To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o’er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
It may be that Sebastian has not spent his last 3 weeks taking medicine from the crashing surf and pounding waves like Webber – “the seas of troubles” – but for his troubled mind he has sought solace from a higher plane.
The musings of Sir Bill have been a port of security and shelter in which this ship has regularly taken refuge when the tempests of life have raged without and within. And so there is no shame in Seb taking leave to ponder the… this and that… the ying and yang – whether to appear to the world as contrite or to appear shameless. “To be or not to be” – apologetic.
Events are such that this is now quite clearly a matter of life or death for Seb. For one so steeped in the geek-dom-ness of F1 history and what it takes to be truly ‘great’, Sebastian is realising that he has yet to demonstrate he has a soul; a spirit that can be inspired and evocative; that his being can be transported high above the mundane and beyond the heavens with Senna’s – whose was immortalised by life cut short.
“When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…There’s the respect that makes Calamity of so long life”.
Both Hamlet and Sebastian are in a quandary. Is it noble to suffer the slings and arrows of an unbearable situation, to declare war on the sea of troubles that afflict one, and by opposing them, end them? Is it still possible after his duplicitous and rebellious behaviour for young Sebastian to continue to fight the fight to become the universally acclaimed greatest driver F1 has ever seen?
“take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them”.
Or would it be better to become immortalized like Senna? To die? He ponders the prospect. This option is not so difficult it is merely to fall asleep (Lewis does this in between qualifying sessions) – as simple as that. And with that sleep is the permanent end to the heartaches and the thousand natural miseries that F1 drivers endure on the trudge to immortality.
“Tis a consummation, Devoutly to be wished. To die – to sleep”.
This may be the reason team orders have been abolished in Red bull land – at the behest of Sebastian who wishes to dice with his arch foe Webber, the loser risking the wall abd the ball of fire – as in the days of F1 yore.
After a quick reality check, Seb realises that having never known or seen anyone actually suffer death by driving, his sterile 21st century sensibilities kick in and he balks – nay quakes – in fear at the notion.
“To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of”.
It is the dread and unknown of that unexplored country from whose border Senna could not return that doth bring Seb to his senses. In the blink of an eye his course is now set. Sebastian will endure the evils of the battle for his universal recognition as ‘the greatest’ rather than hurry to others that he cannot imagine. He will not be swayed by any instruction from his mission.
Sebastian’s resolve is set to fight on – “No apology”. He makes a final sarcastic fatalistic quip to ‘the fair Ophelia’ inferring not even her prayers can help him now – he is damned and fate has chartered his course.
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons, Be all my sins remembered.
The die is set, the path is ahead. (In star Wars language – Anakin has donned the black mask and turns to the dark side).
Vettel’s conclusion: “I was – but am no longer – SORRY”.