When a secret squad of LaFerraris, McLarens, and Valhallas disrupts the paddock, even the most seasoned low-handicapper stops to watch the yardage.
The usual Sunday morning ritual—quiet coffee, a pristine scorecard, and the low hum of a V8 pulling into the valet—was unceremoniously shattered this weekend.
The sheer density of engineering excellence in the convoy rivaled the elite trophy cabinets of St. Andrews.
The variety on display suggests a shift in how the paddock’s elite are choosing their weekend drivers.
When a secret squad of LaFerraris, McLarens, and Valhallas disrupts the paddock, even the most seasoned low-handicapper stops to watch the yardage.