Atlas May Shrug!
I have seen my last Formula 1 Grand Prix, at least for the foreseeable future. That sport means nothing to me, all of a sudden. Nothing at all. The curtain fell on this season’s racing at São Paulo last Sunday. Lewis Hamilton won the championship - having won less races than the eminently more deserving Felipe Massa, having never had a mechanical failure, having had run into the backs of Alonso’s and Raikkonnen’s cars with some juvenile driving, having run Glock off the track in Monza, having cut Raikkonnen up at Spa and Montreal and having been compared with Senna and Schumacher. Someone even called him Britain’s Obama the other day!
I think Glock slowed down much more than he should have on that last lap at Interlagos. But, I must be wrong and fervently hope I am. After all, who else but the most morally corrupt would accuse McLaren and Ron Dennis of conspiring and covering up? They did the nasty and got caught trying a pitiful cover-up last season, alright, but, surely they are honourable men – at least, ever since. Conspiracies, by definition, are those that are planned to Hamilton’s detriment by vested interests, especially if you asked The Guardian’s Gemma Briggs, by jealous fiends. They, who are much unlike her own independent, non-partisan eminence, she having broken into the world of motor-sport journalism courtesy a deputy-editorship at, hold your breath, Racing Line, the McLaren Formula 1 team magazine! How much more independent can one get, indeed! But then, les goûts et les couleurs ne se discutent pas. I love my fellow self-appointed, opinionated, know-alls way too much for an argument. But no, it was not the greatest Grand Prix F1 has ever seen, not even close, not by a large margin – just the most desperate.
The whole of the British media establishment and political glitterati got in on the act as well – the win essentially being branded a ‘British’ triumph. Now, I do understand the need of this nation, starved of even reasonable international sporting success of late, save the last Olympic Games, to embrace Hamilton’s success as its own. After all, while she reigns supreme in well-remunerated meets, even Ms Radcliffe comes a cropper when running for Queen, country and mere glory. How skilfully did I get that unnecessary dig in, sideways! What I do not understand is how its proud people can celebrate the success of this nouveau riche prodigy who, at the first whiff of serious money, ditched its over-taxed shores for his current Swiss abode, making the rest of us mortals on this lovely island feel distinctly Jacques Bonhomme. I do not understand how the move and its rather feeble excuse – apparently, it was us souls who drove him away, accosting him in motorway convenience stations – could ever be condoned, much less forgiven any time soon. Shameless and inconsiderate of us, approaching a national treasure expressly paid to be a glorified billboard for the myriad enterprises that sponsor him without respect for his privacy, especially at the hallowed grounds of motorway service stations that he is likely to frequent…
I think Glock slowed down much more than he had to on that last lap at Interlagos. Hopefully, I have managed to ratchet the accusation up a notch without many folks noticing, right there. Silly me and my louche thoughts! McLaren’s analysts in their Woking lair will have you believe that they knew Hamilton would catch Glock up, eventually. As in with-a-few-hundred-yards-to-go eventually. They can also, arguably, predict when the GDP will finally show growth and the economy will wrestle out of a recession, eventually. Only, just at the last bend. They did also predict an Obama success, by the way, apparently. Now, if Brundle thinks the stewards act such that the leader is deliberately picked on so the title is decided only in the very last race, an act that is evidently becoming harder by the year, he surely knows this claim to be the humbug that it is. Glock was matching Haclaren (a Freudian slip) pace on the penultimate lap, for sure. Now unless they employ God, which is quite unlikely, that extrapolated prediction would have been as reliable as Moody’s ratings of securitised asset-tranches proved to be, for McLaren to base their season’s fortunes on. They simply could not have deliberately left the passing move to the very last corner – no one has cojones that big!
Now, I wanted Glock to retain his position so Ferrari and their man Massa could win the title. There, that is the crux of it all. It’s really all about what I wanted! And how far should I go finding fault with and mongering rumours about what really transpired? How much should envy cloud my frequently flawed judgement? How far am I willing to go to discredit Hamilton and his achievement? I will shoot myself the day I go as far as visitors to that now-notorious ‘voodoo’ web-site where, allegedly, Alonso’s supporters, mainly Spanish, left the most nasty and vile comments of the racist variety. That is just not done. Open your eyes, fiends, and look around. The world has changed. Narrow-mindedness, racism and bigotry are passé. Your comments would have hurt Hamilton, just as it would any other decent being, but, the only real damage you did is to your selves, your culture and your society at large. You are building yourself a reputation, with your deeds and acts of direst cruelty, so stinky that all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten your little hands. Alonso should have distanced himself clearly and publicly, upbraiding any attempts to associate his name with the misguided acts. I am aghast that he has chosen not to, at least not forcefully enough. We are getting so used to racist chants, abuse and vile gestures at football matches in Iberia that we have taught ourselves to ignore it. But, we do care. Yes, Sir! Do not mistake our indifference for tolerance or weakness. It is just that in our culture, petulance and ignorance are not cured by argument, coercion, bullying or brute force – we will continue to show you the other cheek for a while more, yet. But, do mark my words, folks, even Atlas will shrug if pushed far enough.
I think I have changed my mind. Maybe, I have just seen my last Spanish Formula 1 Grand Prix, at least for the foreseeable future. That race appointment, tarnished by the devil’s own acts of guile, means nothing to me, all of a sudden. Nothing at all!
