McLaren hand it to the Rake
One Sunday afternoon when I was a boy, a bedraggled fellow in threadbare clothes and flip flops turned up at my parents’ house. He said his name was Sunday and he had walked, hitch-hiked and stowed away on goods lorries to get from his little village in the east of Uganda to Nairobi. There was money in Nairobi, he was told. People were rich there, he believed. His life would be saved if only he could find someone in Nairobi to look after him. My father was touched by Sunday’s story and agreed to employ him as “an extra pair of hands.” If the cook needed help washing up or chopping vegetables, he would be free to enlist Sunday’s assistance. If Wilson, the gardener, needed help weeding his vegetable patch, all he had to do was yell “Sunday!” and Sunday would be there to help. What troubled me, a young impressionable boy, was Sunday’s inability or unwillingness to smile. Sullen and taciturn, Sunday went about his chores like the proverbial bear with a headache. I tried engaging him. I wanted him to smile at least a little. I even offered to play with my Action Man with him, but Sunday resolutely refused to smile.
When he got paid at the end of the first month, Sunday drew in his breath and ventured out into the big, scary city of Nairobi with unfamiliar bright lights and huge buildings. He had a mission. Once accomplished, he ran the five or six miles to my parents’ house without stopping for a breather. He asked at the door if he could see my father and was shown into the living room where my brother and sister and I were playing with my father. I had never seen anyone look so happy in my short life. Sunday was beaming with joyous contentment. He had a bundle under his arm which he insisted on showing to my father. Inside the bundle was a brand new suit, shirt, tie and a pair of black shoes. His hands were shaking as he carefully showed off each item, tears rolling down his face. He was so happy he could not help kissing my fathers feet repeatedly (much to my father’s embarrassment). Sunday then went off, had a shower and stepped into his new clothes. I remember watching him as he strutted his stuff towards the gate grinning more widely than the Cheshire Cat which so disturbed Alice. Sunday was delivered by the local constabulary to my parents’ house in the early hours of the next morning. The police had found him penniless, drunk and slumped in a ditch, but nevertheless, very happy.
I thought of Sunday yesterday as I observed Kimi Raikkonen ascend the top step on the Interlagos podium as the new Formula One World Champion. Raikkonen does not do emotion. At least on normal days he doesn’t. Whereas Lewis Hamilton’s gappy smile is now as familiar as daffodils in the spring, Raikkonen’s teeth are seldom seen. Not yesterday. Against all the odds, he, Kimi Raikkonen, not anyone else, was the world champion. THE WORLD CHAMPION! Even he, the ice man, had, like Sunday, to let the world know that nothing mattered, nothing at all, save that he was the world champion. Raikkonen got to the podium and stared at the sea of red flags saluting him – HIM! – the new world champion. Then he thought “fuck it, I am, the world champion!” cocked his right foot, leant forward and seized the magnum of champagne intended for the post anthem spraying session. Never mind that not even the first bar of the Finnish national anthem had been played, he raised the magnum to his smiling face and took a healthy swig. Attaboy, Raikkonen! Not since the days of real rakes like James Hunt - men who drank hard, shagged a lot and drove fast – have we seen a champion of this ilk. I can but imagine what the partying in Sao Paulo was like yesterday evening. The Brazilian girls are probably cowering in fear as I write this. Congratulations, Raikkonen the Rake, you are a worthy champion.
I can see the e-mail one or two of you will send me upon reading that last paragraph. “You bastard!” it will say, “what about our boy Hamilton?” I went to bed yesterday angrier than I have in a very long time. How could McLaren snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory like that? The title was Hamilton’s for the taking. How could he possibly fluff it? Well, Hamilton made an ill-judged, impetuous start to the race and allowed himself to be overtaken by both Kimi Raikkonen and Fernando Alonso . He then suffered the first mechanical trouble McLaren have had all season and lost bucket-loads of time. But McLaren could have sorted this out. With as many laps as they had before the end of the race, they could have been more efficient in their refuelling and tyre changing strategy. They were not and we are where we are. Still, I am happy.
First, I am happy that it is Raikkonen and not that vile snake Alonso who won it. He won six races while the other two won four each. Until 2002 the gap between winning and coming second was twice as large as it is now. Raikkonen has been a victim of the stop-Schumacher-getting–it–too-early points system. On this basis alone, Raikkonen should be world champion. It has taken him a while but victory tastes all the sweeter after frustration and disappointment.
