A big race in a big country
In the late 1990s, when a few major businesses still inhabited downtown Johannesburg, I was in the city of Gold for a few days holed up in a high rise hotel in the city centre. The word on the streets then was that the city was wild and dangerous – which pretty much confined me to my hotel in the evenings. One evening after dinner, I wandered into the hotel bar and made friends with an entertaining chap from Serbia . Over a few beers, he told me gory tales about disembowelling people in the name of “fighting for his country”. Admittedly the chap was very unsavoury but sometimes such characters are the most generous when it comes to opening their wallets to purchase intoxicating substances.
At the end of a long, punishing evening I made my excuses and left the Serb to retire to my room. I found to my dismay on getting there that I had mislaid my card-key. There was nothing else for it but to go back to reception and request a replacement. The girl at the desk simply asked what room I was staying in. “3214,” I said. Without so much as a glance at her computer screen to establish the veracity of my claim – perhaps her mind was preoccupied with other things – she quickly issued the necessary command to her computer and it spat out a new card for room 3214.
Upon entering the room, my first port of call was the bathroom on the left where I noisily emptied my full to bursting bladder into the toilet bowl. Without bothering to do up my flies I staggered my way into the sleeping quarters of the room and was astounded to find an elderly couple lying awake in the bed with the bed covers tightly clenched in their hands and drawn up to their chins . When the male half of the couple spoke I realised they were American.
“Please, don’t hurt us, please, I beg you,” he said in a decidedly shaky voice.
“Eh?” said I, bemused.
“We’ll give you money,” said the man, “but please don’t do anything to us, please.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, much offended, “I don’t want your wretched money. I just want you out of my room now!”
The female half of the couple began to sob. “What is he gonna do to us,” she whispered,
The man began to sob as well. “We are old and shrivelled,” he said, “we’re not much use to you. Please leave us alone. You can have our United States Grand Prix tickets,” he cried. He then
began to weep as though his heart was going to break.
At this point I began to see sense. Americans love their motor racing and flock to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for the United States Grand Prix each year in droves. If a man was prepared to give me his tickets to this race, there had to be something that was not right going on. I did up my flies, left the room and returned to reception. The room I wanted was 3241, not 3214. You would, doubtless, agree that this was a perfectly reasonable mistake to make after sinking ten Windhoek lagers and a few whisky chasers! (word to the wise – conduct of this nature tends to produce in a man the appearance of a gangster prone to violent robbery and buggery of septuagenarians)
This weekend, then, we observe the Americans as they host a superb event in Indianapolis . By rights the race ought to belong to Ferrari. The scarlet cars have only ever been beaten once in Indianapolis . Still, history is no determinant of performance this season. Kimi Raikkonen seems determined to end his career before it takes off. I cannot help but be frustrated by the Finn’s lack of form. His ill-preparedness and general listlessness are not fitting for a man who earns £20 million plus and races for one of the best resourced teams in Formula One - and, more importantly, one with a pedigree and history like none other. He is making mistakes which one cannot undersatnd - like that stupid one in Monaco qualifying. I was looking forward to a season of great action from Raikkonen but after winning in Australia he has gone off the boil. This is neither good news for Raikkonen nor Ferrari. I do hope he gets it together this weekend because, exciting as it has thus far been, we don’t want the season to be limited to the battle of the McLaren drivers.
The battle such as it is seems to be getting silly. As I pointed out earlier this week, of the two McLaren drivers the one who sounds grown up and sensible is the rookie. The world champion is allowing his emotions to get the better of him and saying things he shouldn’t. Fernando Alonso, better than anyone, knows that top level sport in general and Formula One racing in particular requires sound mind management. If you allow yourself to lose focus and get rattled by extraneous things you will be incapable of reaching inside yourself for that little extra ingredient that makes the difference between a world champion and a number two. Alonso may be thinking it unfair that he had to work as hard as he did to get to where he is while his team-mate had his place at McLaren handed to him on a silver platter. Alonso spent a year at the very bottom with Minardi and then another as a Renault test driver before he was allowed to call himself a Renault Formula One driver. Lewis Hamilton was placed in a top car on day one That is as it may be. But Hamilton did lots of graft within McLaren before this season began. When you cut through all the pointless and, frankly, irrelevant whingeing the question becomes simply this: who is leading the world championship at the moment?
BMW have come forward in leaps and bounds and Nick Heidfeld is getting better and better. Robert Kubica won’t be racing after his spectacular crash last week (which, incredibly, left him suffering nothing more than bruises and a sprained ankle). His seat will be taken by a newcomer called Sebastian Vettel
I have a sneaky feeling that Sunday’s race result may be odd. Indianapolis without Schumacher is a curious place. Most American beer is insipid piss but they do make a few decent wines in the Nappa Valley. You might want to try one with a large steak. Whatever you do,
Enjoy Indianapolis!
