The young Brazilian is a capable driver but he is yet to show the genius of his uncle Ayrton Senna, who died driving a Williams

Given that his uncle Ayrton died in a Williams-Renault car, the announcement that Bruno Senna will drive for the Oxfordshire team in 2012 might have seemed an odd choice on both sides of the deal. The historical and emotional resonances, however, will take a distant second place to performance on the track as both the driver and his new employers battle to assert their Formula One credibility.

At 28, and about to embark on his third year in the sport’s top tier, the amiable Brazilian with the familiar features and the famous name remains something of an unknown quantity. A season with the hopeless rookie HRT team in 2010 proved nothing. Last year he was put into the cockpit of a much more competitive Lotus-Renault halfway through the year, replacing the sacked Nick Heidfeld, and conducted himself well. While not definitively eclipsing his team mate, Vitaly Petrov, he convinced most observers that he can be a useful grand prix driver.

The genius that distinguished his uncle has not made itself apparent, which is no surprise since most authorities would place Ayrton Senna among the half-dozen greatest drivers in the sport’s history. His much repeated remark – “If you think I’m good, you should see my nephew” – has yet to be substantiated but, of course, it was made when Bruno was a small boy, before the tragedy at Imola in 1994 led him to put his racing career on hold for 10 years.

That self-imposed exile from the sport meant that, after a promising start in kart racing, the younger Senna missed out on the apprenticeship served by all recent champions, including Michael Schumacher, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton, Jenson Button and Sebastian Vettel. Their teenage years were filled with constant competition in national and international series, building up a store of priceless experience of how to work with engineers and how to race against each other.

Nowadays it is unthinkable for a driver to come straight into the sport as an adult, as Graham Hill did in the 1950s, and turn himself into a champion. In that sense Bruno Senna’s achievement is even more remarkable, and it also suggests that there may be more scope for him to develop than would normally be expected from a driver in his late 20s.

“Until you understand how things work, you’re going to be struggling a little bit and you’re going to be beaten,” he told me. “You need a strong head to accept that. But I had a different life from other drivers. I had an almost complete education, and that makes a difference in how I look at things and how I deal with my career.”

To date, his most significant achievement was a victory in the GP2 race at the Monaco Grand Prix meeting in 2008. This is a showpiece event closely observed by all the F1 team managers and talent scouts, and Bruno’s win was the high point of a successful season that led to him finishing runner-up in the championship to the vastly more experienced Giorgio Pantano.

That should have been the cue for an entry into the top tier and he was promised a seat alongside Button in the Honda team for 2009 – only to learn, a few months before the start of the season, of the Japanese company’s sudden decision to withdraw from the sport. When the team’s British management pulled off a rescue act, led by Ross Brawn, it was decided that the slimmed‑down operation, now functioning under Brawn’s name, would derive more benefit from the experience of Rubens Barrichello, an older Brazilian, alongside Button. That piece of bad fortune cost Senna a seat in a team that went on to capture the championship, while he, rather than mope around the fringes of Formula One, occupied himself with a season in sports cars.

Now, after two seasons of intermittent promise, he is back. The 2012 Williams team is different to the one his uncle joined 18 years ago, with a diminished reputation. Sir Frank Williams is still the figurehead, but the team is now run by his protege Adam Parr and a revamped technical team following the retirement of Patrick Head. Eyebrows were raised when it was announced that the team’s new technical director would be Mike Coughlan, who was at the centre of the scandal in 2007 when, while working for McLaren, he accepted confidential documents from the Ferrari employee Nigel Stepney, leading to a 0m fine for his employers.

Last season Williams posted their worst overall performance in three and a half decades, their drivers, Barrichello and Pastor Maldonado, collecting a mere five points between them. Those 113 grand prix wins – the last of them in 2004 – and nine constructors’ championships seemed to belong to history rather than a vibrant present. A switch from Cosworth engines back to Renault, who powered the Williams cars of Nigel Mansell, Alain Prost, Damon Hill and Jacques Villeneuve during the glory years, ought to help bring the new pairing of Senna and Maldonado closer to the frontrunners.