Which neatly brings me to my second reason. As Bernie Ecclestone said before the start of yesterday’s race, Hamilton is easily the best driver out there but it was far too early for him. Achieving a world championship so easily and so quickly would in all probability have made him value it less than he ought and caused him to lose interest sooner than would be healthy for us, the fans. Never fear, Hamilton will be back next year, stronger and more mature.
I will write my thoughts about the season a little later but for today let us revel in The Rake’s Progress.
Gitau
22 October 2007
When he got paid at the end of the first month, Sunday drew in his breath and ventured out into the big, scary city of Nairobi with unfamiliar bright lights and huge buildings. He had a mission. Once accomplished, he ran the five or six miles to my parents’ house without stopping for a breather. He asked at the door if he could see my father and was shown into the living room where my brother and sister and I were playing with my father. I had never seen anyone look so happy in my short life. Sunday was beaming with joyous contentment. He had a bundle under his arm which he insisted on showing to my father. Inside the bundle was a brand new suit, shirt, tie and a pair of black shoes. His hands were shaking as he carefully showed off each item, tears rolling down his face. He was so happy he could not help kissing my fathers feet repeatedly (much to my father’s embarrassment). Sunday then went off, had a shower and stepped into his new clothes. I remember watching him as he strutted his stuff towards the gate grinning more widely than the Cheshire Cat which so disturbed Alice. Sunday was delivered by the local constabulary to my parents’ house in the early hours of the next morning. The police had found him penniless, drunk and slumped in a ditch, but nevertheless, very happy.
I thought of Sunday yesterday as I observed Kimi Raikkonen ascend the top step on the Interlagos podium as the new Formula One World Champion. Raikkonen does not do emotion. At least on normal days he doesn’t. Whereas Lewis Hamilton’s gappy smile is now as familiar as daffodils in the spring, Raikkonen’s teeth are seldom seen. Not yesterday. Against all the odds, he, Kimi Raikkonen, not anyone else, was the world champion. THE WORLD CHAMPION! Even he, the ice man, had, like Sunday, to let the world know that nothing mattered, nothing at all, save that he was the world champion. Raikkonen got to the podium and stared at the sea of red flags saluting him – HIM! – the new world champion. Then he thought “fuck it, I am, the world champion!” cocked his right foot, leant forward and seized the magnum of champagne intended for the post anthem spraying session. Never mind that not even the first bar of the Finnish national anthem had been played, he raised the magnum to his smiling face and took a healthy swig. Attaboy, Raikkonen! Not since the days of real rakes like James Hunt - men who drank hard, shagged a lot and drove fast – have we seen a champion of this ilk. I can but imagine what the partying in Sao Paulo was like yesterday evening. The Brazilian girls are probably cowering in fear as I write this. Congratulations, Raikkonen the Rake, you are a worthy champion.
I can see the e-mail one or two of you will send me upon reading that last paragraph. “You bastard!” it will say, “what about our boy Hamilton?” I went to bed yesterday angrier than I have in a very long time. How could McLaren snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory like that? The title was Hamilton’s for the taking. How could he possibly fluff it? Well, Hamilton made an ill-judged, impetuous start to the race and allowed himself to be overtaken by both Kimi Raikkonen and Fernando Alonso . He then suffered the first mechanical trouble McLaren have had all season and lost bucket-loads of time. But McLaren could have sorted this out. With as many laps as they had before the end of the race, they could have been more efficient in their refuelling and tyre changing strategy. They were not and we are where we are. Still, I am happy.
First, I am happy that it is Raikkonen and not that vile snake Alonso who won it. He won six races while the other two won four each. Until 2002 the gap between winning and coming second was twice as large as it is now. Raikkonen has been a victim of the stop-Schumacher-getting–it–too-early points system. On this basis alone, Raikkonen should be world champion. It has taken him a while but victory tastes all the sweeter after frustration and disappointment.
Which neatly brings me to my second reason. As Bernie Ecclestone said before the start of yesterday’s race, Hamilton is easily the best driver out there but it was far too early for him. Achieving a world championship so easily and so quickly would in all probability have made him value it less than he ought and caused him to lose interest sooner than would be healthy for us, the fans. Never fear, Hamilton will be back next year, stronger and more mature.
I will write my thoughts about the season a little later but for today let us revel in The Rake’s Progress.
Gitau
22 October 2007
posted by Gitau at 8:31 pm
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