The incorrigible Italians
The penny dropped when Stefano Domenicali, the Ferrari team boss, dragged his two drivers back to the podium to take a bow as boos and hisses rang out across Hockenheim yesterday after the German Grand Prix. Until then, I had thought that the essential quality required for a job in Ferrari team management was skin with the thickness of rhino hide. I now realise that I was wrong: it is masochism. What else could explain the actions of a team which had received death threats as recently as 2002?
In 2002, at the A-1 Ring in Austria, Brazilian driver Rubens Barrichello was comfortably going round the last corner of the last lap to take the chequered flag and win the Grand Prix when he was ordered by his Ferrari bosses to wait until Michael Schumacher – who was several seconds behind – had caught up with him and then let him through to take the chequered flag. It was such a flagrant example of race manipulation that the Formula One world was rocked by turmoil. Millions, including yours truly, threatened to cease watching races unless something was done. Something was indeed done. The FIA banned team orders that interfere with a race result. I heaved a sigh of relief for Formula One but nothing was ever going to make me support Ferrari again after the 2002 Austrian Grand Prix.
Eight years on and it is clear that Ferrari learned nothing at all from the experience. Starting from third place on the grid on the anniversary of his life-threatening accident in Hungary last year, Brazilian driver Felipe Massa took advantage of a clumsy attempt by Sebastian Vettel to defend himself from being overtaken on the right by Fernando Alonso. Seeing perfectly clear air ahead of him, Massa launched his Ferrari into the lead of the Grand Prix and never looked in danger of losing it until lap 48 when his racing engineer, Rob Smedley, came on the radio. The message Smedley had to deliver was clear and unmistakable: “Okay, so Fernando is faster than you. Can you confirm you understand that message?” We did not hear Massa’s reaction but as soon as the sister Ferrari of Fernando Alonso hove into the view of his wing mirror, he veered to the left and let it through. Smedley came back on the radio straight away to rub salt into the wound. “Good lad,” he said, “just stick with it now, sorry.”
“These deluded arseholes,” I thought, “now they are really going to get it with both barrels.” As the drivers mounted the podium for the prize-giving ceremony, you could see from the dejected expressions of both Ferrari drivers that they were not happy. Their team had landed them neck deep in the mulligatawny. Former team boss and BBC television pundit, Eddie Jordan, called it cheating and demanded that both cars were disqualified.
Journalists in the press conference afterwards abandoned any pretence of subtlety and laid the boot hard into the Ferrari drivers. “Fernando, you said after Valencia that the race had been manipulated in favour of Lewis,” said one British journalist. “Those words seem a bit hollow now. Where will this victory rank in your career, is it up there with Singapore 2008?” [Remember, in Singapore 2008, Nelson Piquet Jr was ordered to crash his Renault into a wall to help Alonso win.] “Fernando, I think we all know what happened on lap 48,” said a German hack, “and we don't need any fairy tales about tyres or anything to be clear of that. I just want to ask you, because in 2006 in Monza you said that Formula One is not a sport any more for you but was that which we saw today a sport?” On and on it went and there was nothing the hapless pair could do to calm the seething mob of furious reporters.
Team orders in F1, like corruption in the world, are a disease of the sport. Corruption is a global disease but in first world countries it is usually practiced with subtlety. Similarly, team orders are given in clever, difficult to detect circumstances by experienced operators like, say, McLaren. Unfortunately, Ferrari, like your average Kenyan politician, are none-too-subtle when engaging in dastardly acts. The Kenyan politician will ask you to turn up at his office with a Rolex watch and a briefcase stuffed with money regardless of who else might know this or that you may have a camera hidden in your clothing. Equally oblivious to the reaction of the watching world, Ferrari will audibly tell a driver to move over by a radio transmission in plain English.
