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'At's 'n awful lodda heat considerin' all the ifs, maybe's, could'a/would'a/should'a/might'a beens n' all the rest'a the vagueries involved in a "street race" where ya don't even know who the other feller is, let alone exactly what it is that the other feller'z up to.
If it ain't on a track where you're fairly certain whut everybody'z there for (N' even then there can be all kind'z'a variables) it really is one big crap-shoot'a guesstimatin'.
Given the right set'a circumstances, any (As in any) car can "beat" any other car. But, if it ain't 100% that they're both 'nads-out racin' ya kin beat'cher gums into guava-jelly n' it don't mean diddly.
Now return to your respective corners n' come out swingin' (Aaaay! We all godda have a hobby, right?)
Be well.
Java
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In life-long pursuit of that most mythic of beasts: the ever-elusive perfect corner. Well . . . that, r' at least a whole lodda clear spin-out room.
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