Hearing bellyaching over stifling conditions at last weekend’s Qatar Grand Prix, it seemed to me that various observers were astonished to discover that grand prix racing is a tough business.
Brutal, even. An examination of the human condition.
It’s an old trick, but let’s introduce ‘Papa’ Hemingway at this point. The bearded sage noted, before blowing his brains out: ‘There are only three sports: bullfighting, motor racing and mountaineering; all the rest are merely games.’ Our own James Hunt said a similar thing in another way, observing: ‘They’ll deny it forever, but the reason people come here to watch is to see if one of us dies.’
Hunt’s major rival, also now gone, Niki Lauda, largely let his deeds make the case for bravery bordering on insanity, never more so than in Monza in 1976, when he practically came back from the dead. Almost incinerated at the sadistic Nurburgring in Germany, he returned without eyelids 40 days later to race at 190mph, making approximately 1,400 gear changes with a right hand that was nearly amputated.
My late colleague at this paper, the master of these pages, Ian Wooldridge, was there. ‘Is it one man, aged 27,’ wondered Ian, ‘so unwilling to concede an earthly title that he is prepared to wager life against death when most men would be hiding their desperate injuries in a darkened room in a clinic? And, if so, what is the psychological definition for that?’
James Hunt (R) and his major rival Niki Lauda (L) embraced the dangers of Formula One
I bring up this ancient history as a restorative to the nonsensical caterwauling post-Qatar, where a few of the well-paid stars felt faint (and I don’t belittle their afflictions): Esteban Ocon threw up in his helmet (and didn’t complain); Alex Albon was treated for heat exhaustion, Lance Stroll fell over afterwards, Logan Sargeant retired ill. Heavens, it was hot and humid over there.
And the sport’s owners, Liberty Media, were hellbent on hosting this needless race come what may, even a little closer to the end of the hot season than was prudent. Qatar pays £60million a year to be on the roster. That’s more than any other country coughs up, with the possible exception of Saudi Arabia, and that counts.
Those reservations apart, it is one of the joys of a sports-watching lifetime to see drivers tackle tricky conditions and master them. Martin Brundle wasn’t in Qatar, but he spoke a lot of sense with his comments on X from afar. ‘It’s races like Qatar and very rainy days which make F1 drivers look like the heroes and athletes they are,’ said Sky’s top pundit and a veteran of 158 grands prix and many other series as a racing nut. ‘I don’t buy into the weak view that we shouldn’t put them through this kind of challenge. Check out Senna in Brazil, Stewart at rainy Nurburgring, Lauda post-crash, etc, etc.’
Actually, though hot in Qatar, it was no more oppressive than at several other venues over the years. Most of the young drivers never raced in Malaysia, where it was always extravagantly humid.
Perhaps they and their teams should look for solutions: how to hydrate better, how to cool themselves in the cockpit. Elite sport is a tough business, and it should be. It is why the protagonists earn up to £50m per annum. It should also be noted that while some drivers felt ill, the strongest of them all, Max Verstappen, who had been up celebrating his title victory the day before with a possible flick of gin in his tonic, not only won at a canter but was as right as rain afterwards.
There will be some X ranters who will say — ‘Well, if it’s so easy, you do it, pal.’ My response is simple. That I can’t. It’s the difference between us and them, between mortals and F1’s best. We should embrace the fact.
Alpine driver Esteban Ocon vomited inside his helmet 15 laps into the race but finished seventh
Mercedes in turmoil – so where is Toto?
Has Toto Wolff lost the plot? It seems so. The Mercedes team principal hates the Japanese Grand Prix — his least favourite venue — so he had knee surgery that weekend. Which is curious in itself. He had the whole of August race-free to do that. And all of December through to February coming up. He can pick his time. He’s not on an NHS waiting list.
He has now missed two races, his recovery too slow to permit him to be in Qatar. Doctors said he should rest up in Monaco.
The team is going nowhere. Lewis Hamilton, 39 in January, is signed up for too long. George Russell is held back as a result. They have bumbled along for two years without any apparent answers to the deficiencies of their car. And, all the while, Toto sits at home, handing over responsibilities to trainee team principal Bradley Lord, his PR man, and Jerome D’Ambrosio, his driver development director.
What on earth is going on?
Toto Wolff, pictured with George Russell and Lewis Hamilton at Spa, has problems to solve
No word from Lewis
Lewis Hamilton jumps on X and Instagram to fight any injustice he perceives. Nothing is too politically sensitive to be avoided. Usually.
Yet Hamas terrorism? Not a word from Lewis.
Wolff’s wooing in vain
The job Toto Wolff wants most is as the new Bernie Ecclestone (minus the suspended jail term), or Chase Carey, if you prefer — running the whole shooting match, in other words.
I am told that idea is toast.
Liberty Media, incidentally the most rapacious owners the sport has ever had, including their predecessors CVC Capital Partners, want someone outside Formula One to be their chief executive when Stefano Domenicali departs.
Wolff has spared nothing in trying to woo golf-mad Liberty boss Greg Maffei, who likes and admires him, actually, but in the end it will get him nowhere.
Words of wisdom from magic Murray
Legendary F1 commentator Murray Walker had a stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks voice
This week would have been Murray Walker’s 100th birthday.
I went to see him in his Hampshire home when I started writing about F1. He was as kind and generous as one would have hoped, and there was, of course, that stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks voice — a brilliant instrument — as all the very small number of best broadcasters possess. Think of O’Sullevan and Coleman, to name but two of my favourites.
One thing Murray told me, and a view I went on to share: Melbourne is a special sporting venue. ‘I love Australia,’ he enthused. ‘Switch on the taps and they work.’
A final note. Murray Walker was as famous Down Under, where he commented on V8 Supercars, as he was in England. Think of Richie Benaud in reverse.
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