Challenging Canada
While living the bohemian existence of a Parisian Left Bank intellectual, I was often drawn to a seedy old bistro called Mélac where one had to walk through kitchens with boiling vats of French onion soup before one got to one’s table. After a few visits, I struck up a friendship with one of the waiters there. His name was Silvestre and he looked bad. He was tall and skinny, had bulbous eyes, buck teeth and badly pock-marked skin. His French was not particularly good either but I later learned that this was because he was not French but Québécois.
On days when Mélac wasn’t particularly busy, I explored a range of subjects with Silvestre as I tucked into my grilled pigs feet with béarnaise sauce and sipped at my Pastis. He was extremely worldly-wise and had an engaging sensitivity to human feelings that was refreshing in a city renowned for rudeness to foreigners – especially among the community of persons who wear black waistcoats and aprons and irritably wait on tables.
It transpired that Silvestre and I shared an interest in Formula One racing. One day, he very kindly invited me to his flat a couple of blocks away from the bistro to watch the Canadian Grand Prix, where we could imagine we were not in Paris but on the Île Notre-Dame in his home city of Montreal, as we downed Quebec beer.
Arriving at and being welcomed into Silvestre’s flat gave me a never-to-be-forgotten understanding of the expression “never judge a book by its cover”. Silvestre’s domestic arrangements were totally incongruous with the character of a city in Western Europe in the 1990s. He lived in cosy cohabitation with three women; happily sharing his bed with all of them. You might be forgiven for assuming that an ugly waiter with three girlfriends probably did not have the pick of the bunch. You are perhaps thinking that the three women were ugly, desperate people with low self-esteem and an aching desire for a little tenderness, albeit not on an exclusive basis. If you are, you are mistaken. All three women were stunningly beautiful, confident and intelligent.
I am not usually one to be at a loss for words – especially while enjoying as thrilling a motor race as the Canadian Grand Prix – but I was so staggered to discover my friend enjoying a lifestyle worthy of King Mswati III or Jacob Zuma in Paris that I was rendered speechless for the remainder of my time on the rue Léon-Frot. I ached to know how Silvestre did it but since everyone behaved as though there was nothing at all unusual in their arrangements, I neither requested nor received any explanation. On speculative whims since, I have tested various scenarios in my head but they have never amounted to any more than just that, speculation.
Speculation is rife as to which country’s football team may eventually win the world cup final in South Africa in a month’s time but before then we have the pleasure of lots of football matches and two races at classic circuits; the first being this weekend at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve in Montreal - a welcome return to Canada after a year’s absence. I have never been physically in North America during this particular race, so one of its attractions for me has always been that it is always on television at the convenient hours of early evening – it is not always easy to block off two hours in the middle of a Sunday.
This may be evidence of a sadistic streak but I have always enjoyed a good F1 crash and Montreal is a place which almost guarantees you a corker. The circuit is tight with a particularly devilish final chicane which has a wall seemingly designed to cause accidents. Coming round the corner at speed with no run-off room usually means slamming your car into the wall if you are not careful. Even the most successful driver at this circuit, seven times winner Michael Schumacher, has smashed his car into that wall in a rare moment of lapsed concentration.
As the season revs up towards its halfway point the intrigues between teams and drivers is getting interesting. Any unbiased person watching the Turkish Grand Prix could see that the crash between the two Red Bull drivers, Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber, was entirely the result of young Vettel’s impetuousness. His bosses, however, seem to value him so highly that they worry that giving him a bollocking for a mistake, or even suggesting that one was indeed made, might upset him so much that he chooses to leave the team. Christian Horner (the Red Bull team boss) and his cohorts mollycoddle the young German and hug him like a little girl even when he has manifestly cocked up. This is pathetic. Red Bull ought to take a leaf from the Frank Williams book on F1 driver management. Williams has less than zero time for prima donnas. If you drive for him, you do as you are told, accept responsibility for your mistakes and hang your head in shame while being bollocked. Anything less is sufficient to ensure marching orders out of his team. The list of drivers who have “enjoyed” this treatment is long. It includes illustrious names like Damon Hill and Juan Pablo Montoya. Because its management is so lily-livered, Red Bull now has to deal with the twin problem of a puffed-up Vettel and a disgruntled Webber.
But Red Bull is by no means alone in its troubles. Things do not look all-together rosy at McLaren or Mercedes. The two McLaren drivers are uncertain as to what exactly constitutes team orders. Lewis Hamilton was comfortably cruising towards the chequered flag in Turkey and had switched to fuel-saving mode when he saw the unwelcome sight of his team-mate, Jenson Button, coming up to overtake him. As far as Button was concerned, the race was still on and there was no need to conserve fuel yet. Neither driver is pleased.
Meanwhile at Mercedes, Michael Schumacher, has managed to push through design changes on the Mercedes car which suit his driving style over that of his team-mate, Nico Rosberg. Given that Rosberg was consistently kicking Schumacher’s arse until the changes were forced through, Rosberg is, understandably, furious!
Gentlemen, gentlemen, please do not lose sight of the fact that despite all appearances to the contrary, Formula One is and always has been a team sport.
While you enjoy the other team sporting event in South Africa, do allow yourself a little time to,
Enjoy Montreal!
