The Sheikhs' Sandwich
It was pleasing to acknowledge the arrival of a new Formula One world champion on Sunday afternoon. One could safely end this piece with the words “Congratulations, Sebastian Vettel “and be done with writing about F1 for 2010.
It was also pleasing to observe news reports this week about the forthcoming nuptials of Prince William of Wales to his girlfriend, Catherine Middleton. I would suffer no thrown brickbats if I also said “Congratulations, Prince William and Kate” and wrote no more words about the news of a royal wedding in England in 2011.
If I left well alone now, I would be guilty of humbug, for I am neither writing this while taking furtive sips at a glass of vintage champagne, nor smiling broadly. I am seething; for in each of the preceding paragraphs is an unwritten story of profound ugliness which reflects an underlying trend in British society that makes me very uncomfortable.
Let us take the second of the paragraphs on this page first. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, David Cameron, spent much of his time in opposition criticising the Labour administration of Tony Blair - and in particular the obsession Blair and his coterie seemed to have with spin. Cameron campaigned on a platform of “substance”, not spin. Well, blow at a man of straw and he topples over: weeks since assuming office, Cameron has come perilously close to coming unstuck by his own particular obsession with image.
The story about Cameron that was not written is easy to write. It goes something like this. Cameron’s rosy-pink visage and fleshy cheeks are the face of the Conservative party and the coalition government. The message drummed into the heads of the British electorate since last May has been that we are in such a parlous financial state as a nation, because of the waste and profligacy of the Labour years, that only the most savage of cuts in public spending can spare us from certain doom. Thousands of civil servants are to be sacked. But before the ink was dry on the last press release about more civil service job cuts, Downing Street announced that two new civil service appointments were to be made for 10 Downing Street. One was a full-time photographer to take photographs of the Prime Minister and his family while the other was an image consultant for the Prime Minister. I do not need to tell you that the howls of protest in the corridors of government up and down the land were such that even the tin-eared Cameron had to pay attention. The situation was so explosive that a swift u-turn was imperative. But how was Cameron to execute one without looking a prize twit and suffering a haemorrhaging of authority? Enter William Wales.
Unwittingly, the Queen’s grandson handed his grandmother’s Prime Minister the best political present of his short premiership. While the world’s press were cooing over the comely Miss Middleton and helicopters were hovering aimlessly over Buckingham Palace, Cameron emerged from 10 Downing Street with his cheeks flushed with joy at the “great news” of a royal wedding. Meanwhile a messenger was exiting No. 10 via the back entrance with a swiftly typed press release spelling out that both the photographer and the image consultant had been taken off the civil service payroll and would now be based at the Conservative party headquarters and remunerated out of Tory party coffers. A perfect day for burying unpleasant news; or, if you like, an early Christmas for cynics like Cameron.
Let us now consider the first story. Sebastian Vettel’s victory on Sunday revealed to me more dramatically than ever the cynicism with which Bernie Ecclestone has finally succeeded in making Formula One a circus for shady people with money to burn. I have no beef with the young German and consider him to be an excellent driver and a worthy champion. My complaint is about the nature of his victory. For the first time ever we had a world championship which could have gone any one of four ways at the last race. But there is the rub. Did we get a “race” in Abu Dhabi? What we all wanted to see was the four contenders and a few glory runners dicing with each other and having a ding-dong, back-and-forth, wheel-banging battle to the finish line. Did we see that?
Hardly. Barring the odd safety car episode and some television engineered excitement over tyre change stops, we were treated to yet another procession at another ridiculous Hermann Tilke designed circuit in the desert. When so much was at stake for Alonso and Webber, they at least deserved a chance to prove their worth on the circuit. We would have been allowed at least this had the last Grand Prix been held in Brazil or Japan. Instead we had a double world champion unable to get past a rookie called Vitaly Petrov because the circuit is designed (the Devil knows why) to make overtaking impossible. The frustration on the Ferrari pit wall was the story of the day. “Fernando,” said a mournful Ferrari boss, Stefano Domenicali, as he watched the race and the season being murdered before his eyes, “use all your skills, all your talents, God help you.”
