Formula 1: The GOAT

“What will you be doing?” Rümeysa asked Mehmet directly, her gaze unwavering as she sought to understand his decision. Would he cave to Aslan’s threats and do nothing, or would he show a backbone and take a stand, even if it harmed their business?

“Sir, you need to keep in mind that his kart sponsorship is what is allowing us to support all of our scholarship drivers with competitive karts,” Adam, Selçuk’s coach, interjected, his voice a nervous reminder of the stakes. “Otherwise, we would have to reduce the number of scholarship drivers on our roster or have them use mismatched, older karts based on performance, which would be unfair to them.”

“But if we do that, it will be sending a clear signal that we can be controlled by money,” Burak countered, his voice firm as he advocated for the academy to take a strong stance. “It would destroy any other reputation we might have had. That one decision will remain, tainting any potential future successes we have. We need to punish Selçuk to set a precedent that we treat all of our drivers fairly, no matter who is backing them.”

Rümeysa didn’t add anything more. She just remained silent, her eyes fixed on the academy director, waiting for his response.

“Since this is a very important matter, I need to consult with the owners before we make any final decision,” Mehmet said, his voice carefully neutral as he brought the tense meeting to a close. “I will deliver all of your arguments and will inform you of the decision that is made. But for today, let’s end the meeting here.”

Nearly all of the attendees left the room dissatisfied. There was no conclusive solution to any of the problems that had brought them there in the first place. Rümeysa got up and left the room, with Fatih and Burak following close behind. Fatih still had a practice session waiting for him.

……

“And that is how the meeting ended,” Mehmet said later that day, speaking on the phone with the owner of the Fatih Karting Academy. He had provided a full, unvarnished summary of how things had transpired.

“What are the potential solutions we have on our hands, based on how the meeting went?” the man on the other side of the phone asked, his voice calm and detached.

“There are three potential solutions here,” Mehmet began, laying out the options. “One: we accept Aslan’s demands and do not punish Selçuk. This will ensure we retain our sponsorship with him, but with that decision, we will most likely lose Fatih and gain a reputation for being controlled by money.

The second option: we do not accept Aslan’s demands and side with Fatih by punishing Selçuk for his driving behavior. If Aslan keeps his promise, that would mean we lose the sponsorship and have to fork out the expenses from our own pockets to provide competitive karts to all of our scholarship drivers. But, we will have the total trust of Fatih, who, depending on how his career continues, will carry our academy’s name as he rises in prominence.

And the last option is the diplomatic one: we try to satisfy both sides. We put Selçuk on probation with a promise of severe punishment should he do something like that again, while at the same time, we provide Fatih a kart from our own pockets, keeping up with Aslan’s demand that Fatih not drive his sponsored karts. This would mean all other scholarship drivers will still have competitive karts at Aslan’s expense. But this approach has many risks. We could lose either, or even both of them, if it doesn’t work. And even if they agree to these conditions, it is no different than a slow death of our relationships with both parties.”

“Do you really think Fatih’s family will quit if we go with the first option?” the owner asked after a moment of silence.

“That is the worst-case scenario, but it is a very real possibility,” Mehmet answered. “They would take it as a message that we are succumbing to Aslan’s demands, which would completely destroy their confidence in us.”

“But doing that would mean they can’t continue with the championship, correct?” the owner’s voice was still neutral, but the question was pointed. “The registration of both the driver and the kart are under the academy’s banner. It should be impossible for him to continue this season if he leaves.”

“Yes,” Mehmet confirmed. “The moment he does that, we would be required to withdraw his number 213 entry, effectively making him miss the remainder of the championship season.”

“What do you think about this?” the owner suggested, his voice taking on a sly, strategic tone. “We choose option one and do not punish Selçuk. At the same time, we promise to fund Fatih’s kart from our own pockets.

We then remind his mother that they would have to withdraw from the competition if they unenroll Fatih, and that they would have to pay back the scholarship money spent on him for unilaterally terminating his enrollment. That should keep them here for at least the remainder of the season, during which time we can try to mend the destroyed relationship.

After all, no matter how talented he is, it is his first year. He has the opportunity to win his first championship in his first year. If he withdraws now, he will have to wait a whole year until the next season starts, and by then, he will have been forgotten. The ’out of sight, out of mind’ nature of motorsport will take its course.” He was trying to have his cake and eat it too.

“Then why not just go with the third option completely?” Mehmet asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated by the owner’s greed. “Or the second one, if you truly want to keep Fatih?”

“I want to keep Fatih due to his potential, but that is all there is to him right now: potential,” the owner said, trying to make Mehmet see his point of view. “We don’t know how he is going to fare in the future. It would be foolish to make a decision with an uncertain conclusion that would destroy the certain positive thing we have at the moment.” The stories of prodigies who showed immense talent before withering in the future were all too common in their field.

“But many are saying Fatih is different,” Mehmet counter-argued.

“Do you think the same?”

“Yes, I do,” Mehmet answered without missing a beat. “Based on what I have seen so far.”

“And do you think, with our academy’s current financial situation, we can afford to end the sponsorship and field competitive karts for all of our scholarship drivers, in all of the categories?” the academy owner asked, reminding Mehmet of the harsh reality. The academy didn’t just deal with children at the Bambino level. They had many talented drivers in all categories of karting, all of whom were also being provided sponsored karts by Aslan. If they sided with Fatih, a child in his first year of karting, it would mean losing all of that sponsorship support and having to use their own money to provide competitive karts until they could find another sponsor willing to spend as much as Aslan did, a very rare thing in the Turkish motorsport scene.

“…” Mehmet didn’t say anything. He knew as well as the owner that the possibility of siding with Fatih was minimal. The potential damage was far too large compared to the potential he had in the future.

“I trust your instincts, Mehmet, but you have to take into consideration our situation here,” the owner continued, his voice now taking on a more manipulative tone. “The only true option we have on our hands is to convince his mother. Make her see the bright side of things if she turns a blind eye for now. She could be in a much higher negotiating position with other academies once her son has a championship belt or a top-three championship finish on his record. In the meantime, we can try to mend our fractured relationship.

Make sure to emphasize that if she leaves now, she risks having her and her son painted as ’difficult people to work with.’ In the world of motorsport, such rumors are essentially a career killer for a young driver who has yet to prove himself.

People don’t like reading the news; they don’t even try to find the truth of the story. They form conclusions from just the headlines or the rumors alone. This would reduce the chances of other academies providing him with a scholarship, meaning she would have to shoulder the expenses of his career on her own until he proved himself again. And make sure to make it clear how expensive that is going to be.”

The owner’s voice shifted momentarily to an amused one. “As a parent, with the best outcome for her child in mind, she will know what the best option is and make the decision that is good for her son. No talented driver is bigger than the team, and what we need is a talented team player, not a selfish, self-absorbed one.” He then added, as if confident that Rümeysa would choose to remain, “I will also try to talk to Aslan and see if I can smooth things over on his side for when she agrees to stay with the academy.”

“Understood,” Mehmet said, his voice filled with resignation. He realized that he was now being forced to become one of those hated people in motorsport, the ones who threaten to destroy a talented driver’s career to serve their own interests. But as an employee, what other choice did he have?

When the phone call ended, he leaned back in his chair, his face looking up at the ceiling. He took a moment to think about how the situation had escalated this far, and what things they could have done to prevent it from reaching this point, a point where he was on the verge of losing the most talented driver he had ever seen.