Today was the last race of the Formula One (F1) season and in some ways this is a blessing; at least it felt that way when I dragged myself out of my warm bed at 8am to head down to the San Francisco F1 club bar to watch the race.
Sporting addiction is a curious thing and my excitement at today’s race puzzled me. I’ve never understood the almost religious following of teams that comes with football and while I can get excited about rugby it’s not to crushing if England crash out of a championship.
But F1 grabs me like no other sport. I don’t know what it is about it. The sheer engineering skill behind a car is something incredible – at full whack the engine pistons are firing off at 300 revolutions a second. I’m friendly with one of McLaren’s aerodynamicists and the computational power that goes into each body part is stunning. Plus if you’ve ever been in the garage with an F1 car with the engine running you’ll experience the sheer power of the thing; an engine that shakes your internal organs and screams like a Valkyrie chasing a barbarian soul.
Mum and Dad were both part time rally drivers, and out family once held a world speed record back in the 20s. I don’t like to think it’s genetic but one wonders.
Plus it’s still the sport of intervals. Yes, the engineering is critical but the sign of a truly great driver is that he can make a bad car beat a better one. James Hunt, for all his faults, could take a duff bit of kit and make it a winner. Senna had the skill, and so too, though it pains me to say it, did that cheat Schumacher. Anyway, onto the race.
Lewis Hamilton was in a good position to clinch the world championship and, as I’ve explained, I wouldn’t have missed this race for the world. When Mansell was in the same position I waited up until 4am to watch him in Australia and Lewis is a far more inspiring driver; more aggressive, better passing skills and he never blames the car, unlike walrus features.
Brazilian Felippe Massa was racing in his home grand prix and had to win to get the number one on his car next season, while Lewis just had to finish in fifth to get it. Given the shameful handicaps Lewis has had to suffer through from the Ferrari Insurance Association, sorry Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile, we were all expecting a conservative race with no risks taken.
The weather was uncertain for the race, wet at he start with the promise of more to come. This always makes for a more interesting race, since tire selection becomes critical. To raise the adrenaline further the petulant Alonso, who had promised to do whatever he could to stuff Lewis, was right behind the British driver.
As a side bonus the race was delayed for ten minutes because of the weather, allowing me to choke down a grapefruit juice and a breakfast burrito before the excitement started. As it turns out the key players made it through the dangerous first lap without incident. Sadly David Coulthard, on his last ever F1 race, was taken out after a shunt. A sad end to a successful but uninspiring career. DC had the makings of a great driver but he just didn’t want it enough in my opinion.
The race progressed and Massa streaked away, driving the race of his career. He and his team called it perfectly and there was no chance, barring engine failure, that he wasn’t going to win in front of his own crowd and become the new Senna for his countrymen.
Lewis however was uninspiring. He hung onto his position, smart tactics as this race wasn’t about the glory of the podium, but winning the war. The second half passed uneventfully but then, in the final seven laps, it started to rain again. My heart was in my throat; it had looked like Lewis had it but was I celebrating too early.
All the leading cars changed tires but Lewis, lying in fifth, was being seriously pressed by Sebastian Vettel, who was on stonkingly good form. The two tussled it out and I and my fellow Lewis fans (of which there are a lot, he’s really popular over here) screamed at the screen like it would make a difference.
Lewis got out of the pits ahead of Vettel but with only a few laps to go he slipped past him after Lewis went pear shaped while cornering, and into sixth – a losing position. I have to admit there was a certain amount of bad language on my part at this point. My mother would not have been proud.
Try as he might, and believe me he was trying, Lewis couldn’t get past the German driver. He was achingly close on the straights but the Toro Rosso was so fast through the corners that Lewis didn’t have a chance.
The laps came down, three, two and finally the last lap. It was going to be yet another loss for Lewis, after last season’s disappointment. I was crushed, screaming at the TV for a miracle. And then one came along.
Timo Glock, lying in fourth, was still on dry tyres. On the last lap the rain came down really hard and he, like every other driver on slicks, was losing 15 seconds a lap as they fought for grip. Having driven a proper F1 simulator I can tell you that in perfect conditions the cars are almost impossible to handle. In the wet, with the wrong tires, I’m amazed the drivers don’t end up dead in a second.
Glock was trying to hold it together but there was no hope for him. Vettel shot past him as he was wrestling the car around the third to last bend. Far ahead Massa crossed the finishing line, winner of the race and the world championship on current placement. The Ferrari garage, which housed Massa’s father, erupted in celebration.
Then Lewis, with just two corners to go, squeaked in between Glock and the corner ridges to clinch fifth. The cameras missed it and I must confess I was too busy screaming to notice but a few seconds later he crossed the line and Hamilton P5 flashed up on the screen.
If this was a movie then the room would have fallen silent before erupting. However, back in the real world the Ferrari supporters were cheering and toasting each other while the Lewis crew were standing in shock. Then the room really erupted. The Ferrari boys were crying foul, we were screaming with joy. The next few minutes were spent shouting with joy and hugging complete strangers. Screw you Mosley and Eccleston, you tried to hold him down but failed.
In the post-race press conference Massa was a true sportsman. It must have been tough for him, having a few minutes of thinking he’d won the season only to be pipped at the post. He comported himself with honour and I found myself hoping he’d get the crown on a future season. Nothing shows someone’s character as how they face defeat.
We broke out the drinks and headed out to party. The grin didn’t come off my face all day. We headed up to my local and carried on the celebrations. It was a day to remember.
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