But F1 is an unforgiving world. A glittering history is simply the yardstick against which a team’s present performance is judged, and the advantage of a famous name ends the moment the engines start up.


guardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

Peugeot’s new hybrid 908 is destined to make its only journey straight to the company’s museum, a casualty of the recession

A group of Peugeot Sport engineers and mechanics had barely touched down in the United States on Wednesday, on their way to a test session at the Sebring circuit, when they were given the news that the company was pulling out of this year’s Le Mans 24-hour race and of the inaugural FIA World Endurance Championship as a whole, with immediate effect. So their new car, a hybrid 908 intended to challenge similar vehicles from Audi and Toyota, is destined to make its only journey straight to the company’s museum.

This is a great shame for the technicians and the drivers who were looking forward to a challenging season and hoping to repeat the team’s Le Mans victories of 1992, 1993 and 2009. A disappointment, too, for the hundreds of thousands who make their way to the historic circuit of the Sarthe each June, many of them wanting to support a home team.

But it was always thus in motor racing, and particularly in endurance racing. Le Mans, an event founded in 1923 as a way of showing potential customers that your headlamps, windscreen wipers and canvas hoods could function at high speed around the clock, remains an effective shop window for major motor manufacturers. But those companies are at the whim of the global economic climate and the wishes of investors who may have no interest in the sport, paying attention only to the bottom line of the annual balance sheet.

After the Bentleys had dominated Le Mans in the 1920s, during the first decade of the race, it must have been a disappointment to their fans to see them depart. Ditto the Alfa Romeos and Bugattis that took over in the 1930s. Jaguar’s four wins in the 1950s were followed by a withdrawal, while Mercedes-Benz and Aston Martin had to be content with a single win apiece before bowing out. Ferrari and Ford divided the spoils in the 1960s and were seen no more; the same with Matra in the early 1970s. Porsche took over for the remainder of the decade, their victories continuing throughout the 1980s and sporadically during the 1990s.

Ten wins for Audi’s R8 and R18 models in the past 12 years, interrupted by single victories for a car in Bentley’s colours (itself based on the Audi) and for Peugeot’s diesel-engined 908, represent the sort of hegemony that can intimidate rivals. There will always be the suspicion that the Peugeot board’s decision might have been different had their team followed up that last success two years ago, but they seem to have folded their tents not through the fear of enduring an invidious comparison between their hybrid technology and that of their German and Japanese rivals but because of a worldwide recession that calls into question the spending of many tens of millions of euros on a nonessential activity.

So the Peugeot 908 has gone the way of the supercharged Bentley, the Alfa 8C, the Bugatti Type 57 “Tank”, the Mercedes 300SLR, the Jaguar D-Type and XJR, the Aston DBR1, the original Ferrari Testa Rossa, the Ford GT40, the Porsche 917 and 956, the Matra MS670, the Sauber C9, the Mazda 787 and the Williams-designed BMW V12 LMR. Not a bad museum to be in. And Le Mans, of course, will carry on as it always has, not just a monument to its own tradition but a proving ground for worthwhile new technologies.


guardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

Saturday marks the 50th anniversary of Wolfgang von Trips’s death at Monza, when 15 spectators were killed in Italy

The red car and the green one were doing about 150mph as they started to brake for the long right-hand corner. Jostling for position behind three other cars, they touched and veered off the road. While the green car spun harmlessly to a halt, the red machine somersaulted up the sloping bank on the outside of the track, striking the wire fencing before falling back in a heap of disintegration. Its driver, Wolfgang von Trips, had been thrown out and would die before reaching hospital. Fifteen spectators who had been pressing against the fence were also dead or dying. Cars swerved around the wreckage as marshals rushed to clear the debris.

