“I still have jet lag, so I think you have a pretty good chance of winning.”
That’s what a congenial Marlon Stockinger said as we headed to the racetrack, thankfully just the video-game type at the mall. I let out a chuckle, but I bet the athlete, who had just arrived from Europe a few days earlier for the Globe Slipstream event, smelled the fear.
I could tear up the dance floor if it were a dance competition, I told the Philippines’ beacon of motorsports.
I deliberately stopped talking just before I could reveal that it was my first time to play the game. The cold sweat dripping down my face certainly did not help my cause.
“You might want to try Kinect instead,” I suggested, in a last-ditch effort to salvage my pride. “You’ve danced on TV already, right?”
“Katuwaan lang ’yon,” he replied. He shot down my proposal with that comment, which also came with a stare and a smile, both of which can only be described as killer.
All that would be “makalaglag-panty” for the girls, but it felt like a threat to my self-image, which he already bruised the moment I first saw him in the flesh.
Except for that shriek-worthy moment, this Marlon was not the one the magazine covers featured for so long—the boy next door, who would wear pastel-colored shirts and a coat if he wasn’t wearing his racing attire. He was now sporting a scruffy look, hair that did not need combing, an all-black ensemble, and the vibe of a play-it-cool rock star.
‘Mad Max’
Developments in the 24-year-old’s career have forced him to relocate from the Philippines to Europe, where he now trains as a junior driver for the Lotus F1 team. He has been less and less able to fly back.
He has cooked for himself since moving to Switzerland at 16, he noted. He also does not party as much since his last promotion of sorts, what sports pundits would call the gateway to the Formula 1. If he succeeds in this lifelong dream, he will be the first Filipino there.
“I’ve read somewhere that you do not like losing,” I said.
“Of course. Nobody likes losing,” he replied. “It hasn’t been a winning year so far, and it’s pretty hard because everyone else wants to win. I want to win, but it’s easier said than done.”
When his losses get to him, he said, he would jog, bike or spend alone time. He also revealed that he already has backup plans if his F1 dream doesn’t work out (knock on wood): He could join other circuits, like Le Mans 24-hour race, or pursue careers outside the race track.
Those were very personal answers, but I was just reckless: “I am here to make you lose.” It was a punch line I had saved for days so it just had to be said.
Before the game began, I managed to further crush myself in his presence, just because I couldn’t make out where to place the card that would start the game.
“Paano ba ’to?” I asked aloud, after maybe five failed attempts on the slot.
“I think you have to swipe the card,” the Prince of Speed said kindly, as he pointed to bold texts that screamed at me: “Swipe the card here, dumbass.”
The game began just under a minute later, and it ended quite fast.
He had no problem with the brakes, the clutch, the nitro, the sudden turns. He knew almost perfectly when to turn the steering wheel, no matter how sharp the curves on the virtual in-city race.
I, on the other hand, gave a face to failure. I would run over stuff, ram into concrete, go the other way, all happening on loop and shuffle. I might never learn to drive a car because of this traumatic experience.
After just over two minutes, he finished all his laps. As if wanting to end my tragedy quickly, the screen just transitioned to the results. My performance was an initially incomprehensible “NF.”
“Oh, not finished,” I said, as he chuckled, “What the heck.”
Sponsors and support
He puts his pretty-boy gift to good use by endorsing products, giving endless interviews and posing for the cameras (he did three shoots the day before our game day) to lock in sponsors. To target results, his schedule requires five days a week of driving on the track, keeping himself in tip-top shape and calibrating his race car with his crew of mechanics and engineers.
But the support from the Philippines is “the most important,” Stockinger explained. It’s not hard to see how the cheering Pinoy fans can both compel him to drive faster and draw products nearer.
For him, it is not impossible for Filipinos to love racing the way they now love football and volleyball. In fact, he noted, the support has only gotten stronger, especially after his win at the 2012 Monaco Grand Prix in the GP3 category and demo races in Metro Manila with real F1 cars, and, recently, even a jeepney.
Part of the package is making sure the bearer of the Philippine flag is relatable, and he knows just how to do it.
Stockinger said he has a quirk, perhaps to gently remind me that he was human, too. “I always get in the car from the left side. It just doesn’t feel right any other way.”
He would also do the sign of the Cross, a la Pacquiao, he added. When in the country, he would often set aside time for a visit to Baclaran Church, too.
In Europe, Marlon spends his two days off weekly sometimes bumming, or playing video games of basketball or football—sports he would usually play with cousins and friends, respectively, when home.
Home is still a very clear concept to him, he said. “When I fly to the Philippines, I say I come home. Not to discredit my father, but when I fly back to Switzerland, I say I’m going to race.”
He’s homegrown, he told me. Marlon was raised in Malate, Manila. “I first raced in Carmona, Cavite, when I was nine. I was carved out here. I think when I represent the country, it’s a genuine thing because of all these. I got my fighting spirit here.”
That would have been a perfect end, but I just had to ask: “If you were to rate this game with five stars, how close does it come to the real thing?”
“Zero.”
Ugh, and I still ate his dust.