Gitau
15 June 2007
At the end of a long, punishing evening I made my excuses and left the Serb to retire to my room. I found to my dismay on getting there that I had mislaid my card-key. There was nothing else for it but to go back to reception and request a replacement. The girl at the desk simply asked what room I was staying in. “3214,” I said. Without so much as a glance at her computer screen to establish the veracity of my claim – perhaps her mind was preoccupied with other things – she quickly issued the necessary command to her computer and it spat out a new card for room 3214.
Upon entering the room, my first port of call was the bathroom on the left where I noisily emptied my full to bursting bladder into the toilet bowl. Without bothering to do up my flies I staggered my way into the sleeping quarters of the room and was astounded to find an elderly couple lying awake in the bed with the bed covers tightly clenched in their hands and drawn up to their chins . When the male half of the couple spoke I realised they were American.
“Please, don’t hurt us, please, I beg you,” he said in a decidedly shaky voice.
“Eh?” said I, bemused.
“We’ll give you money,” said the man, “but please don’t do anything to us, please.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, much offended, “I don’t want your wretched money. I just want you out of my room now!”
The female half of the couple began to sob. “What is he gonna do to us,” she whispered,
The man began to sob as well. “We are old and shrivelled,” he said, “we’re not much use to you. Please leave us alone. You can have our United States Grand Prix tickets,” he cried. He then
began to weep as though his heart was going to break.
At this point I began to see sense. Americans love their motor racing and flock to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for the United States Grand Prix each year in droves. If a man was prepared to give me his tickets to this race, there had to be something that was not right going on. I did up my flies, left the room and returned to reception. The room I wanted was 3241, not 3214. You would, doubtless, agree that this was a perfectly reasonable mistake to make after sinking ten Windhoek lagers and a few whisky chasers! (word to the wise – conduct of this nature tends to produce in a man the appearance of a gangster prone to violent robbery and buggery of septuagenarians)
This weekend, then, we observe the Americans as they host a superb event in Indianapolis . By rights the race ought to belong to Ferrari. The scarlet cars have only ever been beaten once in Indianapolis . Still, history is no determinant of performance this season. Kimi Raikkonen seems determined to end his career before it takes off. I cannot help but be frustrated by the Finn’s lack of form. His ill-preparedness and general listlessness are not fitting for a man who earns £20 million plus and races for one of the best resourced teams in Formula One - and, more importantly, one with a pedigree and history like none other. He is making mistakes which one cannot undersatnd - like that stupid one in Monaco qualifying. I was looking forward to a season of great action from Raikkonen but after winning in Australia he has gone off the boil. This is neither good news for Raikkonen nor Ferrari. I do hope he gets it together this weekend because, exciting as it has thus far been, we don’t want the season to be limited to the battle of the McLaren drivers.
The battle such as it is seems to be getting silly. As I pointed out earlier this week, of the two McLaren drivers the one who sounds grown up and sensible is the rookie. The world champion is allowing his emotions to get the better of him and saying things he shouldn’t. Fernando Alonso, better than anyone, knows that top level sport in general and Formula One racing in particular requires sound mind management. If you allow yourself to lose focus and get rattled by extraneous things you will be incapable of reaching inside yourself for that little extra ingredient that makes the difference between a world champion and a number two. Alonso may be thinking it unfair that he had to work as hard as he did to get to where he is while his team-mate had his place at McLaren handed to him on a silver platter. Alonso spent a year at the very bottom with Minardi and then another as a Renault test driver before he was allowed to call himself a Renault Formula One driver. Lewis Hamilton was placed in a top car on day one That is as it may be. But Hamilton did lots of graft within McLaren before this season began. When you cut through all the pointless and, frankly, irrelevant whingeing the question becomes simply this: who is leading the world championship at the moment?
BMW have come forward in leaps and bounds and Nick Heidfeld is getting better and better. Robert Kubica won’t be racing after his spectacular crash last week (which, incredibly, left him suffering nothing more than bruises and a sprained ankle). His seat will be taken by a newcomer called Sebastian Vettel
I have a sneaky feeling that Sunday’s race result may be odd. Indianapolis without Schumacher is a curious place. Most American beer is insipid piss but they do make a few decent wines in the Nappa Valley. You might want to try one with a large steak. Whatever you do,
Enjoy Indianapolis!
Gitau
15 June 2007
posted by Gitau at 12:56 pm
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