The collision of Von Trips’s Ferrari and Jim Clark’s Lotus occurred 50 years ago this Saturday, a day when men and cars will again assemble for the same race at the same location, the Italian Grand Prix at the Monza autodrome, albeit in rather different conditions. Von Trips’s death, and that of the spectators, came during the years when mortal injury was an accepted part of motor sport. Up to a point, although no driver has been killed in a Formula One race since 1994, it still is.

Single deaths – such as that of young Henry Surtees at Brands Hatch a couple of years ago – happen on the track from time to time. It is impossible to imagine, however, that a race held in 2011 could continue after the deaths of 15 spectators. Or nine, which is how many were killed (five of them children) when Alfonso de Portago’s Ferrari left the road near the end of the 1957 Mille Miglia. Or 82, the death toll when Pierre Levegh’s Mercedes was launched into a densely packed crowd during the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1955, a race that ended on schedule with the winner – who had been involved in the accident – drinking champagne.

And yet, reporting the Monza race, the correspondent of Motor Sport magazine would not mention the tragedy until two thirds of the way through his long article, after the usual meticulous description of the latest modifications to the competing cars. “For those in the grandstands and pits and around the rest of the circuit the race went on,” he remarked, “details of the accident being unknown and unannounced by the organisers.”

A victory for Von Trips would have given him the world championship. Instead the race and the title were taken by his team-mate, Phil Hill, a sensitive man who, unlike Mike Hawthorn at Le Mans six years earlier, found it hard to celebrate his good fortune.

The story of the converging destinies of Von Trips and Hill is told in The Limit, by the American author Michael Cannell, to be published in November. A writer with no previous interest in motor sport, Cannell does a decent job, although relying heavily on previously published sources. Pre-eminent among those is the work of Robert Daley, then the New York Times correspondent and a friend of both drivers. In his classic book, The Cruel Sport, Daley wrote of the events of 10 September 1961: “Neither Hill nor anyone else ever expressed regret for the 15 customers who died with Trips, beyond noting that there would now be much agitation to abolish motor racing again. This reaction is normal. The personal tragedy of Trips overshadowed the destruction of other, unknown people.”

Tony Brooks finished fourth on that day at Monza. “We weren’t aware during the race of the seriousness of the accident,” he told me on Monday. “As drivers, we were still conditioned by the attitude from world war two that danger was part of life. Nobody was making us race, and we accepted the risk. When the race was over, what really upset us was that innocent bystanders had been killed.”

Nevertheless nobody had thought of stopping the race. Were people more callous back then? I do not believe so, judging by the way human beings still do terrible things to other human beings. But today’s decision would be the right one for today’s world. And so, however shocking to contemporary sensibilities, was the one made half a century ago.


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2011 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

Luca Cordero di Montezemolo, Ferrari’s president, is pleading with Formula One to go easy on cost-cutting measures

I invited you here,” Luca Cordero di Montezemolo said, tapping his water glass with a fork and quietening the dozen journalists seated around the table at the Scuderia Ferrari’s headquarters, “because I have decided to form my own political party.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Montezemolo’s sober expression cracked, and the laughter began. The president of Ferrari had been winding us up, in response to a report a week or so earlier that he was planning to make his long rumoured entry into Italian politics, to stand directly against Silvio Berlusconi.

A couple of hours later, as the lunch broke up, he remarked that it would be a pointless exercise, by which he meant that Berlusconi is effectively immovable. Probably no other living Italian, however, would stand as good a chance of unseating the country’s controversial prime minister.

Montezemolo had studied law in New York and driven rally cars before, in 1973, being recruited by Enzo Ferrari to turn around the fortunes of the celebrated but ailing Formula One team. He was 25 at the time. In partnership with the equally young and ambitious Niki Lauda, he breathed life back into the Scuderia. He did the same in 1991, when he returned as president of a company floundering in the wake of the founder’s death.

