Alonso does it at home
His Majesty King Juan Carlos of Spain was more excited yesterday than Fernando Alonso. If his minders could have allowed him, he would have grabbed hold of Alonso's magnum of champagne and sprayed it around the podium. He was itching to do it. Being King can be difficult sometimes. You're forced to act regal when all you want is to be a regular guy. The sort of guy who is not embarrassed about being an excitable fan. The King was all over Alonso like a rash before the race. Right up to the very last minute he was whispering to the young driver "don't let us down, Fernando. Spain needs you today!" At the end of the race, up on the podium with the victorious young Spaniard, King Juan Carlos wanted to scream and leap up and down. So much so that the young world champion had to tell him to chill. "Hey," said Alonso to the King, "we can do these things!"
And do them he certainly can. Alonso was told the secret when he was born. While his mother nursed him to the tender tones of a song called "Fernando" by a Swedish group called Abba, she told him that being Spanish meant everything. "One day you will fulfil your destiny, my dear little boy. 'Fernando' will mean more than a song sung by some Swedes who felt so anxious about acceptability that they chose to abandon their mother-tongue and sing in English. Spain will be back, Fernando. Spain will be back." Fernando gurgled away in cheery acceptance of this message. We are seeing it, folks. It is happening. One hundred and thirty thousand crying Spaniards at the Circuit de Catalunya yesterday was enough evidence of this. Spain went berserk yesterday. For the first time in the history of Spain a Spaniard had won the Spanish Grand Prix. As James Allen said, for the Spanish it was like Christmas, Easter and your birthday all rolled into one.
Oddly, Alonso does not behave like a typical Latin. He might have done a little leap on the top step of the podium and made an attempt at punching the air in Schumacher fashion but it wasn't him. The guy is so relaxed, so calm, so professional that you have to marvel at him. He approached the weekend's challenge with professor-like efficiency. The last guy who used to do this, Alain Prost, was dubbed "the Professor". But even the Professor was nowhere near as talented a driver as Fernando Alonso. Having qualified on pole with master strategist Michael Schumacher two places behind him, he knew the race was going to be about mistakes. Make none and you win. It sounds easy but it is not. People tend to get rattled when they are in a strategic race against the Ross Brawn-Michael Schumacher combination. Not Alonso. Schumacher and Brawn did all they could but it was just not enough. Alonso was too good.
Quite apart from the resounding result for Spain and the expanding gap in the world championship stakes, yesterday's race was mind-numbingly boring. More akin to a procession than anything remotely resembling a motor race. It took us back to the Schumacher-led processions of 2002. This is not what it is meant to be like. The only exciting moment came at the start. Kimi Raikkonen, clearly not getting enough excitement in Helsinki, performed a kamikaze overtaking move at the start. He said to himself "if McLaren won't give me the equipment with which to do the job, the only way I am going to get anywhere is forget about the risk of dying." I can't remember when I last saw such crazy stuff. The man is nuts. I don't know what it will take to calm him down. Not content with the excitement generated by scouring Europe personally interviewing applicants for his soon-to-be-opened "gentlemen's pleasures" club, Ice Tits, in Helsinki ("no clothing required for the interview," says the advert. "Bare minimum: 36C"), Raikkonen wants to flirt with death.
Raikkonen's team-mate, Juan Pablo Montoya, is having a woeful season. "Home advantage" can cut both ways. If you insist on partying in Barcelona until the wee hours and then drive a 66 lap motor race a few hours later, concentration will not be terribly high on the agenda. You don't go singing "Guantanamera" down La Rambla while swigging from a large bottle of freshly mixed Sangria at 3:00 am and then expect to win a Grand Prix. Things like that lead to mistakes. Juan Pablo made a huge one yesterday. Whistling "Guantanamera" to himself, he missed the apex of a corner and spun himself out of the Grand Prix. Chipo was not impressed. It is frustrating to see such a talented driver throwing away perhaps his last ever chance of becoming world champion.
It’s a pity about JPM because the Latins are in their element at the moment. Hugo Chavez, a guy with no fear of George Bush despite living in his back yard was in London yesterday. He has no time for Tony Blair and dropped in instead on Mayor Ken Livingstone - another well known firebrand. Chavez like his buddy Evo Morales in Ecuador can afford to stick two fingers up at Washington and London. He controls the second largest reserves of oil in the world. Venezula can pretty much do what it jolly well pleases - stuff the Untited States. Morales in Ecuador, meanwhile has some oil and loads of gas. He recently booted out all the multinationals from his oil and gas fields. The Latins are making a statement. A very powerful one.
