Force India - who's laughing now?

If you chose to absent yourself from all things related to Formula One this past weekend, the remainder of this paragraph will cause you to question my sanity. Force India came to Spa fully intending to wow the watching world this weekend and achieved their goal in no small measure. Pole position on Saturday was executed by Giancarlo Fisichella in a superlative demonstration of how to maximise speed through the corners of Spa-Francorchamps. The Italian then went on to underline this with such an almost effortlessly brilliant drive that a win at Spa was denied him only by bad luck.

No, I have not gone mad. You know the times when a cartoon character sees something he can’t quite believe, shakes his head hard enough for you to hear his brains rattle and then repeatedly slaps his forehead? Well, you would be justified in behaving like that this morning. Force India – a team that caused people to snigger behind their hands before now – had everybody staring in disbelief yesterday afternoon. A team which, until now, was viewed in snobbish F1 circles as nothing more than the vanity of an arriviste Indian who, despite his “new money” was never going to be worthy of a seat at the top table. “Yes, Mr Mallya,” they would say, “we are perfectly happy to wash down our chicken vindaloo with a drop of your Kingfisher lager when the pubs shut of a Friday evening but let’s be realistic here. You don’t really understand the sophisticated world of top end motor racing now, do you?”

Vijay Mallya, owner of Force India kept his cool, said very little and carried on brewing Kingfisher lager while pumping in the odd million or two into his F1 racing team. The scoffs had conveniently overlooked a very significant aspect of Mallya’s F1 team. It might have had the almost ridiculous moniker, Force India, but was in reality a card-carrying member of the F1 pantheon. Force India was the successor title given to Eddie Jordan’s brilliant Jordan racing team. Eddie Jordan, a hard-nosed, straight-talking Irish businessman, has long been one of the most colourful characters in motor racing. Despite his limited budget and unconventional approach, he has always had a knack for spotting drivers and reading their potential. It was Jordan who discovered Michael Schumacher and gave him his first drive at Spa back in 1991. It was Jordan who provided a home to an eventual British World Champion, Damon Hill, and it was Jordan who nurtured the talent of the younger Schumacher, Ralf. Fittingly, it was while at Jordan that yesterday’s sensation at Spa, Giancarlo Fisichella, earned his first Grand Prix success.

You may recall Mark Webber’s debut Formula One race at the Australian Grand Prix in 2002. At the time, Webber drove for another minor team called Minardi. By coming fifth in that race Webber assured Minardi’s then owner, a maverick Australian businessman called Paul Stoddart, survival for at least another season. So ecstatic were the two Australians that they had their own podium ceremony after the top chaps had left and sprayed one another with enough champagne to bathe each one three times over. The eight points earned by Fisichella from his second place yesterday meant much than that. One point for an F1 minnow is of huge financial significance. Eight points and you are now talking real money.

In another of its peculiarities, Formula One’s unfairness extends beyond the kudos attached to a big name like Ferrari. At the end of each season, the television revenues are divided amongst the participating teams in accordance with the number of constructors’ championship points each team has scored. Simply put, the team with the most points gets the most money. If, like Force India, you participate more as a hobby for a team owner than anything else, a single point catapults you into the world in which drivers, engine manufacturers and sponsors take you seriously. Force india was previously destined to last for only as long as Vijay Mallya stayed interested – and who knows how long that was going to be in a world where there are hundreds of ways of amusing oneself with money? – and no more. Now, I would like to meet the man who argues that Force India are not here to stay.

The celebrations were less muted in the Force India garage than the Minardi one at Australia in 2002. The reason is that everybody – including yesterday’s Belgian Grand Prix winner, Kimi Raikkonen – knows that they were robbed of a certain victory by a first corner accident and KERS. The first corner accident was caused by inexperienced drivers running into the back of Jenson Button and Lewis Hamilton and precipitating a massive pile-up which necessitated deployment of the safety car. Kimi Raikkonen, who had used KERS to catapult himself from sixth to second at the start, waited until the end of the safety car episode to press the KERS button again and fly past Fisichella.