These sheikh-fests just depress me. Why oh why do we have them when there are so many decent circuits going begging? If this is the future of F1 why not simply cancel Sunday and make the bally thing exclusively a qualifying event? On Saturday, at fifth place on the grid, Mark Webber knew his championship challenge was over. How can that be reasonable when he only had four cars in front of him? Races have been won from much farther back than that at racing circuits like Monza, Spa, Silverstone, Suzuka and others.
A season with so much talent, so much potential and such youthful vim was reduced to a sheikh-fest sandwich. We started in blasted Bahrain and ended in awful Abu Dhabi. Shame on Ecclestone and his minions. Or, as William’s father tends to say a lot, it really is appalling.
I think you can now begin to see my point about the cynicism infecting important aspects of British life. Formula One, a British show - which has traditionally been a good window into the British attributes of fun and fair play - has been cynically manipulated to provide a circus for egomaniacal billionaires. It is cynicism too which allows a royal wedding announcement – a good reason to lift a surly British mood – to be used as a means by which a corrupt politician can evade public scrutiny.
Sometimes cynicism and hypocrisy are so plain one wants to laugh. The drivers on the podium in Abu Dhabi were emptying bottles of sparkling rose water onto the new world champion for the benefit of the watching sheikh who in all probability would be quaffing the real stuff moments later when safely away from the glare of the television cameras. Contrast that with the behaviour of William’s grandmother on Tuesday. When the royal engagement was announced, HM The Queen let it be known that she had ordered 300 bottles of vintage champagne to be consumed in the palace in a “small” celebration with her staff. She is loaded and knows that everyone knows that she is loaded, so she does not pretend that she isn’t. She is also partial to a drop of the good stuff but doesn’t tell her butler “Right, Smithers, pass round the rose water but make sure every drop in my glass is vintage Krug, there’s a good chap!”
It is not too late for Formula One to redeem itself – but we might have to wait a little while.
Gitau
18 November 2010
It was also pleasing to observe news reports this week about the forthcoming nuptials of Prince William of Wales to his girlfriend, Catherine Middleton. I would suffer no thrown brickbats if I also said “Congratulations, Prince William and Kate” and wrote no more words about the news of a royal wedding in England in 2011.
If I left well alone now, I would be guilty of humbug, for I am neither writing this while taking furtive sips at a glass of vintage champagne, nor smiling broadly. I am seething; for in each of the preceding paragraphs is an unwritten story of profound ugliness which reflects an underlying trend in British society that makes me very uncomfortable.
Let us take the second of the paragraphs on this page first. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, David Cameron, spent much of his time in opposition criticising the Labour administration of Tony Blair - and in particular the obsession Blair and his coterie seemed to have with spin. Cameron campaigned on a platform of “substance”, not spin. Well, blow at a man of straw and he topples over: weeks since assuming office, Cameron has come perilously close to coming unstuck by his own particular obsession with image.
The story about Cameron that was not written is easy to write. It goes something like this. Cameron’s rosy-pink visage and fleshy cheeks are the face of the Conservative party and the coalition government. The message drummed into the heads of the British electorate since last May has been that we are in such a parlous financial state as a nation, because of the waste and profligacy of the Labour years, that only the most savage of cuts in public spending can spare us from certain doom. Thousands of civil servants are to be sacked. But before the ink was dry on the last press release about more civil service job cuts, Downing Street announced that two new civil service appointments were to be made for 10 Downing Street. One was a full-time photographer to take photographs of the Prime Minister and his family while the other was an image consultant for the Prime Minister. I do not need to tell you that the howls of protest in the corridors of government up and down the land were such that even the tin-eared Cameron had to pay attention. The situation was so explosive that a swift u-turn was imperative. But how was Cameron to execute one without looking a prize twit and suffering a haemorrhaging of authority? Enter William Wales.