The Latin whose statement on the motor racing circuit was powerfully made yesterday is going to be world champion 2006. Mark my words.
Gitau
15 May 2006
And do them he certainly can. Alonso was told the secret when he was born. While his mother nursed him to the tender tones of a song called "Fernando" by a Swedish group called Abba, she told him that being Spanish meant everything. "One day you will fulfil your destiny, my dear little boy. 'Fernando' will mean more than a song sung by some Swedes who felt so anxious about acceptability that they chose to abandon their mother-tongue and sing in English. Spain will be back, Fernando. Spain will be back." Fernando gurgled away in cheery acceptance of this message. We are seeing it, folks. It is happening. One hundred and thirty thousand crying Spaniards at the Circuit de Catalunya yesterday was enough evidence of this. Spain went berserk yesterday. For the first time in the history of Spain a Spaniard had won the Spanish Grand Prix. As James Allen said, for the Spanish it was like Christmas, Easter and your birthday all rolled into one.
Oddly, Alonso does not behave like a typical Latin. He might have done a little leap on the top step of the podium and made an attempt at punching the air in Schumacher fashion but it wasn't him. The guy is so relaxed, so calm, so professional that you have to marvel at him. He approached the weekend's challenge with professor-like efficiency. The last guy who used to do this, Alain Prost, was dubbed "the Professor". But even the Professor was nowhere near as talented a driver as Fernando Alonso. Having qualified on pole with master strategist Michael Schumacher two places behind him, he knew the race was going to be about mistakes. Make none and you win. It sounds easy but it is not. People tend to get rattled when they are in a strategic race against the Ross Brawn-Michael Schumacher combination. Not Alonso. Schumacher and Brawn did all they could but it was just not enough. Alonso was too good.
Quite apart from the resounding result for Spain and the expanding gap in the world championship stakes, yesterday's race was mind-numbingly boring. More akin to a procession than anything remotely resembling a motor race. It took us back to the Schumacher-led processions of 2002. This is not what it is meant to be like. The only exciting moment came at the start. Kimi Raikkonen, clearly not getting enough excitement in Helsinki, performed a kamikaze overtaking move at the start. He said to himself "if McLaren won't give me the equipment with which to do the job, the only way I am going to get anywhere is forget about the risk of dying." I can't remember when I last saw such crazy stuff. The man is nuts. I don't know what it will take to calm him down. Not content with the excitement generated by scouring Europe personally interviewing applicants for his soon-to-be-opened "gentlemen's pleasures" club, Ice Tits, in Helsinki ("no clothing required for the interview," says the advert. "Bare minimum: 36C"), Raikkonen wants to flirt with death.
Raikkonen's team-mate, Juan Pablo Montoya, is having a woeful season. "Home advantage" can cut both ways. If you insist on partying in Barcelona until the wee hours and then drive a 66 lap motor race a few hours later, concentration will not be terribly high on the agenda. You don't go singing "Guantanamera" down La Rambla while swigging from a large bottle of freshly mixed Sangria at 3:00 am and then expect to win a Grand Prix. Things like that lead to mistakes. Juan Pablo made a huge one yesterday. Whistling "Guantanamera" to himself, he missed the apex of a corner and spun himself out of the Grand Prix. Chipo was not impressed. It is frustrating to see such a talented driver throwing away perhaps his last ever chance of becoming world champion.
It’s a pity about JPM because the Latins are in their element at the moment. Hugo Chavez, a guy with no fear of George Bush despite living in his back yard was in London yesterday. He has no time for Tony Blair and dropped in instead on Mayor Ken Livingstone - another well known firebrand. Chavez like his buddy Evo Morales in Ecuador can afford to stick two fingers up at Washington and London. He controls the second largest reserves of oil in the world. Venezula can pretty much do what it jolly well pleases - stuff the Untited States. Morales in Ecuador, meanwhile has some oil and loads of gas. He recently booted out all the multinationals from his oil and gas fields. The Latins are making a statement. A very powerful one.
The Latin whose statement on the motor racing circuit was powerfully made yesterday is going to be world champion 2006. Mark my words.
Gitau
15 May 2006
posted by Gitau at 11:34 am
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