In between times he managed Italy’s first America’s Cup campaign, ran the 1990 World Cup organising committee, occupied several senior posts in the Fiat empire before becoming its chairman, and served as president of the confederation of Italian industries. A serious man, then, as well as a charismatic figure whose arrival in the grand prix paddock invariably provokes a flutter among the paparazzi.

Last week’s lunch at Fiorano, the test track located across the road from the Maranello factory, continued a tradition begun by Enzo Ferrari, at which the past year is assessed and the future examined. As he swept aside the disappointment of Abu Dhabi, where Fernando Alonso failed to clinch the title in his first season with the team, high on Montezemolo’s agenda was a plea to the governing body to go easy on the sort of cost-cutting measures introduced in the latter days of Max Mosley’s reign.

“I’m in favour of cutting costs, but there has to be a limit,” he said. “Look at the really successful football clubs – Internazionale, Chelsea, Real Madrid. If you want to compete at the top level in sport, you have to spend money.” He does not feel that this year’s new teams, operating on tiny budgets and three seconds a lap slower than the established outfits, are adding lustre to grand prix racing.

Nor is he keen on Formula One’s projected switch in 2013 to a turbocharged 1.5-litre four-cylinder engine, not least because all current production Ferraris have engines with eight or 12 cylinders. (He seemed to have forgotten that Alberto Ascari won the Scuderia’s first two world titles, in 1952 and 1953, with a four-cylinder car.)

But Ferrari’s perspective is somewhat different from that of the majority of their competitors. They are the only team still active in 2010 to have competed in the first world championship season in 1950, and their aura is vital to the image of grand prix racing. The company is also unique in that its parallel businesses of running a racing team and building 6,000 road cars a year are interdependent: the reputation of one fuels the profits of the other, and vice versa. So Montezemolo’s words tend to carry extra weight.

His argument against austerity included a request to the rule-makers to reconsider the stringent restrictions on track testing. Outside, in the bright winter sunlight, the tight little circuit – created by Enzo Ferrari as a tool to help his engineers develop the cars – lay deserted, silenced by the regulations.

I thought back to another sunlit winter afternoon at Fiorano, on which the Scuderia launched a new car for the 1996 season. As the light started to fade, Michael Schumacher took the scarlet machine out for a handful of exploratory laps. Hearing the scream of the racing engine, workers on their way home from the local ceramic factories parked their cars and got out to watch in the gathering dusk: a precious tradition, much missed.

Espanyol in fanfare to Iniesta’s heartfelt gesture

When Andres Iniesta scored the only goal of the match to win the World Cup for Spain last July, he stripped off his jersey to show the global audience a T-shirt bearing the message “Dani Jarque – always with us”. It was a salute to the captain of Espanyol, who had died of a heart attack in October 2009, aged 26.

As he paid tribute to his friend, Iniesta was probably not expecting any sort of reward. He got it on Saturday evening, however, when Barcelona made the short journey to Espanyol’s new stadium. The home crowd’s hostility to their local rivals, exacerbated by a 5-1 defeat, was interrupted just once. When Iniesta was withdrawn in his second half, they rose as one to applaud him, many of them raising placards expressing their gratitude for his gesture in the summer. The players of Espanyol joined in, too. It was a moment of grace to drive away the bad smells currently being generated by big-time football.

Prune time television

An historic wrong was righted on Sunday when AP McCoy became the first jockey to win the BBC’s sports personality of the year award. But it may now be time to reverse the galloping grandiosity of a show that has grown too big, too loud, and too stupid. Curbing the producers’ compulsion to mimic the garish drama of The X Factor would probably save enough money to fund the government’s endangered school sports programme. An austerity drive could start by eliminating the dry ice, two of the three presenters and the decorative but pointless Katherine Jenkins.

