Even though Fernando Alonso, the mono-browed young fish-nicker, did not acquit
himself well this year, endlessly complaining about how the team wasn’t
treating him properly and how the stewards were fixing races in Michael
Schumacher’s favour, I did feel rather sorry for him as the grand prix
circus reached its ear-splitting climax in Brazil.
First of all, he was beaten in the race by Felipe Massa, who behaved as though
he’d been wired up to the national grid. And because he was a Brazilian, in
Brazil, the Brazilian television director decided that the fish-nicker
should be largely ignored.
To make matters worse, this had been Michael Schumacher’s final race before he
headed off to Switzerland with nothing but his dogs and his chin for
company. And that’s all anyone was talking about. Not Fernando’s second
world championship, but what life might be like in F1 without the Hun.
Boring, I reckon, though not everyone agrees.
Martin Brundle, the F1 commentator, said recently that he struggles to think
of any great Schumacher overtaking moves. Really? Well what about that last
race, when he went from last place to fourth? What about the way he drove so
aggressively he frightened Giancarlo Fisichella not just out of his way but
clean off the track?
And what about the time at Silverstone when he was stuck behind Damon Hill?
For lap after lap, on the approach to one particular corner he drove on the
wrong side of the track, cleaning away all the dust and the marbles, so that
when he finally made his move he had all the grip in the world.
That was the great thing about Schumacher’s racing — he used intelligence.
Ross Brawn, his technical director at Ferrari, said that even when he was on
a hot lap, he could converse about clouds on the back side of the circuit
and whether they might bring rain, whereas other drivers could only ever
grunt.
Then you had the time when he finished second despite being stuck for half the
race in fifth gear, and the Spanish Grand Prix in 1996 when, in torrential
rain, he lapped almost the entire field. Sometimes he must have thought that
he was the only human in a field made up entirely of incompetent playboy
blind people.
Ah yes, say the detractors, but what about the times when Schumacher has been
most unsportsmanlike? Stirling Moss says the German’s career will always be
blighted by the way he parked his car on the circuit at this year’s Monaco
Grand Prix.
I’m sorry. Am I hearing this straight? Because I fail to see the difference
between this and the sledging that goes on in cricket, or the punching in a
rugby scrum.
The mere fact that Michael actually thought to park his car, and therefore
bring out the yellow flags and thus prevent anyone from qualifying faster
than him, shows yet again that he’s more intelligent than anyone else out
there.
When I first met him, way back in the days when he had a mullet and he was
racing for Benetton, he was a shocker. Ford, his employer at the time, had
asked him to road test a
Mustang for Top Gear, so he did, coming out of the pit garage at Silverstone,
getting into the car, and refusing to put a microphone on. The reason for
this became clear shortly afterwards, since he also refused to speak.
But then many years later, while making a show called Speed, we contacted
Schumacher to ask for written permission to show some of his so-called
unsportsmanlike moves over the years, and he agreed. He had mellowed.
Sort of. Because I will never forget his final race in Brazil, and that
extraordinary charge from last to fourth place. Can anyone think of any
other driver out there now who would have the skill and the aggression, and
the determination, to do that? I can’t.
Losing Michael from Formula One is not like losing your arm or leg. It’s like
losing your torso. It’s like removing America from the world map and hoping
that somehow Spain can fill the void.
It’s another reason why I feel sorry for Fernando. Not only was he largely
ignored as he won his second championship, but he had to go home knowing
that next year the best Formula One driver in the world will be sitting at
home in Switzerland.
Still, at least the turbot thief can move on to a new team next year, content
that he has left at least one legacy from his time at Renault — the Clio
Sport 197.
Obviously Renault isn’t prepared to pour millions of pounds into Formula One
if there’s no payback to be had in the showroom. So this little car is the
result.
Look at the back end and you’ll find a Formula One-style diffuser under the
rear bumper. Brilliant. The idea is that as you drive along a low-pressure
zone is created underneath the car, sucking it onto the road and giving more
grip. It means you don’t need a spoiler, which gives grip in the corners but
sticks into the air flow on the straights, slowing you down.
What’s more, if you look behind the front wheels you will spot two vents that
direct air that would normally be trapped under the bonnet down the side of
the car, further improving its aerodynamics.
If you were to be told all this in a Renault showroom I feel sure that you’d
be impressed. It may only be a three-door 2 litre hatchback, but hey, if you
squinted a bit and maybe grew a small piece of facial hair under your bottom
lip, you too could be the second-best Formula One driver in the world.
Actually I’m not so sure. You see, I’m willing to bet all of Richard Hammond’s
pay packet that if you removed both the gills and the diffuser from the Clio
it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference. Oh, I’m sure computers in
a wind tunnel could spot a percentage-point shift, but from behind the
wheel, in your brogues, not a chance.
In fact, by trying to give this 134mph car a Formula One feel, they might just
have made it worse, because the twin exhausts leave no room under the boot
floor for a spare wheel.
I suppose at this point I should explain that, as a car, the hot Clio isn’t
bad. It rides well, clings on nicely in the bends, looks great and has a
delightfully torquey engine.
But fitting a 2 litre hatchback with all this pseudo-F1 stuff is like fitting
your washing machine with a front wing. It makes you look a bit of a
plonker.
There’s more, too. I’m beginning to think that the days of the hot hatch might
be coming to an end. I’ve always been a fan: the idea that you could have a
powerful engine in an easy-to-use shopping trolley was great. But these days
they’re too expensive to insure and rather too showy for comfort.
Take the Golf GTI as a prime example. The latest version is brilliant, but
when did you last see one on the road? I think, therefore, that with the
Clio 197 Renault has used the second-best driver in the world to create some
unnecessary additions to a type of car we don’t want any more.
Don’t worry, though, because I have a plan. Instead of trying to put more
speed into a small car, why don’t the car makers try to insert something
we’d appreciate a whole lot more: more comfort and luxury.
Renault is well placed to do this because back in the Eighties it made
something called the 5 Monaco. It looked like a conventional Renault 5 but
it was kitted out like a Maybach with leather and luxuries oozing from every
pore.
Nobody does this any more, and they should, because — think about it — in this
day and age, which would you rather have, an on-board DVD system or a rear
diffuser?
Alonso, I feel sure, would want the diffuser. But what would the best racing
driver in the world want as he heads off into retirement?
My case rests.