The problem at Ferrari is that the masochistic Italians in charge – Luca de Montezemolo as overall boss and Domenicali as team principal – are head-over-heels in love with Fernando Alonso. An Italian in love is a dangerous thing. I once advised a friend contemplating suicide by swallowing a handful of paracetamol tablets with a bottle of vodka to do something more exciting. “Go out with a bang,” I said, “go to Italy and try and chat up a bride on her wedding day.”
The sentiment that runs through Alonso’s brain at every waking moment is this: I did the impossible. Twice. I dethroned the invincible Michael Schumacher and then came back and did it again in the following year. I am like God. This worthy feeling does not sit comfortably with the English stiff upper lip – generally speaking, prima donnas are an unloved species in England – and Alonso found it hard going at McLaren; a team he had joined as a double world champion. He stormed out of Mclaren back into the arms of the Italian boss of the Renault team, Flavio Briatore. Old Flav – serial shagger of super models – knew exactly how to soothe bruised egos. Accordingly, he did everything in his power to keep Alonso happy. It cost him his right to run a Formula One team after the Singaporean fiasco, but at least Alonso was happy.
Next came the men from Maranello. In full knowledge of the risks they ran, the Italians thought with their hearts and not their heads. At one point during yesterday’s race, Alonso was trying hard to overtake Massa but couldn’t get past. “This is ridiculous” he cried. The team complied. Domenicali got Massa’s race engineer to do the dirty job – perhaps to give the impression that he was not involved in the decision - but everybody knew the truth. The truth is that de Montezemolo got on the phone to Domenicali and gave clear instructions. An imperious man, de Montezemolo would have been unimpressed by Domenicali reminding him of the risks they ran in assisting Alonso. He probably said something like “Non mi importa niente, sei un rompi balle!” [I don’t care at all, arsehole!]
Ferrari’s punishment will be known when the FIA meets to decide it in a few weeks time. I hope they do the right thing.
The irony of all of this is nobody is paying any attention to how far Ferrari have come in terms of car development. They are now up at the top with Red Bull and McLaren are a long way down – at least half a second. Wouldn’t it be better to have been discussing this staggering achievement than yet another tawdry episode of Ferrari dishonesty?
Gitau
26 July 2010
In 2002, at the A-1 Ring in Austria, Brazilian driver Rubens Barrichello was comfortably going round the last corner of the last lap to take the chequered flag and win the Grand Prix when he was ordered by his Ferrari bosses to wait until Michael Schumacher – who was several seconds behind – had caught up with him and then let him through to take the chequered flag. It was such a flagrant example of race manipulation that the Formula One world was rocked by turmoil. Millions, including yours truly, threatened to cease watching races unless something was done. Something was indeed done. The FIA banned team orders that interfere with a race result. I heaved a sigh of relief for Formula One but nothing was ever going to make me support Ferrari again after the 2002 Austrian Grand Prix.
Eight years on and it is clear that Ferrari learned nothing at all from the experience. Starting from third place on the grid on the anniversary of his life-threatening accident in Hungary last year, Brazilian driver Felipe Massa took advantage of a clumsy attempt by Sebastian Vettel to defend himself from being overtaken on the right by Fernando Alonso. Seeing perfectly clear air ahead of him, Massa launched his Ferrari into the lead of the Grand Prix and never looked in danger of losing it until lap 48 when his racing engineer, Rob Smedley, came on the radio. The message Smedley had to deliver was clear and unmistakable: “Okay, so Fernando is faster than you. Can you confirm you understand that message?” We did not hear Massa’s reaction but as soon as the sister Ferrari of Fernando Alonso hove into the view of his wing mirror, he veered to the left and let it through. Smedley came back on the radio straight away to rub salt into the wound. “Good lad,” he said, “just stick with it now, sorry.”
“These deluded arseholes,” I thought, “now they are really going to get it with both barrels.” As the drivers mounted the podium for the prize-giving ceremony, you could see from the dejected expressions of both Ferrari drivers that they were not happy. Their team had landed them neck deep in the mulligatawny. Former team boss and BBC television pundit, Eddie Jordan, called it cheating and demanded that both cars were disqualified.