Desperate housewives

The wives and girlfriends of the England cricket team were ordered to stay away from the first two Test matches of the current Ashes series. Result: a draw in Brisbane and a resounding win in Adelaide. They were flown in ahead of the Third Test in Perth. Result: a couple of batting collapses leading to a demoralising defeat. Any temptation to start drawing conclusions should, of course, be firmly resisted.


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

The man who designed the car that won the F1 title in Abu Dhabi is on course to win 100 world championship grands prix

Adrian Newey designs racing cars, but his true medium is air. What they say about him is that while he contemplates the shape of his next car, he can visualise the air flowing around it. In his mind he sees the invisible waves and currents, the areas of low and high pressure. Then he can start thinking about how to shape it.

That makes me think of someone like Antonio Canova, sitting in his Rome studio, studying a block of marble just arrived from the quarries at Carrara, then walking around the room to examine it from every angle and, as he does so, seeing within its rough form the outline of Psyche Revived by Love’s Kiss, which you can see, two centuries later, in the Louvre. Some people have that kind of special vision, and Newey seems to be one of them.

The Red Bull RB6, the vehicle in which Sebastian Vettel won the Formula One world championship on Sunday, is the latest of his masterpieces. Darren Heath, a gifted photographer who has been taking pictures of racing cars for 22 of his 42 years, reckons it to be the most aesthetically pleasing of the current generation of cars. If you could only strip off all the sponsors’ insignia, Heath says, you would be able to see how beautiful it really is. Of course the most beautiful racing cars are not always the fastest, but there is a special satisfaction – at least for a certain type of enthusiast – when it works out that way.

Newey was born in Colchester 51 years ago and studied aeronautics and astronautics at Southampton University. But racing was his true love and after graduating he joined Emerson Fittipaldi’s grand prix team in a lowly capacity. Within a couple of years he was working for the March team and designing cars. Soon it became obvious that he was the latest in a line of brilliant British racing engineers which began after the war with John Cooper and Colin Chapman and continued through Patrick Head, John Barnard and Ross Brawn. Interestingly, he sets down his designs with a pencil on paper – a sculptor who uses a chisel and hammer rather than a power tool.

Before the RB6, Newey’s masterpieces included the March that won the Indy 500 in 1985 and 1986, the innovative Williams cars which provided Nigel Mansell and Alain Prost with world championships in 1992 and 1993 and the McLarens that gave Mika Hakkinen his two titles in 1998 and 1999. Before he puts away his pencils for good, his cars will probably have won 100 world championship grands prix, far more than those of any other single designer, even the prolific Chapman. So the success of the RB6 is hardly a surprise.

Yet it might have happened almost a decade earlier. In 2001, when he was working for McLaren, Newey accepted an offer to move to the new Jaguar Formula One team, owned by Ford. Then he changed his mind at the last minute and stayed at McLaren – lured back, it is said, by the promise that he would be allowed to design an Americas Cup yacht, another of his obsessions. Jaguar stumbled along until 2005, when Ford’s disenchanted bosses sold the whole operation – including the Milton Keynes factory and its personnel – to Dietrich Mateschitz of Red Bull for precisely one dollar. Two years later Mateschitz made Newey an offer he couldn’t refuse, believed to be a basic salary of m, and the rest is now history.

Newey uses some of his fortune to buy great racing cars of the past – including a lightweight Jaguar E-type and a Ford GT40 – and to drive them in competition with gusto if not great success. He is a boffin who dreams of being a different kind of hero.

We should be very proud indeed of men like Head, Brawn and Newey, but amid the celebrations for the triumph of a group of engineers in Milton Keynes and their resident genius it is a mournful thought that the rise to prominence of these brilliant, world-beating racing car designers coincided so exactly with the decline and disappearance of a once-thriving indigenous motor industry.