I am no expert in these things, but I understand KERS to be a system that is designed to recover kinetic energy from an F1 car during braking, store that energy and make it available to propel the car later. Given that only Ferrari and McLaren had the wherewithal to invest in this expensive system this year, one begins to see that there is method in the madness of the FIA when they demand cost savings from all the teams. Nevertheless, without the safety car, KERS alone would not have been sufficient to deliver a Ferrari win yesterday.

Although, they have chosen to hold off further development of their 2009 car and concentrate instead on next year's, Ferrari must be delighted with achieving their first victory of this - for them, ghastly - year. To have identical cars at both ends of a Grand Prix finishing line must surely be enough to convince even the floor cleaner in Maranello that Felipe Massa’s Ferrari can no longer be entrusted to Luca Badoer in 2009. Despite the denials, I find it impossible to believe that a telephone call in rapid Italian was not made to Fisichella’s management on Saturday afternoon. Two things are now certain. First, a man is on his way from Maranello to Silverstone to deliver a healthy cheque to Vijay Mallya’s Force India office as I write this. Secondly, Giancarlo Fisichella will be in Ferrari overalls when the F1 circus reconvenes at Monza a fortnight hence.

Gitau
31 August 2009

Spa, the jewel in Formula One's crown

Yoweri Kaguta Museveni, president of Uganda, revolutionary leader and visionary has often expressed frustration about Belgium. He is at pains to understand what about the tiny western European country qualifies its denizens to lead as charmed a life as other western Europeans. The sum total of Museveni’s argument is that the Belgians do not “deserve” to be so well to do. “The Belgians have nothing,” he says, “but they are very rich.” This is obviously something which greatly annoys the president. “You Africans have everything,” he says with a curled lip, “and yet you still have jiggers!”

I was minded to point this out to an annoying Belgian a few years ago but decided instead that discretion was the better part of valour. I had arrived at Brussels Airport and found myself confronted by a large immigration fellow with facial furniture of which even King Leopold would have been proud.

“Where have you arrived from today?” asked the bewhiskered Belgian.
“London, England,” I said, “home of the Wilkinson Sword razor company. I happen to have a fine example of their excellent products in my bag and would be only too happy to donate it to you because I see that your need is far greater than mine.”
He harrumphed irritably. “What is the purpose of your visit?” he said.
“Why, to see the Belgian Grand Prix, of course,” I said.
His eyes bulged and his whiskers rose about an inch. “You are going to Spa-Francorchamps? A likely story. Let me see your ticket,” he demanded.
I reached into my breast pocket, extracted the required item and handed it to beardy. When he inspected it, he was visibly impressed, for not only was it the genuine article, it had my name indelibly printed on it. He handed it back to me begrudgingly.
“The race should be over by 5:00 pm at the latest,” he said. “I want you out of Belgium by no more than 24 hours later.”
“Be reasonable,” I said, “I have arranged to see a chap about some Magritte paintings on Tuesday morning and…”
“Next!” the man roared.

I took exception to this treatment and haven’t been back to Belgium since then but, taking everything into consideration and totting up the pluses and minuses, I am forced to the conclusion that Belgium narrowly wins on this one: Gitau’s losses are greater than Belgium’s. Most significant of these is denial to myself of the pleasure invariably provided by the Belgian Grand Prix. Spa is without a doubt the greatest race track on the calendar (perhaps I ought to point this out to Mr Museveni).

Apart from the demanding nature of the circuit design, Spa presents unique challenges because of its unpredictability. Set high up in the Ardennes mountains, the area has its own micro-climate. Rain is almost a certainty at Spa but rather than rain uniformly across the circuit, it can be raining at one end and sunny and dry at another. Car set-up and tyre choices are, therefore, notoriously difficult to get right. This is a circuit where raw driving skill pays huge dividends. Drivers who have an instinctive feel for the circuit and possess no fear love Spa. It is no surprise that the list of Spa experts reads like a who’s-who of Formula One greatness: Jim Clark, Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher et al. More recently Kimi Raikkonen has come to “own” Spa by winning three of the last four races there. Lewis Hamilton showed he had class at the old circuit last year but came against some crass stupidity from blinkered stewards and was denied a well earned victory.

