The vivid gaze and a lucid flash to cross him, the pupils frantically trying to embrace every angle of the frame, the search for Italian terms to make sense of the speech he was making. Not only because he had artfully learned a handful of phrases, but because in the process he understood what he was saying to the Ferrarista people. Indeed: what he was saying to Ferrari itself, as to a woman to be seduced, an entity, a personification.
More emotion than simple emotion, mixed with embarrassment because someone like him, used to kermesses and vernissages of all sorts, dressed as a red knight was perceiving in those very moments what it means to be in Ferrari. To be Ferrari, indeed, simply. Assuming that to be Lewis Hamilton is already something very special, exclusive indeed, but that to be in Ferrari is unique, which can make even a rare outlier's legs, or voice, tremble.
The solemnity of that commotion, before it is the track that speaks, tells us that Hamilton is already “inside” Ferrari, meaning not just the cockpit.
Now, let's try to deserve it.
