Given that Dietrich Mateschitz must be very busy running his multifaceted sports sponsorship programme, I don't suppose he's taken a couple of minutes to stop and listen to himself.
If he had, he would surely realise his arrogant F1 pronouncements are doing his company more harm than good. If Red Bull sponsored a competition for foot stamping and petulance, he would surely become world champion and add to the motor sport titles he seems to feel should be his by right.
I suppose that's what comes of inventing and funding edgy and sometimes weird worldwide sports competitions in which Red Bull cannot lose. That and the fact that Red Bull Racing won the F1 title four times on the trot; an extraordinary achievement that Mr Mateschitz clearly believes anyone could do if they had his foresight, dosh (not to mention Adrian Newey, Renault and the small part the latter apparently played).
It has obviously not dawned on Mr Mateschitz that losing with dignity is as important as winning when it comes to competing anywhere from a municipal playing field to the streets of Monte Carlo. His huffy hand-wringing is doing a total disservice to the true racers working their socks off in a team that, through no fault of their own, is becoming disproportionately disliked.
Your engine is not competitive, Mr Mateschitz? We get that. It happens in this business. Just be thankful you've got an engine. No; let me rephrase that: just be thankful you've got a chassis to put it in.
Becoming weary of this outpouring of self-righteous indignation, I got to thinking about Ken Tyrrell and how he handled his plight in late 1969. If Mateschitz imagines he's got problems, they're nothing compared to the situation Tyrrell found himself in at the moment he and Jackie Stewart won their first world championship together.
Tyrrell had been running a Matra-Ford MS80 (later described by Stewart as one of the best racing cars he had ever driven). The French aerospace firm was about to be taken over by Simca, whose parent company, Chrysler, made it clear that a Ford (DFV V8) in the back of their 1970 car would be as unwelcome as a can of Monster in the Red Bull Energy Station.
Tyrrell was told he would have to run the Matra V12 if he wished to continue with the Matra chassis. A test session confirmed that the performance of the V12 did not match its glorious sound. Tyrrell, being the ultimate pragmatist, reluctantly accepted he would need to look elsewhere for a car.
Naturally, neither Lotus nor Brabham fancied selling a car to a team that was likely to give them grief on the race track. BRM was willing, but the engine was not up to much; Ferrari supplying a car was out of the question; McLaren was in its infancy as an F1 team. Difficult though it is to believe, by the end of 1969 the reigning champions had absolutely sod-all to race for the coming season.
Enter Max Mosley, joint owner of March, a brand new company making cars, it seemed, for just about every racing formula worthy of the name. Yes, for the princely sum of £9,000 March would be delighted to supply Tyrrell and Stewart with a 701, complete with a Ford-Cosworth DFV.
The engine would turn out to be the best part of a car that was a complete dog even though a typically tenacious win for Stewart in the Spanish Grand Prix (just five finishers!) suggested otherwise. By mid-season, Stewart was at the end of his tether.
At no stage (Mr Mateschitz, please note) did Tyrrell whinge and threaten to stomp off to the timber business he had been running three years before. Tyrrell did better than that. In complete secrecy, he built his own car in the Surrey wood yard. The rest - two more championships and 23 grands prix wins - is history.
Times have obviously changed beyond recognition. But sporting values remain exactly the same. You'd do well to recall Ken Tyrrell, Mr Mateschitz. But then you probably have no idea who he was or know anything about his dignified and hugely competitive contribution to a sport you purport to understand.