It is difficult to predict how things will pan out this weekend. A lot is riding on this Grand Prix. Jenson Button’s championship could do with the boost a win would give him but the Brawn cars seem to struggle with tyre temperatures when driving at circuits which aren’t bakingly hot. We saw this at Silverstone this year when Red Bull easily coasted to the chequered flag well ahead of everybody else. Still, the word on the street is that Brawn have worked out what the problem is and should be competitive. It remains to be seen whether Button has been spooked by his team-mate Barrichello after the latter’s strategically clever win in Spain last week. Nothing would give the Brazilian greater joy than winning the world championship, so he must be looked at as Button’s most credible threat.

If I was considering a wager on this race I would put my money on either Kimi Raikkonen or Lewis Hamilton. Raikkonen needs to show that rumours about him having lost interest in Formula One are unfounded. Spa probably offers the best opportunity for this in 2009. Hamilton must be smarting from last year’s disaster and needs to add his name to the winners list if he is properly to be considered the rain master. Going by both drivers’ performances last weekend, victory on Sunday should be well within each of their capabilities.

The other thing to point out to Mr Museveni is that no country on the planet produces a greater variety of beers than Belgium. There are far too many to choose from for me to make any recommendation but I would advise getting your hands on a few before sitting back on Sunday to,

Enjoy Spa!

Gitau
28 August 2009

A win for Barrichello in Valencia

I had lunch with my old friend Jolyon Simpkins the other day and, as ever, it was a memorable occasion. Simpkins is about 85 now and becoming increasingly curmudgeonly with age. I find him fascinating, though, and am always thrilled to receive a luncheon invitation from him.

Simpkins has always been dismissive of my fondness for continental Europe and its culinary joys. For him, the continental Europeans are effete and pretentious and they cannot cook proper food. He harrumphs disgustedly when I mention catching the Eurostar train to meet friends for dinner at La Coupole in Saint Germain des Pres, Paris. To this day he hasn’t quite worked out that often this is simply clever artifice; a means by which I can earn myself a good lunch without damaging my wallet too much. When I told Simpkins I was looking for last minute tickets for the European Grand Prix in Valencia, he demanded that I met him and discussed this over luncheon at that most unashamedly English of London restaurants, Simpson’s-in-the-Strand.

Waving away the leather-bound menu proffered by a nervous waiter, Simpkins demonstrated that his mind was made up. “I will have lobster soup to begin, followed by the roast beef and horseradish with steamed cabbage, roast potatoes and yorkshire pudding for my main course and then rhubarb crumble with custard for pudding. “He,” said Simpkins, indicating me with a fat finger, “will have the same. And while you’re at it would you mind pouring us a decent drop of claret, there’s a good chap.”

“Now,” said Simpkins while fixing me with a fierce look, ”what is this rot about you taking your hard earned pounds and wasting them on orujo-swilling Spaniards? I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. Are you not aware that there is a recession on?”
“But Simpkins,” I attempted to say but had to stop as he raised his podgy hand up to silence me. As he did so tears filled his eyes.
“They have no shame these European bastards,” he said, “none whatever. They will take food out of your baby’s mouth, the swine. They will rob you of your trousers before you know where you are with them. But we’re not going to let them do that, are we?”
“Simpkins, I…”
“There’s a good fellow. Now eat your lobster soup before it gets cold!” By this time a steaming bowl of soup sat before me and it seemed unreasonable to do anything but pick my spoon up and get slurping.

So, out of sympathy for my friend’s feelings for Arabella’s welfare, I cancelled my plans to attend this year’s European Grand Prix before I had so much as investigated the cost of tickets. But I was also motivated by baser, more selfish, motives. Last year’s race in Valencia was as boring and processional as any we have seen in less interesting Formula One locations and I was unconvinced that this year’s race would be any better.

