasn't happy with Chandler's sudden comeback. It effectively ruined Joey's chances of getting the championship title, with all those points stolen by his own teammate. However, Sauber now had a glorious opportunity for the constructor's championship. This was by far Sauber's strongest lineup they had in a long time— and even if it was near impossible for them to do so, it was imperative that Chandler and Joey work together. The team's title was all they had left.
David knew he couldn't keep Chandler from chasing gold, so he at least made sure he'd do it safely. "Just be careful. We don't need any crashes."
Somehow, with the dangerous drive he drove, Joey kept his car in pristine condition. Never making contact with another driver. Chandler had a similar first season but that was attributed to his nature to keep to himself— Joey, who infringed on others' space like it was owed to him, sliced through the grid without even a scratch.
"Keep updating me." Chandler requested.
"Five seconds."
Every number smaller than the previous breathed new life into his veins. It kept him energised— victory was still possible. Even if the championship was out of their hands, he just needed to maintain his position on the grid. He wouldn't let a rookie come and ruin everything he's built.
The straight road loomed ahead, taunting him. Chandler could almost hear the whispers from the tarmac urging him to push further and swerve around the other driver blue; every race, they only grew louder. The opportunity danced before him; gaining on Joey's rear, they'd soon be wheel-to-wheel.
But of course, Joey wouldn't allow this. He swerved from one side to another; anytime Chandler would turn his wheel, Joey always managed to do it half a second before, as if he could predict his moves. Joey knew him all too well by now.
Then, a corner came approaching fast, and Joey would have to follow the racing line, granting back Chandler's opportunity to get ahead. The door was narrow, but Chandler believed in it. He held faith in himself because it was all that he had left.
Joey took a sharp turn, ready to defend himself, but it was too late. Chandler was already next to him, and right then, they finally had their first interaction in a long, long time.
Both cars barrelled off into the gravel, Chandler's car flipping over during the altercation until they slammed against the barrier. A mix of dust and smoke flew around the carnage, entrapping the boys in a fog.
Chandler couldn't tell what part of the car it was that was pressed against his neck, but the pain was sharp enough that he was sure it left an open wound. He felt a scream leave his lungs but it didn't make a sound above the high-pitched ringing in his ears. Metal was strong on his tongue— it could have been blood, it could have been pieces of the chassis that somehow made it underneath his helmet. What he knew for sure was that surrounding him was hundreds of thousands of dollars he cost his team.
Somehow, his vision wasn't fully impaired; he could see a hand reach through under the heavy machine, sunlight seeping in as marshals slowly lifted the car up. He recognised the logo on the glove to match his own.
Chandler clutched his teammate's hand— with heavy grunts, Joey pulled him out of the mess of a car. He was quick to take Chandler's helmet off his head, eyes softening with relief to see no serious damage. This relief, however, wouldn't completely wipe off the fury embedded in his expression.
"Are you okay?" Through Joey's stern question, bits of worry cracked through.
Chandler gasped for every bit of air he could now that he was finally freed. He examined Joey— nothing aside from a yellow spot on his cheekbone; a premature bruise. These were the first words spoken between them that didn't have to do with business, but still far from ideal. Quickly, he snatched the helmet back out of Joey's hands.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Chandler snapped, a sharp pain in his ribs when he suddenly raised his voice. "You're supposed to leave space when someone's coming behind you. That's the first fucking thing they teach you!"
"Are you kidding?" and there, the worry was completely gone. "What was I supposed to do with that shit overtake?"
The marshals didn't waste a single second pulling the unruly boys apart— both still barking angry insults while dragged away. Joey struggled in the arms of the marshals, even though everyone knew he was leagues ahead in terms of strength. Maybe he, too, knew deep down that if he was let go at this moment, he'd rip Chandler's head off.
July 29th, 1996
An Excerpt from "Trouble in Paradise" – written by: Charlie Wheeler
The German Grand Prix came to an anti-climactic end with the rise of yellow flags. For the past couple months, fans of Formula 1 have taken a liking to Sauber's new line-up: a pair of young, charming, and friendly boys from New York City who've shown great chemistry both on and off the track. Bing and Tribbiani's friendship seemed like so much more than your average PR stunt, they laugh and hug like brothers— so for the two to come to such a violent end yesterday, it's a big shock. You don't need microphones to tell that the words exchanged after that crash weren't kind ones.
When both drivers were asked what happened, each gave conflicting answers.
"He wasn't being careful. He thinks he can do whatever he wants and everyone will just drive accordin' to him— like he's the only person in the world." said Tribbiani, before boarding the ambulance. "This isn't the first time he's done somethin' like this, and I wouldn't be surprised if it's not the last."
Bing had a slightly different story.
"Mirrors. Why don't people use them?" He opened, "I was well within my right to make that move. If Joey wants to act like he's already this seasoned professional— then fine. He just shouldn't be surprised when someone actually treats him like one. He's not the only guy who can make attacks."
Formula 1 comes with the understanding that these accidents happen, and that sometimes, they aren't entirely accidents. Whether this was a simple misunderstanding of team orders from both ends, or perhaps a deeper conflict that's been brewing away from the track, it's become clear that even the tight-knit Manhattan duo are vulnerable to the harsh competitiveness of motorsports.