Harrison’s pay packet is not boxing’s biggest problem

Estimates of the number of punches landed by Audley Harrison in the MEN Arena on Saturday night range between one and two. Estimates of his reward for spending just under eight minutes in the ring with David Haye hover around the figure of £1.5m. Harrison is best remembered for winning the Olympic superheavyweight title in Sydney, for which he was awarded a £1m contract by the BBC – a deal which turned out so badly that boxing eventually disappeared from the corporation’s schedules altogether. One should never mock a man brave enough to put on boxing gloves and climb through the ropes, however lamentable the consequences. It is the state of the sport itself, and the ethics of the men who run it, that deserve scorn.

Zizou on hand for José company

Give or take the odd minor eruption, things have been going pretty well for José Mourinho in his first season with Real Madrid. Yet Florentino Perez, the club’s president, announced at the weekend that Zinedine Zidane would be returning to the Bernabéu as “presidential adviser to the first team”. The statement continued: “Zidane will be readily available to the president and coach for all matters concerning the first team, with whom he will keep in frequent contact.” You can bet José is thrilled to bits.

England’s nutty new kit

The thought was forming that the England rugby team’s new strip was not so much anthracite, the description preferred by the kit supplier, as nutty slack (the name, for those born since the demise of the mining industry, of an inferior kind of coal). Then Martin Johnson’s team produced their best performance since … well, since you know perfectly well when, thus blowing to bits a cherished theory that a hideously overdesigned new kit is the surest possible predictor of imminent doom and total humiliation. This notion has been nurtured since Scotland’s football team turned up 20 or so years ago in a strip that made it look as though they had forgotten to put on their shorts, and reaped the proper reward for their foolishness.


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

The man many regard as Red Bull’s Dr Evil was once a handsome, long-haired daredevil of the racetracks

Those who see Helmut Marko as grand prix racing’s one-eyed Dr Evil might be interested to know that, 40 years ago, he was a handsome, long-haired daredevil of the racetracks with an unbelievably gorgeous wife and a fondness for music and art: just the sort of chap who might have been played by Steve McQueen.

You could say that he was played by McQueen, almost. In the film Le Mans, shot in 1970, the American actor played a driver who raced a Porsche 917 – the most fearsome racing car of its day – in the celebrated 24-hour race. The following year Marko competed in the real-life race in a similar Porsche. And he went one better than McQueen: whereas the fictional Michael Delaney finished second, Marko won.

Four decades later, Marko is the motor racing consultant to his Austrian compatriot Dietrich Mateschitz, the man who made billions from an energy drink called Red Bull and now owns a couple of Formula One teams. A few months ago Marko earned notoriety among grand prix fans when he blamed Mark Webber for the crash that cost the Red Bull cars a one-two finish in the Turkish Grand Prix, an incident that most observers believed had been caused by the rashness of the team’s other driver, Sebastian Vettel.

Whereas the 34-year-old Webber joined the team three years ago, the 23-year-old Vettel is the star product of Red Bull’s driver-training scheme, supervised by Marko, whose declaration was seen as evidence of favouritism. And so, in the public mind, the 67-year-old Austrian assumed the role of baddie in the 2010 Formula One soap opera, which reaches its conclusion today in Abu Dhabi with Vettel starting from pole position.

To a racer, however, all you need to know about Dr Helmut Marko is that, as well winning Le Mans, he holds in perpetuity the lap record for the Targa Florio, the legendary sports car race around the hills of Sicily. Marko set his record in 1972, in the penultimate edition of the race, hustling a 12-cylinder Alfa Romeo through the 45-mile circuit of winding mountain roads and narrow village streets in 33min 41sec, at an average of a fraction under 80mph.

Six weeks after that feat, Marko was driving a BRM in the French Grand Prix at Clermont-Ferrand when a stone was thrown up by Emerson Fittipaldi’s Lotus and pierced his visor. It cost him the sight of his left eye and ended a grand prix career that had lasted nine races.