Notwithstanding having watched the race from the comfort of my living room with Arabella switching my television sound on and off whenever it took her fancy, I am pleased to say that I was wrong. The 2009 European Grand Prix was not jaw-droppingly fascinating (and neither, in all honesty, is the refurbished old dock in Valencia that now serves as a racing circuit) but it had its interesting moments.

It was good to see a Brawn driver on the top step of the podium for a change. The fact that it was Rubens Barrichello and not Jenson Button is testament to how much better a job of Valencia the former made this weekend. Applying useful lessons learned from Ross Brawn from the years at Ferrari when Barrichello had the good (or miserable – depending on your point of view) fortune to ride shotgun for Michael Schumacher, the Brazilian had the good sense to capitalise on cleverly timed pit-stops and breathtakingly quick laps in the dying phases of each pre-pit-stop stint. Barrichello was also assisted by the lack of preparedness of the McLaren team.

Having dominated qualifying on Saturday and locked up the front row of the grid, McLaren contrived to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Slightly panicked when faced by the efficiency of Barrichello’s use of tyres and the Brawn team’s seamless ability to get their driver out at exactly the right point on the circuit, McLaren bungled the call to Lewis Hamilton for his final tyre change. When he came in, the team were not ready for him and he was forced to sit there and fume while his team threw away six seconds and a Grand Prix victory. It would have been close between him and the eventual winner in the end, no doubt, but taking everything into consideration, I believe Hamilton would have won the race.

Nevertheless, Barrichello’s win was universally popular. He is clearly a very well liked driver. I cannot claim to have ever before seen all the mechanics coming out of every single garage on the pit lane to salute the winner of a race. Acknowledging their adulation, Barrichello was emotional and self-effacing. I think it was good for the man in various ways, not least because he could dedicate the race win to his fellow Brazilian, injured Ferrari driver Felipe Massa, whose injuries were caused by a loose spring dislodging itself from Barrichello’s car.

Hamilton stretched every sinew in his face not to relay the frustration he must have felt to the wider world when seated in the post-race press conference, but I am sure he was seething inside. When we saw his ever present father and Pussycat Doll girlfriend scream out their frustration during that fateful pit-stop, we had a fairly clear indication of what would inevitably be going on in the McLaren garage long after the race was concluded and orujo-soaked bodies were propping-up various bar walls in the seedier parts of Valencia.

All this now leaves Barrichello 18 points adrift of world championship leader, Jenson Button. Luckily for Button neither of his next two opponents, Red Bull drivers Mark Webber and Sebastian Vettel were able to finish in the points; Vettel, ominously, because of the second engine blow-up in as many races. Button knows only too well that the time for leaning against a comfortable points cushion is now over. If a Brawn is to be the car that powers the next world champion to the chequered flag in October, it is by no means certain that its driver will be English.

Gitau
24 August 2009

The comeback that never was

The Russian composer, Modest Mussorgsky, wrote a classical piece of beautiful piano music called Pictures at an Exhibition in the late nineteenth century. The work is an attempt to describe the sensations experienced by a lover of paintings as he walks through an art gallery displaying an exhibition of his favourite works of art.

I was reminded of Mussorgsky’s famous composition at the end of the 2006 Formula One season when Michael Schumacher, 7 times world champion and winner of 91 Grands Prix announced his retirement. I had written a valedictory piece praising Schumacher’s extraordinary achievements in Formula One but declaring that the sport would be better off without him. Short of death treats, I received everything else: emotional emails calling me a turncoat; phone messages warning me to stay away from Italy; and even threats to have my blog deleted from the internet in its entirety. Best of these was an email from a member of the tifosi who said he felt like I had yanked at his testicles. He had, he explained, a room, nay, a shrine in his house in which there hung blown up photographs of Schumacher winning at every Grand Prix circuit. This same chap wrote to me a fortnight ago ecstatically explaining the joy he now felt every day as he walked through that shrine in anticipation of the master’s return at the new circuit in Valencia on the weekend of 23 August.