Journalists in the press conference afterwards abandoned any pretence of subtlety and laid the boot hard into the Ferrari drivers. “Fernando, you said after Valencia that the race had been manipulated in favour of Lewis,” said one British journalist. “Those words seem a bit hollow now. Where will this victory rank in your career, is it up there with Singapore 2008?” [Remember, in Singapore 2008, Nelson Piquet Jr was ordered to crash his Renault into a wall to help Alonso win.] “Fernando, I think we all know what happened on lap 48,” said a German hack, “and we don't need any fairy tales about tyres or anything to be clear of that. I just want to ask you, because in 2006 in Monza you said that Formula One is not a sport any more for you but was that which we saw today a sport?” On and on it went and there was nothing the hapless pair could do to calm the seething mob of furious reporters.
Team orders in F1, like corruption in the world, are a disease of the sport. Corruption is a global disease but in first world countries it is usually practiced with subtlety. Similarly, team orders are given in clever, difficult to detect circumstances by experienced operators like, say, McLaren. Unfortunately, Ferrari, like your average Kenyan politician, are none-too-subtle when engaging in dastardly acts. The Kenyan politician will ask you to turn up at his office with a Rolex watch and a briefcase stuffed with money regardless of who else might know this or that you may have a camera hidden in your clothing. Equally oblivious to the reaction of the watching world, Ferrari will audibly tell a driver to move over by a radio transmission in plain English.
The problem at Ferrari is that the masochistic Italians in charge – Luca de Montezemolo as overall boss and Domenicali as team principal – are head-over-heels in love with Fernando Alonso. An Italian in love is a dangerous thing. I once advised a friend contemplating suicide by swallowing a handful of paracetamol tablets with a bottle of vodka to do something more exciting. “Go out with a bang,” I said, “go to Italy and try and chat up a bride on her wedding day.”
The sentiment that runs through Alonso’s brain at every waking moment is this: I did the impossible. Twice. I dethroned the invincible Michael Schumacher and then came back and did it again in the following year. I am like God. This worthy feeling does not sit comfortably with the English stiff upper lip – generally speaking, prima donnas are an unloved species in England – and Alonso found it hard going at McLaren; a team he had joined as a double world champion. He stormed out of Mclaren back into the arms of the Italian boss of the Renault team, Flavio Briatore. Old Flav – serial shagger of super models – knew exactly how to soothe bruised egos. Accordingly, he did everything in his power to keep Alonso happy. It cost him his right to run a Formula One team after the Singaporean fiasco, but at least Alonso was happy.
Next came the men from Maranello. In full knowledge of the risks they ran, the Italians thought with their hearts and not their heads. At one point during yesterday’s race, Alonso was trying hard to overtake Massa but couldn’t get past. “This is ridiculous” he cried. The team complied. Domenicali got Massa’s race engineer to do the dirty job – perhaps to give the impression that he was not involved in the decision - but everybody knew the truth. The truth is that de Montezemolo got on the phone to Domenicali and gave clear instructions. An imperious man, de Montezemolo would have been unimpressed by Domenicali reminding him of the risks they ran in assisting Alonso. He probably said something like “Non mi importa niente, sei un rompi balle!” [I don’t care at all, arsehole!]
Ferrari’s punishment will be known when the FIA meets to decide it in a few weeks time. I hope they do the right thing.
The irony of all of this is nobody is paying any attention to how far Ferrari have come in terms of car development. They are now up at the top with Red Bull and McLaren are a long way down – at least half a second. Wouldn’t it be better to have been discussing this staggering achievement than yet another tawdry episode of Ferrari dishonesty?
Gitau
26 July 2010
posted by Gitau at 3:10 pm
1 Comments:
wewe wapi blog ala!?
Adnan
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