Category Archives: Drivers

The Great Fireman Tradition of F1

I feel sorry for Sebastian about his eleventh hour engine failure, but I’m happy to see a great tradition emerging. Your car’s on fire, you’re the one to douse the flames. F1’s equivalent of the Captain only leaving his ship when nothing can be done any more. Stuff of legends.

I feel personally responsible for this. For years I’ve shown the way by keeping a fireman’s helmet in my office, and extinguishing a proverbial fire or two. Mostly after having started them myself, but that’s a minor detail.

Keep going, lads. Much praise for our courageous drivers, and for the pit wall crews who hand them their blowers.

Advertisements

Mark Webber arrived. Remind me to keep him away from karaoke

Try to imagine this. A room full of Koreans, a karaoke machine, ready to go. All eyes are on the Big Celebrity, the F1 Championship Leader. And then it starts to sing.

On the other hand, Koreans are terribly polite. And they know how to keep their faces straight. Even so, it will be the ultimate test.

Best not to let it come that far.

Mark Webber Milking continues

… in fact, it’s getting worse. Apparently someone at Canberra Milk, or worse, their ad agency, has figured out Mark couldn’t hit a note if it was sitting on the apex of an F1 circuit’s corner. So their advertising serfs came up with this version.

Let me tell you, Canberra Milk Morons: Mark’s ‘singing’ was the only entertaining thing in the whole bleedin’ commercial. So get it into your Ozzie dairy farmers’ heads: this ain’t funny. Not even close.

Mark, I know there’s probably a contract sitting out there that you signed when you weren’t the prime Championship contender you are today. But if there’s even a shadow of an escape clause in there, grab it. Get the lawyers on it. The last thing you want is to become the World Champion Canberra Milk Boy.

Memo to all the other lads: stay away from dairy and other loser stuff. Leave that to Danica Patrick and all the other household appliances. You’re supposed to be real men, the lot of you. Stick to promoting manly goods like spark plugs.

[Thanks, dear reader Lyn, for sending me the commercial.]

Lewis Hamilton And the Evil Eye of Suzuka

Poor Lewis. Suzuka really had it in for him. First he gets an ear infection, then he crashes out of first practice. Next thing he needs a new gearbox and is docked five grid places. Then his new gearbox gives out on him during the race so he has to let his team mate pass, costing him even more points.

The Evil Eye followed Lewis even at the Driver’s Parade draw. Jenson gets a Mercedes, there are Ferraris and Astons and Rollers, but Lewis has to draw the silly little three-wheeler Messerschmidt. And here comes the creepy part.

For this is the race were no fewer than three drivers end up with mysterious rear wheel failures. Di Grassi, Kubica and Rosberg all dropped out because their cars had become overpowered three wheeler Messerschmidts. If I were superstitious I’d never let Lewis near one of these things again.

But fortunately I’m not superstitious. Just saying.

Sauber boredom

This is where the experienced teams separate from the rookies. While Virgin plays cards, Sauber builds boats. And like everything, they take it very seriously.

Here’s a picture of the SS Sauber speeding down the pitdrain pitlane. Blimey, how exciting life in Suzuka must be today.

Virgin boredom

… during a wet wet wet waiting-for-qualifying session in Suzuka. Here’s a picture of Timo Glock and Lucas di Grassi determining who’ll be first number one driver and who’s second number one driver in the showdown with Lotus in the F1 Backmarker Championship.

One glance at the weather forecast was enough for me to decide to stay in London for the weekend. How can I still show you pictures from the pitlane, then, you might wonder? Silly you. Mr E’s spies are everywhere, of course.

Be warned. I may not be there, but I see and hear everything.

Let this be an example

Here’s how Graham Hill made an extra quid or two, back in 1969. Spark plugs. Beats dairy by a mile. According to the text, Jackie Stewart’s in the game too. Take note, people.

These were real men. Note the absence of milk moustaches.

[Thanks, loyal reader David, for bringing the ad to my attention.]