Sadly for chaps like this and millions of others of his ilk around the world, this is now not going to happen. Schumacher has been declared medically unfit because of lingering injuries to his neck which he sustained while racing a motorbike in February this year. He will not be taking part in the European Grand Prix and the tifosi are simply going to have put away their hooters and rattles.

I must admit to being more than a little perplexed by this news. What, I ask myself, is going on? A driver’s neck being the most important part of his anatomy when racing an open top car at great speed at the same time as cornering and attempting to resist tremendous g-forces, you would have thought the first thing Ferrari would have made sure of was the durability of the Schumacher neck before rushing out an announcement about him being Felipe Massa’s replacement for the remainder of 2009. That the injuries to his neck are the reason for Schumacher’s decision seems bizarre. Really? Ferrari – a team with tons of spare cash and access to as many doctors as necessary – was unable to give Schumi a thorough going over before telling the world he was ready for a comeback? Come on! Pull the other one.

I have two possible explanations. The first is one that every conspiracy theorist has probably been drawn towards. After spending half of 2009 looking pitiful, Ferrari couldn’t bear being so out of sorts for any longer. They had already accepted that this season was a wash-out when near disaster struck and their star driver was seriously injured in an accident. How better to make the most of the situation and keep Ferrari in the headlines than by announcing the return of the most successful driver in Formula One history? Schumacher retired at the top of his game. It is perfectly believable that given the right equipment he could conceivably win a fair few races and even a world championship.

Therein lies the rub: the right equipment. It is the reasoning behind my second possibility for today’s state of affairs. The 2009 Ferrari – the F60 - is a no-hoper. A driver as competitive as Schumacher, with as technically brilliant a mind as his, would have realised fairly quickly that he risked embarrassment in Massa’s Ferrari. The last thing a successful and competitive sportsman wants is embarrassment. He would much rather lose money than the respect of his fans; respect, mind you, earned through years of hard effort. After spending hours in the Ferrari factory on the F60 simulator and studying its data, Schumacher will have come to the growing realisation that he risked serious damage to his colossal reputation by racing the F60 competitively. He risked looking as pathetic as Muhammad Ali did when he attempted a disastrous comeback fight against Larry Holmes in 1980. Schumacher probably considered his options and decided that disappointing his fans – who had already bought tickets by the vanload for the race in Valencia – was the lesser of two evils.

There is a more prosaic version of this theory. It is that while sitting at dinner across the table from Corinna, his wife, in their splendidly appointed home in Gland, Switzerland, Schumacher casually mentioned that he was planning to return to Formula One. The conversation went something like this:

Michael: (clearing his throat) Corinna, darling, how do you fancy an extra €35,000,000?
Corinna: Michael, what for? Haven’t we got more than €1 billion stashed away or have you been gambling?
Michael: Ah, well, that’s all safe but you could always do with a little extra couldn’t you?
Corinna: Why don’t you just come out with it and tell me what you want to tell me? Why skirt round the subject in this silly manner?
Michael: (very quickly) I have agreed to be Felipe Massa’s replacement driver for the rest of this season for €5,000,000 per race. Isn’t it great?
Corinna: Felipe is in intensive care, Michael. He nearly died in Hungary. Have you lost your mind?
Michael: It’s only 7 races and I’m always careful, you know that don’t you?
Corinna: (very slowly) I am only going to say this once, Michael. No. You are not racing a Formula One car ever again. Do you understand?
Michael: (very contrite, now smiling) Heh heh. Only kidding, darling. There’s nothing worth watching on telly so I thought I’d give you a bit of a laugh.
Corinna: Very funny, Michael. Ha ha bloody ha.

Result: Luca Badoer, Ferrari’s test driver, will be standing in for Felipe Massa at the European Grand Prix in Valencia just under a fortnight hence.

Gitau
11 August 2009