1. Lando Norris,

It started innocently. It always did.

Lando had just walked into McLaren hospitality, fresh from media duties, hoping to grab a smoothie and maybe sneak in some gossip from the grid. What he didn’t expect was to walk into the middle of what could only be described as a domestic incident in pastel linen.

Carlos Sainz, F1 driver brunch enthusiast, emotional hurricane in designer loafers—was standing by the coffee machine, arms crossed, radiating heat like he’d just walked off the set of a Spanish telenovela.

And Max Verstappen, world champion and emotionally constipated Dutchman, was blinking at him like Carlos was speaking in Morse code.

“No, don’t talk to me, Max,” Carlos was saying, in that low, dangerous tone that usually preceded some very justified tire sabotage. “Three years ago in Monaco, you promised we’d get croissants after quali.”