#aasastroask

Orange smoke, safety cars as cliffhangers, and a TV director who apparently thought this was a podcast. Here’s how the Zandvoort chaos looked in the only language that matters: sarcasm.

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🏆 The Podium

🥇Oscar Piastri

Pulled off a Grand Chelem like it was a school assignment—pole, fastest lap, led every lap. We only remembered he existed during Safety Car restarts. Teacher’s pet vibes. And on the team radio at the end, he said he was so sorry for Lando’s DNF. Nice try, Oscar, but none of us are buying it 😏.

🥈Max Verstappen

Launched like a rocket, with the kind of move that would’ve catapulted anyone else straight into the grandstands waving flags. Creative tyre strategy, hard-fought overtakes—he made it clear to his home crowd he’d give it everything, even if he was basically driving a tricycle against a rocket. The Orange Army, from the king down, were absolutely over the moon.

🥉Isack Hadjar

A rookie bagging his very first podium. And remembering a certain Dr. Marko’s words back in Melbourne, I would’ve paid gold just to know his thoughts when Helmut’s face popped up under the podium. Revenge, after all, is a dish best served cold.

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🎭 Special Mentions

Lando Norris

Max came back at him like Zandvoort sand in your underwear—inevitable and irritating. For once, he seemed to have exorcised the demon with clarity. But karma had the last laugh: smoke filled the cockpit and his race went up in flames. And as Twitter keeps reminding him, that “simply lovely, uh” from last year just came back to haunt him.

Ferrari

The final shots of Charles watching the race reminded us of what we all could’ve done today—tifosi and team alike—instead of going to Zandvoort: a nice Sunday barbecue. Much more productive. Much happier.

Oliver Bearman

Didn’t write history, but clawed his way up from the depths into the points. A proper mud-wrestler.

Safety Car

The real influencer of the weekend. Every restart felt like a season finale cliffhanger, and without her, we might not have noticed Oscar existed at all.

Zak Brown

Never seen a team principal win a Grand Prix and basically have both championships in his pocket already, while looking this mad and miserable. Cheer up, mate—you’re supposed to be the one selling the papaya dream.

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Arrivederci a Monza. 🇮🇹🍝🍿

Liv 💫

Monza, the Temple of Speed. Tifosi in full opera mode, everything turned up to excess—pure passion, nothing held back, always beyond. And we’ll comment on it all in the only language that matters: sarcasm.

🏆 The Podium

🥇 Max Verstappen

After yesterday’s brilliant pole, today he pulled an Oscar-from-last-week special: we basically forgot he existed until the glorious finale. Two personal thank-yous. First, for not letting a papaya snatch both pole and win on Italian soil—sacrilege averted. Second, for showing a rare touch of sensitivity: when asked about Ferrari, unlike his Mercedes quip back in July, this time he managed not to reference de*th. A thoughtful gesture for tifosi already suffering enough without fu*erary metaphors.

🥈 Lando Norris

Max, it’s still you. We really thought we’d seen the last of this déjà vu, but here we are. The annoyance is mounting—give it time and Lando might try to sm*ther him in his sleep, or at least brainstorm alternative solutions to the Verstappen problem. Even after giving the place back, he looked disoriented, like us, watching seconds of gap open up in front of a non-papaya car. Still carrying that depressed aura, haunted by the dunes and underwear sand of Zandvoort. With Max’s comeback and his own team’s suspicious sabotage vibes, I don’t blame him.

🥉 Oscar Piastri

Killer instinct activated. He probably smirked when McLaren seemed ready to sabotage Lando two weeks in a row. Sure, he gave the place back—but judging by his post-race interview, he wasn’t entirely convinced it was the right move. Carnivore vibes when someone just served you a vegan plate: polite enough to nibble, but the hunger’s still there.

🎭 Special Mentions

Tifosi

Opera singers in red. They came, they screamed, they waved flags like maniacs. But most of all—they flirted. In Imola it was shy glances; at Monza it turned into full-on advances. On the podium, Max Emilian looked almost… not entirely indifferent.

Team Principals

Welcome to the new season of The Bachelor. Yesterday’s pole even came with a ring—the very ring every team principal is dying to slip on somebody’s finger from now until 2027. Jos have officially started the go-ahead. I bet he’s getting flowers and chocolates with cheesy notes delivered hourly. And somewhere in the corner, Laurent is still strumming his serenade, hoping that between Toto, Fred & co., there’s still a little space left for his cue.

Charles Leclerc

No irony here—just gratitude. He fought until the very end. He gave us hope, he gave us chills, he truly is Ferrari’s prince, always. The only irony? History keep writing him tragedies when he was clearly born for epics.

Lewis Hamilton’s Pores

I’ll admit it: I’ve been obsessed since those photos in Milan. What is this man’s beauty routine? Does he bath in goat’s milk? Does he sleep in a cryo chamber? Whatever it is, it works—he looked like a teenager. Skin polished like it had been carved by a master craftsman, yet nothing about it seemed artificial. Friday I went hunting for a single enlarged pore, and I can confirm: they don’t exist. And yes—Twitter won’t let us forget also that his 🍑deserves its own Rio Carnival parade.

Bortoleto, Hadjar, Antonelli & Bearman

Our four musketeers. Too young to rent a car without the under-25 fee, yet already handing out lessons to veterans whenever there’s mud to wrestle in. Hadjar and Bearman, quiet but always there—the kind of “you again?” presence rivals dread. Antonelli’s more of a rollercoaster, but at least he gives out free adrenaline. And Bortoleto, already in the top 10, proves the future doesn’t announce itself—it takes the stage.

Görüşərik, Baku! 🇦🇿🔥🏰

I hate what Liberty Media has done to F1. I know there are multiple factors that have contributed to the rise of WAG culture but Liberty Media’s desperation to force F1 into the American market by spamming drivers personal lives and making it into a reality show completely destroys what made F1 interesting (cough THE RACING cough).

If only I were an ostrich who could bury my head in the sand but sadly I’m an F1 fan who is just about ready to shrivel up and call it a day.

Hi Anon! You’re totally right — and honestly, that’s not just a fan complaint anymore, even TV commentators have started pointing it out.

I remember hearing jokes about even before the summer break, when some European commentators literally said, “we all have to pay the family cutaway tax now,” half-joking, half-serious.

Specifically one race where the director spent half the time filming Lando’s mom. Lovely lady, always smiling and bubbly, but… come on. 😅

I usually watch two different European feeds, and both have made sarcastic comments about this more than once, so it’s clearly not just a fandom issue.

The reason it blew up again in Singapore is because during that epic last-lap moment — Lewis on broken brakes vs Fernando trying to pass him — instead of showing that actual drama, the broadcast was focused somewhere else. That’s when everyone lost it. So now, even podcaster like Matt & Tommy are noticing it loud.

Domenicali recently said something about younger audiences preferring highlights and sprint races, but if that’s the case, then expand the options — don’t flatten the main race.

So I’m totally with you.

Not everyone wants a TikTok version of F1.

Liv 💫

Baby,

as long as we’re looking at the same stars — of course we do ✨🫰🌸

Liv 💫