Gitau
10 June 2010
On days when Mélac wasn’t particularly busy, I explored a range of subjects with Silvestre as I tucked into my grilled pigs feet with béarnaise sauce and sipped at my Pastis. He was extremely worldly-wise and had an engaging sensitivity to human feelings that was refreshing in a city renowned for rudeness to foreigners – especially among the community of persons who wear black waistcoats and aprons and irritably wait on tables.
It transpired that Silvestre and I shared an interest in Formula One racing. One day, he very kindly invited me to his flat a couple of blocks away from the bistro to watch the Canadian Grand Prix, where we could imagine we were not in Paris but on the Île Notre-Dame in his home city of Montreal, as we downed Quebec beer.
Arriving at and being welcomed into Silvestre’s flat gave me a never-to-be-forgotten understanding of the expression “never judge a book by its cover”. Silvestre’s domestic arrangements were totally incongruous with the character of a city in Western Europe in the 1990s. He lived in cosy cohabitation with three women; happily sharing his bed with all of them. You might be forgiven for assuming that an ugly waiter with three girlfriends probably did not have the pick of the bunch. You are perhaps thinking that the three women were ugly, desperate people with low self-esteem and an aching desire for a little tenderness, albeit not on an exclusive basis. If you are, you are mistaken. All three women were stunningly beautiful, confident and intelligent.
I am not usually one to be at a loss for words – especially while enjoying as thrilling a motor race as the Canadian Grand Prix – but I was so staggered to discover my friend enjoying a lifestyle worthy of King Mswati III or Jacob Zuma in Paris that I was rendered speechless for the remainder of my time on the rue Léon-Frot. I ached to know how Silvestre did it but since everyone behaved as though there was nothing at all unusual in their arrangements, I neither requested nor received any explanation. On speculative whims since, I have tested various scenarios in my head but they have never amounted to any more than just that, speculation.
Speculation is rife as to which country’s football team may eventually win the world cup final in South Africa in a month’s time but before then we have the pleasure of lots of football matches and two races at classic circuits; the first being this weekend at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve in Montreal - a welcome return to Canada after a year’s absence. I have never been physically in North America during this particular race, so one of its attractions for me has always been that it is always on television at the convenient hours of early evening – it is not always easy to block off two hours in the middle of a Sunday.
This may be evidence of a sadistic streak but I have always enjoyed a good F1 crash and Montreal is a place which almost guarantees you a corker. The circuit is tight with a particularly devilish final chicane which has a wall seemingly designed to cause accidents. Coming round the corner at speed with no run-off room usually means slamming your car into the wall if you are not careful. Even the most successful driver at this circuit, seven times winner Michael Schumacher, has smashed his car into that wall in a rare moment of lapsed concentration.
As the season revs up towards its halfway point the intrigues between teams and drivers is getting interesting. Any unbiased person watching the Turkish Grand Prix could see that the crash between the two Red Bull drivers, Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber, was entirely the result of young Vettel’s impetuousness. His bosses, however, seem to value him so highly that they worry that giving him a bollocking for a mistake, or even suggesting that one was indeed made, might upset him so much that he chooses to leave the team. Christian Horner (the Red Bull team boss) and his cohorts mollycoddle the young German and hug him like a little girl even when he has manifestly cocked up. This is pathetic. Red Bull ought to take a leaf from the Frank Williams book on F1 driver management. Williams has less than zero time for prima donnas. If you drive for him, you do as you are told, accept responsibility for your mistakes and hang your head in shame while being bollocked. Anything less is sufficient to ensure marching orders out of his team. The list of drivers who have “enjoyed” this treatment is long. It includes illustrious names like Damon Hill and Juan Pablo Montoya. Because its management is so lily-livered, Red Bull now has to deal with the twin problem of a puffed-up Vettel and a disgruntled Webber.
But Red Bull is by no means alone in its troubles. Things do not look all-together rosy at McLaren or Mercedes. The two McLaren drivers are uncertain as to what exactly constitutes team orders. Lewis Hamilton was comfortably cruising towards the chequered flag in Turkey and had switched to fuel-saving mode when he saw the unwelcome sight of his team-mate, Jenson Button, coming up to overtake him. As far as Button was concerned, the race was still on and there was no need to conserve fuel yet. Neither driver is pleased.
Meanwhile at Mercedes, Michael Schumacher, has managed to push through design changes on the Mercedes car which suit his driving style over that of his team-mate, Nico Rosberg. Given that Rosberg was consistently kicking Schumacher’s arse until the changes were forced through, Rosberg is, understandably, furious!
Gentlemen, gentlemen, please do not lose sight of the fact that despite all appearances to the contrary, Formula One is and always has been a team sport.
While you enjoy the other team sporting event in South Africa, do allow yourself a little time to,
Enjoy Montreal!
Gitau
10 June 2010
posted by Gitau at 10:30 am
2 Comments:
Good one, Chief. I just don't understand how people who have the benefit of instant replay(including our local SuperSport F1 anchor) can say that blame should be shared "50-50". I have rewound that clip at least 20 times and I cannot see how Webber could have done anything to avoid the crash. Vettel was, however, the biggest victim of the crash so maybe life is fair.
I sometimes get the feeling that the TV pundits themselves have been nobbled by the richer teams. That or they fear a news blackout imposed by teams they need to cover to appear credible. Nothing else can explain how someone could suggest that Webber was even remotely responsible for the accident caused by Vettel.
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