About Some You Win

by Glyn Soitino
14 pages / 5800 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, epub, Sony-optimized pdf

In the high-stakes world of international motor sports, winning is everything, but it's nothing without a man's reputation behind it. Derek Regan loves the dangerous game and, as much or more, he loves the dangerous game within it that he plays with one other man. Within the rules of their private game, a loss on the race track can be as sweet as a victory. Some You Win is a glimpse inside that game within the game, the potentially explosive sport of sex and love, and the thin line Derek and his beloved ride to win it all together.

Sample

"All set?" Jerry's hovering impatiently, glancing at his watch. The TV unilaterals and press conference are about to begin, the murmuring of the assembled journalists audible through the open doorway down the hall.

"Nearly," Sandro says, finger-combing his hair. Nils merely grunts. I wipe my underarms with a towel, then hand the damp, smelly cloth to Jerry and fasten my overalls.

"Gee, thanks, Derek." Wrinkling his nose, Jerry tosses the towel aside and begins to hustle us along the corridor to the press room.

"Hey, you might want to keep that -- you can sell it on eBay once I win the championship," I point out. Jerry smiles and shakes his head, then ushers us inside the room and closes the door behind us.

"And here they are, today's race winners!" Barry, the master of ceremonies, announces as we take our seats, Sandro in the middle, me to his right, Nils to his left. "Alejandro Martinez, Derek Regan, and Nils Larsson!"

I reach for the jug of energy drink standing on the desk in front of me -- there's one for each of us -- and pour myself a glass. Even after a liter of water before the podium ceremony, not to mention the few gulps of champagne that actually made it into my mouth, I'm still parched. Damp and sticky inside my clothes, ears still a little sore from the earbuds, I force myself not to fidget. In a little less than an hour, the conference will be over and I'll be free to take a much-needed shower and a welcome nap before the evening's festivities.

The way these things work is that Barry, standing to one side so as not to obstruct the view for the cameras, conducts the TV interviews, asking each of us in turn about the race we've just finished. This is where we're supposed to watch our Ps and Qs, because the eyes of the world are upon us. Not least of them my mum's; whenever I finish on the podium, she religiously tapes the interview off the telly back home in England and keeps it for posterity.

Then, once the TV is done with us, Barry opens the floor to questions from the press. This is where we get to have a little fun, if the rapport with the journalists is right -- and if we have the energy.

The press room is filled to bursting, with a lot more journalists than usual attending the conference. Sandro's unexpected emergence as a contender for the title has boosted this season's viewing figures tremendously throughout Latin and South America, and the championship promoters are on cloud nine.

"Sandro," Barry begins, the bright, artificial light reflecting off the little bald patch on the top of his head. "This is the first time in many years that Mexico has hosted a round of the world championship. Congratulations on a fantastic win, and on your home territory, too. That was a brilliant start you made, from P4 on the grid to take the lead after the first corner.