Well put, Mark. Couldn’t’ve said it better myself.
Meanwhile, don’t take this too literally please, tomorrow during the start.
Caption suggestions are all over the Twitterverse, ranging from “Check this out, not bad for a second drviver, eh?” to “This is what Red Bull’s tried to do to me all season.” Or “How about this for a tie-breaker proposal?”
Don’t be fooled. people. Whatever he may be, Mark Webber is not a wimp.
He died peacefully in his sleep. Paul, that is, not Fernando. My condolences to the Oberhausen Sea Aquarium. No Championship will be the same without Paul’s predictions.
Other than that, I don’t think it will affect anybody chances, so keep watching those Grand Prix. I expect all of you either at the circuit or in front of the telly.
Worthy winners of the Singapore Grand Prix.
And what a great race it was. Our three Ws were not the only winners. Congratulations, Singapore, for hosting an impeccable event. Congratulations, fans, for witnessing one of the most spectacular races ever. And congratulations, me, for reaping yet another tidy profit of course. But that’s the least important bit.
Well done, Singapore. You may continue for another twenty years as far as I’m concerned.
Starting from the back, on a narrow street circuit, with a car that’s markedly faster than at least half the field before you: what’s a second driver to do?
Domenicali was very clear: Felipe, you have to get to the front as quickly as possible because Alonso needs all the help he can get. So there was only one answer, really. The engineers worked through the night, and here it is.
Brilliant. Also takes care of the Singapore Sling, so kills two birds with one stone. Not sure it’s legal, though.
But hey, it’s Ferrari.
Today is Alonso’s birthday. If you were wondering what Massa gave him, he just told me: it’s one of these fake road workers with a slowdown arm signal. He intends to put it out on the track, just before Alonso goes out in first practice.
Great sense of humour, Felipe has. My guess is Fernando doesn’t completely share it.
“Bernie,” he says. “Ferrari is innocent. Can you confirm you understand that message?”
Perhaps, I say, but do you understand that there are about 25 others on the World Motor Sport Council?
“Many of them have already been taken care of, Bernie,” he says. “It’s not been cheap, but they understand. Ferrari is acting in a long tradition that started in the old days, with Il Commendatore sending drivers to their deaths from his command post in Maranello. Theirs is not to reason why, theirs is but to do and die. Nowadays we don’t send them to die anymore, but they’re still supposed to do as we say. For sure everybody understands.”
Suddenly things start to fall into place. The sunglasses, the fact that he hardly attends races any more, the oath of undying loyalty he’s had everybody in the scuderia, from the lowliest garage floor sweeper to Stefano Domenicali, swear on an autographed portrait of the old man.
We have a new Enzo in our midst.
You should’ve seen Fernando last Sunday at Silverstone. He spent every moment he could spare on watching the broadcasts from Jo’burg. The picture shows him stealing some glances just before the race. He had his mechanic rig his monitor to show the feed from South Africa while pretending to check all the car’s systems.
Personally I’m not surprised he mucked up the race. Let’s face it, he let on himself that the Spanish soccer team’s chances of winning were a lot better than his own.
Afterwards he watched the match with the rest of the Spanish mafia from the Ferrari motorhome. Hardly had Spain won, or he called me. “We won,” he shouted. Well, I said, your soccer team did. You didn’t.
“Bernie,” he said, clearly not listening, “now’s the time. Ferrari, I mean F1, have to go to South Africa. It’s the greatest country for sports events. It’s a place where referees have respect for the Spanish, where they make favourable decisions instead of treating us badly! You must call Nelson Mandela now. I think he’s at home because he wasn’t at the stadium. Do you have his number?”
Friends and fellow F1 fans, meet Stirling Moss, or Sir Stirling as we know him these days. Stirling is one of the unblemished heroes of our sport, and the greatest champion that never was. A true gentleman, even to the point of defending his greatest rival Mike Hawthorn against an unfair penalty, effectively handing him the title.
But that is not the point I want to make today. For Sir Stirling was renowned for another quality: true grit. No pampered life for Stirling, no private jets and multimillion dollar motorhomes. Stirling drove himself to the races. And in between winning one Grand Prix after another he had no qualms with doing the odd endurance race, winning 10 hour Mille Miglias or 7 hour 1000km Nuerburgrings singlehandedly, the latter three years in a row.
And he was not the only one. Juan Manuel Fangio, another true gentleman, and the aforementioned Mike Hawthorn, to name but a few, were of the same ilk. These were real men. Some say that the outlines of their left nipples were the shape of Nuerburgring, that when they slowed down, brake lights came on in their buttocks, and went they went for a wee they pissed pure motor oil, to paraphrase a popular TV programme. Wimps they were not.
In the end I didn’t have to do anything. Jean called, said ‘Bernie, run that Briatore thing by me again, please.’
I said why, we discussed it not so long ago and I remember twelve gauge shotguns came up in conversation. Are you getting bored?
He says no, but I’ve been thinking. Flavio’s suing, Symonds’s suing, we’re suing and revising our procedures to get their bans reinforced, this whole sorry mess will stay on the cards and who knows? Maybe one day the shit will fly as far as Alonso again. That’s not in the interest of
I said, no it isn’t and by the way, did I hear you say Ferrari? He says, no I corrected myself, FIA, Ferrari, all sounds the same. You probably misheard.
I said I probably did. And you’re right, in the end it’s all the same anyway because what would F1 be without some red at the front of the field?
So here’s what you do: Continue reading