Marko had grown up alongside Jochen Rindt, who was killed at Monza in 1970. David Tremayne’s fine new biography of that year’s posthumous world champion tells us that the two boys raced each other around the streets on mopeds, got expelled from the same school, and saw their first grand prix together at the Nürburgring in 1961.

“Let’s talk about the modern world,” Marko barked as he sat down in the Abu Dhabi paddock on the eve of today’s grand prix. But he started by telling the story of what happened after his accident.

“First of all you think it’s the end of the world,” he said. “Then you find there’s a life afterwards.” Hotels, restaurants and property occupied his time for a while. Eventually, however, the lure of racing proved too strong. “I worked for Ford and Renault, and I had various teams of my own in various categories.” For a while his team in the German touring car championship included Franz Klammer, the 1976 Olympic downhill skiing champion: “He was a good racer. Unlucky, but good.”

The relationship with The relationship with Mateschitz, who is a year younger, grew slowly. “I’m from Graz in Styria and he’s from Murztal, 60 or 70kms away. He was always racing-minded. When we first met he didn’t have a budget to go into anything, but Red Bull became bigger and bigger and it seemed natural to come together.

“First the Junior Team was created, which was an unbelievable chance for young drivers. Then we had to put them somewhere, and the natural step was buying a Formula One team. Soon we realised that being in Formula One is one thing but being a winner is completely different, so we changed the approach.”

Vettel is the end product. Spotted by Red Bull at 12, he soon came under Marko’s wing. “It was unbelievable – a 15-year-old boy telling an established team that winning every race was not enough, telling them that there was more in the car. Everybody was thinking, ‘What does this youngster want?’ But already at that stage he was going for the maximum, under any circumstances.

“Besides that, he finished high school, which is a part of our programme. You never know what can happen in racing, and it does no harm if you have a head that you can use sometimes, and not only put a helmet on. With the complexity of sport these days, it helps because you can stand the pressure more easily, you can sort out the technical issues, you can cope in the public eye.”

The best example of Vettel’s maturity, Marko said, was in South Korea last month, when his engine blew up on a disastrous day for the team. “He was getting out of the car and saying, ‘Well, it can happen – let’s just go for it in the last couple of races.’ He was the one who took it really well. That wouldn’t have been possible a year before. He would have thrown things around.”

Red Bull’s approach, he said, is to have their drivers compete with each other. “The more you nurse them, the worse it is. They have to survive.” But do they have as much fun as he and his fellow carousers of 40 years ago?

“No. Unfortunately not. I remember when Mike Hailwood couldn’t get the alcohol out of his body before a race. He was leading at Kyalami when a stupid technical failure put him out. And with two other people, I carried him to his room, he was so pissed. But I don’t think we should tell them those stories.”


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

There are good reasons why Spa has become a favourite of recent generations of grand prix drivers

The majestic circuit of Spa-Francorchamps looked much the same at the weekend as it did the last time I visited it in 1967 – the year of Sgt Pepper and the assassination of Che Guevara. But that’s one thing about great race tracks. You can spend 43 years smoothing out the trickier corners, replacing earth banks with run-off areas, moving the pits and the start-finish line from one bit of straight road to another and erecting new grandstands here and there, yet the essential character of the place – its integrity, you might say, as well as its ambiance – will usually survive.

Generally speaking, this is because the older circuits followed two patterns: that of the public roads on which the earliest motor races were held, and that of the land itself. Spa is a particularly good example, since a track laid out on what were originally public roads also follows the hills and valleys sculpted over millennia by wind, water and geology among the pine forests of the Ardennes.

It is no accident that Spa has become a favourite of recent generations of grand prix drivers. As grateful as they may be for the safety precautions introduced over the past half-century, they still relish the challenge offered by corners that do not conform to the regular geometry usually produced when a circuit architect fires up his computer, and they are not entirely impervious to a sense of history.

The longest track currently used in Formula One, at 7km, it was twice as long back in 1967. The old Masta Straight and its legendary kink may have disappeared in the intervening years but surviving features such as Eau Rouge and the hairpin at La Source retain a shape that was originally dictated by custom and nature.

