Hamilton rocks Melbourne

When you have achieved the near impossible feat of winning back-to-back Formula One world championships, you can allow yourself a moment of self-congratulation. If the honour was achieved after twice battling head-to-head with an android called Michael Schumacher, you can safely go a step further. You can stand on a rooftop and yell "none like me!" without fear of contradiction.

Fernando Alonso, then, began 2007 in ebullient mood. He was contemplating a season when he could enjoy being world champion. There was no other person on the scene ever having held the title, so this was a chance to consolidate. 2007 offered the best opportunity for a third world title as the opposition was sufficiently muted to be disposed of with relative ease. Winter testing told Alonso that the only blot on the 2007 landscape was the superior speed of Ferrari; but back of the envelope calculations showed the Spaniard that this was not such a great disadvantage. Kimi Raikkonen would be starting out in a new team with the added pressure of having to chase his first title, in the shadow of Ferrari's greatest warrior, surrounded by people crafted over the years to do Michael Schumacher's bidding - no mean task. This would be enough for McLaren to use in making up the speed deficit in the early races of 2007 while they built up their engine and aerodynamic package. In addition there were the psychological tricks that Alonso would be entitled to employ on any wanna-be world champion (world championship has its privileges after all!). No better set of circumstances could have presented itself to the world champion.

The figures and sketches on the back of Alonso's envelope did not include the letters "LH". Perhaps they ought to have. Alonso will have woken up this morning in need of a snifter. A new young talent announced his arrival on the Formula One scene yesterday in stunning style. That talent is none other than the world champion's Mclaren team-mate, Lewis Hamilton. And what a sensation he is! As Chipo said, "this was not in the script". In Saturday qualifying, Hamilton matched Alonso's times almost to the second but got pipped when it mattered and had to settle for fourth place on the grid. Very impressive start, I thought. A foretaste of things to come. This was inadequate preparation for what was to come on Sunday's action.

As the starting lights went out, the BMW of Robert Kubica in third place cut dangerously across the bows of Hamilton's McLaren and almost forced him on to the grass. A lesser man in similar circumstances would have reacted differently - probably hit the throttle hard. Not Hamilton. The grand prix novice responded by swerving his Malaren around the outside as they approached the corner, leaving his braking so late that he not only re-passed Kubica but took second place from his team-mate. Alonso could only gasp in astonishment as the young pretender scampered away into the distance and then led him, matching the world champion's pace throughout, for two thirds of the race. Hamilton would have finished second behind Raikkonen had Alonso's team not cleverly switched strategy after the first round of pit-stops which gave Alonso two laps longer than Hamilton before coming in for pit-stop number two. In other words, the world champion had to fall back on strategic games to get the better of his rookie team-mate; not simple wheel to wheel superior ability. From Alonso's perspective this is frightening. From Hamilton's, in Orwellian newspeak, this is doubleplusgood!

When you are receiving plaudits from the greatest names in the history of Formula One on the day of your first Grand Prix, you know you have arrived. Sir Stirling Moss and Niki Lauda are not men who waste time dishing out superlatives when they don't have to but both were effusive in their praise of Hamilton yesterday. "He's a racer, not a driver," said Sir Stirling Moss. "And he's the best thing I've seen in Formula One since I came into it in the early 50s." "I've never seen anybody perform in his first race like he did," said Niki Lauda.

Alonso's headache was compounded by the commanding superiority of the Ferrari in the hands of Kimi Raikkonen. Only the third man ever to win a race on his Ferrari debut, Raikkonen did so in the style made famous by his German android predecessor: lead from the front and lap nearly the entire field. He conducts himself with such outrageous nonchalance that it is clear nothing rattles Raikkonen. One gets the impression that the rakish Finn is doing his best to establish a reputation as a hard-partying chap with a devil-may-care attitude but one who is devastatingly fast. He doesn't care who he annoys in the process. Having refused to sign autographs in Australia, Raikkonen received his winner's trophy at the Albert Park amid a cacophony of boos. It is very difficult to understand this approach - one needs one's fans desperately - but time will tell.

Remember David Coulthard saying at the end of last year that Lewis Hamilton was too young and too inexperienced to be placed straight into a Formula One car at the top end? Well, Mr Experience himself pulled the silliest move of anyone yesterday. Attempting to overtake Alexander Wurz on the inside, Coulthard - to the horror of the Austrian - found himself climbing over Wurz's bonnet and catapulting his now wrecked Red Bull into the gravel. Wurz graciously accepted Coulthard's apology but I don't think this was his idea of the perfect start to a career as a driver (he spent years as a McLaren test driver).

Lewis Hamilton's electrifying debut means that all bets are off. Everyone's calculations have been upset. Alonso now has to factor in his team-mate. Raikkonen now has to plan for two McLaren irritants. Jenson Button has to get used to having been usurped as English wonder-boy. And Formula One has to get used to having a black man receiving trophies.

