Race day at Monza was a gladiatorial spectacle of Biblical proportions. Two hundred and fifty thousand Tifosi had flooded the royal park since five in the morning. The air was heavy with the aroma of espresso, roasted porchetta, burning high-octane racing fuel, and the faint, sweet smell of pine needles heated by the blazing Italian sun. A sea of crimson flags waved in the grandstands, accompanied by the thunder of…
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