July 28th, 1996 - German Grand Prix - After The Crash
The ride from the trauma center back to the hotel was a quiet one. Chandler squirmed in the passenger seat, keeping his arms folded on his knees so as to get as little dirt as possible in Monica's shiny car— it was the least he could do.
Every red traffic light made him ache. He hoped that if he shut his eyes hard enough, he could travel back in time to those initial five red lights, and jump out of the car before disaster hit. He'd rather surrender than remember the coil of Joey's lip, shouting the few Italian obscenities that Chandler didn't understand. This must have been a deliberate choice, because Joey taught him as many as he could.
He snuck little glances towards Monica, who drove with one hand on the wheel, the other pressed deep into her temple. This was a woman who never ran out of things to say— now with red lips sewn shut.
Outside, the Hockenheim green became a dull grey. He kept his focus on the people marching down the street— colourful merchandise, all fans walking home from the Grand Prix. On a single hand, he could count how many people wore Sauber's jersey. All for Tribbiani.
"Joey might have to pay a fine."
That was the first thing Monica said to him after regaining his sight from the crash. Her vision was still square on the road ahead of her, but in her right mind, she wouldn't make any risky moves to get ahead of the traffic. That made for one sensible driver in the car.
Chandler refrained from making an expression, or else his facial muscles would continue paying the sore price tomorrow. "So the FIA agrees? The crash was his fault?"
"No, that's just been ruled as an accident." She said, her knuckles white around the wheel, just like his own. "Even though it was clear he purposefully came in to throw you off."— her next words through gritted teeth. "What a doofus, always playing dirty."
Again, conflicted. Her loyalty was nothing less than appreciated but these were still demeaning words against someone he liked. Hated. Despised. Loved. Whatever, Chandler will figure it out later.
"After you two hit the barriers, he tried running after you— well, not tried, he did, even though the marshals were holding him back."
If this were under any other circumstance, Chandler would swoon; picturing his knight in shining armour coming to his rescue, nursing him back to health just like that orange afternoon in Belgium. Though, things are a bit different when your knight in question wants nothing to do with you anymore. If Chandler wasn't so quick to lash out, maybe they'd be driving home together.
"Pulling you out and moving the car was dangerous. If you were…" She did her best to hide a gulp, which proved to him she still cared, "...concussed, he could've just made things worse. Breaking safety protocol like that could get him in trouble."
Chandler, being the son of a writer, was the more literate one of the duo. Joey wasn't a big reader; he'd peek his head over Chandler's shoulder to see the comic strips in the daily newspaper but that was just about it. If Joey had a favourite book, it would be the FIA handbook. He knew every single race rule like the back of his hand; visible even with shut eyes, like the sun. It's how he got away with his tricky maneuvers, he knew the boundaries perfectly and how to curve them. He had to have known that infringing on the marshal's work was grounds for a fine, even a penalty. Yet, he still jumped out for Chandler.
"Is Gunther mad?" It was a stupid question, but Chandler's head already hurt too much from the crash. He didn't want to worsen the ache by thinking about his saviour who hated him. God, Jesus, now Joey— a long list of sacred enemies.
Monica was quiet for a moment. Silence is what reminds him that she's still his friend, still cares for his feelings, or otherwise she would have yelled his ear off already. Surprisingly, she kept her calm throughout the car ride. Disappointment became her natural state of being.
"He's seen worse" was the kindest way she could put it. "He'll probably make you guys do some sort of public appearance. The friendship thing was good for the team's image, he'd do anything to keep it up."
Chandler scoffed. "What, we have to braid each other's hair?"
"Don't you already?" She chuckled, her first one of the day. It wasn't reciprocated.
They kept like this for the rest of the ride, soaking in the grey sky that loomed over Hockenheim. He closed his eyes again, imagining himself at an earlier time. Instead of the five red lights, he saw the lights of Nürberg; those stars that peered down at the two unruly boys sneaking off in the middle of the night, returning with pink cheeks and hushed giggles. He definitely likes Nürberg more than Hockenheim, it's not even a question. Nürberg was maybe the last place Chandler could look at Joey and see something other than a stolen trophy.
There were five races left of the season; only five more chances left for Chandler to get his lick back and finish above his teammate in the final standings for once.
"You wanna win so you're not just some washed up failure when you quit."
Joey's words— his true thoughts— pounded against Chandler's skull still. He needed to make Joey eat his own words, regret ever raising his voice against his senior.
He'll show him that he's someone worth fighting; worth loving. He'll be the kind of driver Joey puts up on his wall, and the kind of man he puts in his bed. Even if it meant more broken cars and curses, because things will change when he feels the weight of that championship trophy in his hands, it just has to. The years of forcing himself to get into these cars would mean nothing if he lets it end here.
All this confusion will go away when he can cement himself as one of the greats, as the person Joey believed him to be when they first met. Once they're on that final podium, and Joey's spraying him with champagne, the smoke will finally clear. He just needs more time, more points, more wins. That's all.
Then they'll both see it. They'll both see that Chandler Bing is not just some greedy, undeserving, insecure hack. He'll become someone to worship, just like Joey.