You couldn't have made any of this up…

Gitau
19 March 2007

Life after Schumacher begins in Melbourne

Endowed since birth with a skull of at least twice the imperviousness of those belonging to most mortals, it took until about this time last year for the message finally to sink in to my brain. Happily motoring along by myself in a six cylinder, three litre conveyance with barely a passing nod at the sandal-wearing, tambourine-bashing conservationists, I suffered no guilt. Whenever I filled the car's capacious tank with super expensive performance juice costing enough to feed a small Congolese village for a week, I thought of nothing but the fun ahead. Each time I depressed the super-responsive accelerator pedal and felt the surge of energy go through to the machine's wheels I felt nothing but near orgasmic pleasure. The ultra-noxious fumes spewing out of the beautifully crafted double exhaust system at the rear of the car were as nothing. Another notch upwards on the global temperature thermometer? What of it? A polar bear drowning in a sea of melted ice? Well, I've never seen any of the wretched creatures, so more power to my wheels!

A conversion was dramatically forced upon me. Paul falling off his horse on the way to Damascus has nothing on me, I can tell you. Darth Vader emerging from the dark side? Tchah! A new chapter on "The miraculous conversion of Gitau" is being speedily put to paper as I write this.

Here is how it happened. I was stationary at a traffic junction awaiting the lights to beckon me forward. On the Bose stereo with enhanced speakers, Wagner's "Ride of the Valykries" was thundering away. The lights changed and a green filter told me that it was now permissible to turn right. Needing no further persuasion, I gave the Beemer full welly and aimed to get the rev counter to inch towards the "red" zone. At that moment, an idiot on a bicycle travelling on the other side of the road in the opposite direction chose to treat his red signal as a come-on. One hundredth of a second less of Gitau awareness would have ensured that said cyclist would, seconds thereafter, be negotiating long term living accommodation in Hades with Lucifer. A failure in the German engineering that saw to the precision of ABS braking would have meant curtains for the blasted fellow. He was spared, I am pleased to say. The same cannot be said for Gitau. Women screamed in horror. Elderly gentlemen fainted. A dog yelped like a baying wolf. An innocent defender of the world's environment was about to be mown down by a reckless carbon thug? It couldn't happen. I was dragged out of my machine - notwithstanding a couple of movements of Wagner's classic still left to play - and almost nearly torn apart. I saw a gap between a large ladies legs, crawled through and am still alive to tell the tale.

Never mind that the Beemer was torched, that's not the point. The point is I am now a convert to the cause. I now refuse to set foot on any aircraft. I only eat food which has travelled no more than two hundred yards. I have a Mahatma Ghandiesque spinning wheel in the spare room which I use to spin my sparse clothes. I spit on every motor vehicle I come across. Chipo has often laughed in shock at my obsessive switching off of lights. Pointless carbon emissioning is evil to me. Formula One is…

Well, I think you get the gist of the thing. We are at the start of a season of the least carbon friendly activity there is on the planet. Each fortnight, extortionately expensive carbon-dioxide spewing racing cars are flown and trucked about the globe accompanied by armies of people. If we were serious about combating climate change Formula One would be banned forthwith. Is it going to be? You must be out of your mind. Formula One is about three things: money, glamour and fun. Are we going to stop watching it? The response to that is not printable on a family-friendly blog..

So here we are again at the start of another year of F1. How long the last six months have seemed my friends! I am sitting at my desk quivering with excitement. Not since the eighties have we had a season with as uncertain a conclusion. The reason is quite simple really: Michael Schumacher is not driving. Read that again and let it sink in. In F1 terms this as significant as saying that George Bush deeply regrets invading Iraq and is pulling the American troops out next week. Who is going to take over the mantle? From where I sit this is a question with as unclear an answer as whether Silvio Berlusconi wears ladies knickers.

Let's examine the facts. Ferrari have not lost their speed and, one would expect, nor their reliability. McLaren are, as ever, a contender. Renault are firmly in the frame and BMW and Honda must be considered as players too. The drivers are the big question marks. Is Kimi Raikkonen big enough to fit into Schumacher's oversized boots? Will Felipe Massa outdrive him to prove a point - particularly on the days when Kimi is too hung over to think clearly? Is the world champion, Fernando Alonso, going to be able to prove his mettle in a new team or will the young pretender, Lewis Hamilton, show him up. Can Jenson Button finally silence his critics? Was it a mistake to retain Giancarlo Fisichella at Renault? These are all questions which are impossible to answer today.

For now let's bathe ourselves in the glow of Melbourne's sunshine. It is without doubt one of the most beautiful locations for a Formula One race in the world. The adrenalin is pumping, fear is taking the place of bravado for some and panic for certainty for others. Outside the grid everyone is smiling - well, at least they should be. For on Sunday we return to the world we love. It might sometimes taste like cat's piss but I am minded to seek out a decent drop of Australian chardonnay in preparation for what I hope will be a great weekend. I trust you too will,

Enjoy Melbourne!

Gitau
16th March 2007