Every month, the young Dutch racer Zonta van den Goorbergh updates the KicXstart readers about his racing adventures in the European Talent Cup, among others. For once, Mommy Misha took over the keyboard, a piece that touched us so much that we’re happy to share it here.
“Hi Misha! Due to holidays, the issue goes to the printer a little earlier than usual, can you deliver Zonta’s column a little earlier?” (Zonta writes, I’ll dot the i’s and cross the t’s and then forward his epistle to editor-in-chief Randy). The initial date is just before our match in Aragon and I ask if we can deliver immediately after. It’s just possible, so Zonta will tell his race story that Sunday evening and I will do the rest after that.
Sunday July 25 (or actually already Monday July 26) I’m in bed, it’s two o’clock and I’m thinking about the day. A meditation with tears. printed. Sad. Relatively speaking. And suddenly a light goes on: k*t, the column. That day started in Huize Goorbergh as a relatively quiet Sunday. Zonta has his race at 1 pm and the TV is already on for the first ETC race. I watch the start and shortly after there is a crash. Hugo Millan falls. A crash that doesn’t seem like anything special at first. Until someone can’t avoid him. He gets hit by a car and the race gets a red flag…
After a restart, the world continues to turn and it is ‘business as usual’. The race is shortened and it’s our turn, so the focus is on what’s important to us. Zonta is running a good race – I’m sure there will be plenty to criticize from the experts and knowing Zonta, he’ll have a few things to say about his race himself. It’s a race that I watch and follow with anticipation and this time too, I occasionally walk away from the screen not to see what’s happening and just listen to the commentary. P11! Super short on the head. How good and how nice! Just not a top 10, but finished and mom is happy anyway. The events of earlier that day no longer play a role in my mind at that moment. Until immediately after the finish flag falls on the timekeeping screen it says ‘the rest of the event is cancelled’.
The commentators are silent. There is no talking and I can hear the shock. Before it’s said, I know. Hugo Millan died of his injuries. Then Huize Goorbergh is quiet. I immediately see Zonta posting on Insta that a match result is no longer important at all. His friends post the same. Then I get text messages from Quincy, Zonta’s sister, on holiday in Spain, in which she expresses her shock. I text Zonta if he’s okay and if there’s anything I can do for him. Later I speak to him and I hear sadness and resignation, impotence. And still Huize Goorbergh is silent.
That night I ponder the events. How am I going to ask Zonta to make a match report? Why did I have to take this race? How am I going to do something with this? Those pages are already arranged and no one wants empty pages. What’s important? What is there to say? How can this beautiful sport, the sport that has contributed so much to the development of my child, gives him friends from all over the world, allows him to travel and experience, learns to deal with adversity, growth and victory, the sport that is so cool, sparkles , tough and special, how can this sport have such a downside? And how can you name the shiny side of the sport on a day when the black, jet-black side is falling?
On a day like this there is nothing to say. House Goorbergh is quiet. The story of the race driven is not important now. Do not get me wrong. Tomorrow we will pick up the thread again. Putting it into perspective, putting it into context, it will all happen and before you know it, only one thing is important again; to win. Or at least do your best to let my mother’s heart speak…
Photography Cuna De Cameones