A week before the race in Belgium, and about 150 miles south-east of Spa, I stopped on a straight piece of road cutting through agricultural land outside the city of Rheims, where long-disused whitewashed pits and grandstands still mark the location of the circuit that hosted important races between 1926 and 1966, including the French grand prix on 14 occasions. It was not hard to imagine the crowd in the tribunes rising to their feet as Mike Hawthorn’s Ferrari and Juan Manuel Fangio’s Maserati roared neck and neck towards the finish line in 1953, the bow-tied Englishman becoming the first British winner of a round of the world championship. If the long-silent Rheims circuit is a well-known place of pilgrimage, the fine memorial at the junction of the D937 and the D1029, on an otherwise featureless plateau south of the town of Péronne, came as a complete surprise. It commemorates the deaths in June 1933, during the Picardy grand prix meeting, of a pair of Bugatti drivers.

The first, Louis-Aimé Trintignant, one of five sons of a Vaucluse vineyard owner, died during practice after losing control at high speed when a gendarme wandered into the road. The second fatality came the following day, during the race itself, when Guy Bouriat, a French count and a talented driver, was attempting to retake the lead from Philippe Etancelin. As the two of them came up to lap a slower car, its driver spotted Etancelin’s Alfa Romeo and let him through but then moved back on to his original line and collided with Bouriat, whose car left the road and burst into flames.

Trintignant was 30 years old, Bouriat 31. The last race at Péronne was held in 1939, and the memorial, once pockmarked with the evidence of fighting in the second world war, has been carefully restored. No other trace of the triangular circuit, which passed through the villages of Brie and Mesnil-Bruntel, remains.

Standing in these places, listening to the echoes of heroism and tragedy, it made me laugh to think that Hermann Tilke, Bernie Ecclestone’s pet circuit designer, has apparently been asked to incorporate the outlines of famous corners from historic tracks into a new Formula One facility in Austin, Texas. Just what the world needs: the first karaoke grand prix.

Church Cup final is perfect antidote to spot-fixing

Even lifelong cynics are experiencing a sense of profound disillusionment following the allegations of spot-fixing in the Lord’s Test. My own preferred antidote is to attend Thursday’s 60th Church Times Cup final, the climax of a competition between cricketing clergymen representing the various geographical subdivisions of the Church of England. The match takes place, as it always has, at the attractive Southgate ground in north London, and this final pits Litchfield against Bath & Wells, neither of whom has appeared in any of the previous 59 finals. It is almost certain that any no-balls will be the consequence of excessive exertion rather than skulduggery.

Time for Button to take races by scruff of the neck

Over the past few years it has been customary to compare Jenson Button and Lewis Hamilton in terms of Alain Prost and Ayrton Senna, the smooth approach shared by Prost and Button contrasting with Senna and Hamilton. The comparison has been even more tempting this season, in which they are both driving McLarens, as Senna and Prost did 20 years ago. But on Sunday Hamilton turned that comparison on its head. Once he had taken advantage of Mark Webber’s poor start, he drove with an air of calmness that Prost would have recognised. Now all we want to see is Button performing a similar volte-face, taking a race by the scruff of its neck, and reminding us of the great Brazilian.

Wenger slipped up when he sold Diarra to Real Madrid

Lassana Diarra was the outstanding performer in Real Madrid’s weekend draw with Mallorca, the Frenchman moving easily from midfield to full-back when José Mourinho brought on Sami Khedira for the last 20 minutes. Diarra now rivals Javier Mascherano for the title of the world’s most effective holding midfielder, and how Arsène Wenger should be regretting the decision to let his compatriot leave the Emirates two years ago.


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Sport: Motor sport | guardian.co.uk

© 2012 F1 Drivers Suffusion WordPress theme by Sayontan Sinha