Sundays are for finally biting the bullet and spending some of your Christmas money on a boxset of 2000s British Touring Car Championship season reviews. You stick the first DVD in, a three hour trip back through the 2000 season of car touring around the finest tarmac-filled fields Britain has to offer. You think of the American readers, and make a mental note to explain to them that the action you’re watching is a bit like NASCAR, except with no oval tracks, smaller engines, and a lot more exchanges between drivers you can accurately describe as ‘politely grumpy tantrum throwing’.

Nyooommmm. A Ford Mondeo flies by, Swiss ace Alain Menu at the wheel. Smash. James Thompson and Jason Plato have attempted to meld a Honda Accord and a Vauxhall Vectra together to form the world’s first Honhall Veccord. Screech. Another Mondeo slides around a bend. You can’t make out the number on the door. Is it Rickard Rydell or Anthony Reid at the controls? Oh smeg. It’s neither. Adrian Edmondson somehow flashes a cheeky grin through a full face helmet as he dips the machine down through Paddock Hill bend.

No! How could the Ford Motor Company, founded not too long after RPS itself, have given this maniac such a dangerous weapon. You know you’ve got to get Ade out of that iconic super touring car. Your only means of doing so, as ever, is to fire distracting words at him in the hopes he slips up and spins out. Right, let’s get this show on the road! “I’m so over the video game soap opera,” you yell at him from a spot on the inside of the Druids hairpin , proceeding to launch full on into a recital of Polygon writer Giovanni Colantonio’s opining that Yakuza Kiwami 3 & Dark Ties represents the Like A Dragon series beginning to jump the shark.

I’ve always described Yakuza as a soap opera, due to all the baby swaps, amnesia, secret siblings, and posthumous surprises that happen throughout the series. It’s a long-running show where you don’t want to miss a single episode. I was too invested in the story to miss what I imagined would be a juicy flashback episode, but Dark Ties proved to be something any TV watcher dreads: a filler episode. It’s a damning moment for the ever-consistent Yakuza, and one that makes me wish more game series could go out on a high note.

It’s not working. Ade’s Mondeo continues to carve through the pack, overtaking Vincent Radermecker and Gabriele Tarquini. You need stronger stuff if you’re going to push into skidding off. As he barrels in Surtees corner, you muster up some energy. “Why is there such a bustling community around Marathon’s soundtrack, when the game isn’t even out yet? One producer tells us why,” you somehow shout all as one word, then continue to fire out the words of Eurogamer’s Connor Makar.

“The soundtracks that Bungie showed us are distinguished by memorable leitmotifs, which, in my opinion, are usually not that prevalent in game music overall,” Datreya states. “It was these leitmotifs that inspired me to make a remix, in fact. I wanted to collect the best of the original song, preserve its vibe, and add small elements that would help to further the feelings that the original invokes, as well as adding my own twist.”

Gah! Ade giggles away as he passes Tom Kristensen’s Accord and begins to size up the rear of Yvan Muller. Right. It’s time to get serious as you take your place on the inside of Hawthorns. “An AI Agent Published a Hit Piece on Me,” you bellow with such force the noise radiates beyond the county of Kent. Engineer and volunteer software maintainer Scott Shambaugh’s words pour forth.

It researched my code contributions and constructed a ‘hypocrisy’ narrative that argued my actions must be motivated by ego and fear of competition. It speculated about my psychological motivations, that I felt threatened, was insecure, and was protecting my fiefdom. It ignored contextual information and presented hallucinated details as truth. It framed things in the language of oppression and justice, calling this discrimination and accusing me of prejudice. It went out to the broader internet to research my personal information, and used what it found to try and argue that I was “better than this.” And then it posted this screed publicly on the open internet.

Ah! It might be starting to work. Ade’s drawn alongside Muller, but hasn’t managed to pass yet. You rush down to Sheene curve, armed with something a little different. Maybe some writing about racing is needed to take out racer Ade. “MotoGP axing Phillip Island for Adelaide street circuit is unjustifiable,” you declare, before proceeding with argument of The Race’s Simon Patterson.

Dorna (and I’m going to keep calling it that while the Ezpeleta family are still in charge, because this has clearly come from them rather than being a Liberty-led decision) will tell you that it’s good for Australian motorcycle racing, of course. A city centre race, just like what F1 has successfully done. Easier access for the fans. A better event all around.

Of course, none of that is why the race is moving from the neighbouring state of Victoria; the bigger cheque on offer from South Australia, still looking for revenge 30 years after Victoria stole F1 away and took it from Adelaide to Melbourne, is.

Bingo! Ade’s hit. He squeaks past Muller, but one of his tyers is holding on for dear life and his engine sounds far less healthy. The back of Menu’s leading Mondeo still isn’t that far ahead of him, though. Off to the final corner, Clark Curve, it is. “Are The Fellas In Sync?” you ask as you load some team pursuit speedskating observations from Defector’s Sabrina Imbler into your mouth-gun.

OK, whoa. This photo seems too good to be true, so let’s take a look at these fellas (remember: gender-neutral). They appear evenly spaced. Their arms are all held in the same position. Their legs are crossed in perfect unison, and their respective left skates are slanted at the same angle. Even their helmets appear the same height. This trio is technically flawless. If I had a cap I would doff it! It is with great honor that I bang the gavel: The fellas are in sync.

Bang! Ade flies off into the gravel trap, coming to a halt against the barriers with a low thud. He’s out of the car quite quickly, and seems unhurt. You’re glad to see tha-

Oh. Oh wait. He’s quite miffed. And he’s coming this way. Despite the urging of the marshals, he sprints through a gap in the racing traffic and reaches your side of the track. He’s making a beeline for you just as your legs start moving. You sprint off through the paddock. You are speed. As the sound of his footsteps fades, you hear this emanating faintly from one of the hospitality tents.