Unwittingly, the Queen’s grandson handed his grandmother’s Prime Minister the best political present of his short premiership. While the world’s press were cooing over the comely Miss Middleton and helicopters were hovering aimlessly over Buckingham Palace, Cameron emerged from 10 Downing Street with his cheeks flushed with joy at the “great news” of a royal wedding. Meanwhile a messenger was exiting No. 10 via the back entrance with a swiftly typed press release spelling out that both the photographer and the image consultant had been taken off the civil service payroll and would now be based at the Conservative party headquarters and remunerated out of Tory party coffers. A perfect day for burying unpleasant news; or, if you like, an early Christmas for cynics like Cameron.
Let us now consider the first story. Sebastian Vettel’s victory on Sunday revealed to me more dramatically than ever the cynicism with which Bernie Ecclestone has finally succeeded in making Formula One a circus for shady people with money to burn. I have no beef with the young German and consider him to be an excellent driver and a worthy champion. My complaint is about the nature of his victory. For the first time ever we had a world championship which could have gone any one of four ways at the last race. But there is the rub. Did we get a “race” in Abu Dhabi? What we all wanted to see was the four contenders and a few glory runners dicing with each other and having a ding-dong, back-and-forth, wheel-banging battle to the finish line. Did we see that?
Hardly. Barring the odd safety car episode and some television engineered excitement over tyre change stops, we were treated to yet another procession at another ridiculous Hermann Tilke designed circuit in the desert. When so much was at stake for Alonso and Webber, they at least deserved a chance to prove their worth on the circuit. We would have been allowed at least this had the last Grand Prix been held in Brazil or Japan. Instead we had a double world champion unable to get past a rookie called Vitaly Petrov because the circuit is designed (the Devil knows why) to make overtaking impossible. The frustration on the Ferrari pit wall was the story of the day. “Fernando,” said a mournful Ferrari boss, Stefano Domenicali, as he watched the race and the season being murdered before his eyes, “use all your skills, all your talents, God help you.”
These sheikh-fests just depress me. Why oh why do we have them when there are so many decent circuits going begging? If this is the future of F1 why not simply cancel Sunday and make the bally thing exclusively a qualifying event? On Saturday, at fifth place on the grid, Mark Webber knew his championship challenge was over. How can that be reasonable when he only had four cars in front of him? Races have been won from much farther back than that at racing circuits like Monza, Spa, Silverstone, Suzuka and others.
A season with so much talent, so much potential and such youthful vim was reduced to a sheikh-fest sandwich. We started in blasted Bahrain and ended in awful Abu Dhabi. Shame on Ecclestone and his minions. Or, as William’s father tends to say a lot, it really is appalling.
I think you can now begin to see my point about the cynicism infecting important aspects of British life. Formula One, a British show - which has traditionally been a good window into the British attributes of fun and fair play - has been cynically manipulated to provide a circus for egomaniacal billionaires. It is cynicism too which allows a royal wedding announcement – a good reason to lift a surly British mood – to be used as a means by which a corrupt politician can evade public scrutiny.
Sometimes cynicism and hypocrisy are so plain one wants to laugh. The drivers on the podium in Abu Dhabi were emptying bottles of sparkling rose water onto the new world champion for the benefit of the watching sheikh who in all probability would be quaffing the real stuff moments later when safely away from the glare of the television cameras. Contrast that with the behaviour of William’s grandmother on Tuesday. When the royal engagement was announced, HM The Queen let it be known that she had ordered 300 bottles of vintage champagne to be consumed in the palace in a “small” celebration with her staff. She is loaded and knows that everyone knows that she is loaded, so she does not pretend that she isn’t. She is also partial to a drop of the good stuff but doesn’t tell her butler “Right, Smithers, pass round the rose water but make sure every drop in my glass is vintage Krug, there’s a good chap!”
It is not too late for Formula One to redeem itself – but we might have to wait a little while.
Gitau
18 November 2010
posted by Gitau at 2:09 pm
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