Most racing games I love. Love 'em to death. But they almost always have the same problem.
In ones where there's traffic (see: the Burnout series, NFS series, et al.), the traffic seems to take this heroic stance where they will go WAY THE FUCK OUT OF THEIR WAY to T-bone your ass, or cut you off at juuuuust the right time that there's no fucking way you're gonna be able to react in time so you have no choice to plow right into them. Even in games like GTA or Mercenaries (fucking MERCENARIES! Jesus!), the Innocent Bystander AI is just re-goddamn-tarded.
But that's not all. In ANY game in which there are pursuit or race events in your control, you always, ALWAYS become paranoid for the most insidious programming in 30 years of gaming.
I call it, "The Rogue Pixel".
The Rogue Pixel can come up anywhere. Let's take, say, a Need For Speed game: you're cruising along at like 150mph, ain't no way nobody's catching up to you, you're taking those turns like you've lived in this neighborhood since you were a kid. You get close to a wall, and think to yourself, "Nah, I'll make this one easy." And you know this because you have before; hell, you've been closer and made it without even scratching the paint job.
But not this time. Oh no, not this time. No, this time, the Rogue Pixel is in the street. And it's here to FUCK YOUR DAY RIGHT OFF.
Because what happens when you hit that Rogue Pixel? You stop. No two-wheeling over it, no sudden ramp-off into the wild blue yonder, no sweet 180 that still kinda sucks but at least it looks cool. The Rogue Pixel may be just one pixel in size, but when your car/runner/other such fast-moving thing hits it, that sonofabitch might as well be the Great Wall of Goddamn China, because you will STOP. DEAD. IN. YOUR. TRACKS.
You lose your huge lead, all your nitro, and your dignity as you watch people six seconds back pass your ass like you were standing still. Because, you know, you kinda are.
I've lost races because I forget how to properly take turns. I've lost races because a battle between first and second boiled down to me putting my opponent into a wall as hard as I could just so he couldn't beat me. (that Corvette Z06 from GT3 may never remember me as a man, but it will always remember how my Viper looks barreling head-first into his passenger side door. Fucker.) But those are all losses I can accept, shake off, and move beyond.
But the Rogue Pixel... that... FUCKER... will always singe my asshairs. To quote Dr. Dre: "Man, fuck that *****."