Comparisons, comparisons, comparison: apples & oranges, widows & walls, attics & rooms, acid or shrooms, who cares? All I know is, I once saw Rossi screw-up & end-up somewhere south of 10th place, then proceed to passes everything in sight. He didn't win, but he ended up on the podium, and it looked like he would have run over his grandmother, your grandmother, my grandmother, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, to get there. God knows a Cambodian tribesman couldn't have made a pair of sandals, out of what was left of the rubber on his tires, but when it was over, Rossi damn-near won the thing.
Don't know much about History, but I do know talent, hard work and dedication; and, Rossi has a Swiss, numbered account, filled with enough of all three, that he could have bank-rolled the Renaissance.
Is having all that talent given to one man annoying? You bet! When the "Gene Fairy" wrapped up my DNA, the box was marked "No Big Deal...Don't bother to forward." Rossi? He got mine, yours and just about everybody else's talent. Hate the bugger? At one time, I'd have wanted him dead. But with years, come wisdom, therapy, medication and stalking laws. Now I just sit back and enjoy watching him; knowing that, on any given Sunday, I might just see History being made.