Opinion Why do I love Lewis so?
Anyone who is in the unlikely position of reading all my warbles for the past few years might just have picked up the faintest hint that I am a fan of Formula One. Of course, this isn’t something I broadcast; that would be like admitting that I enjoy listening to Barry Manilow or dressing up in my wife’s underwear of an evening – not that I do, I hasten to add. But yes, I do enjoy watching Formula One races and not just the races either; I watch the qualifying and even the practice sessions given half the chance.
It’s hard to explain the appeal of Formula One; it is, after all, just a bunch of blokes driving round in circles for a couple of hours. It is very rare for anyone to overtake anyone else; mostly this happens when one driver pulls off the track to have some new tyres fitted. The drivers are young, usually arrogant and paid so much money that they would just burst out laughing if the heard how much Wayne Rooney earns in a year. Despite this, success in the sport has nothing to do with what driver a team employs and everything to do with what car he is given to drive. The cars are spectacularly expensive, unbelievably complicated and have about as much in common with a road car as a slingshot has with a cruise missile. Also, the rules about how the cars are designed are so complex and restrictive that, effectively, whichever team employs a designer called Adrian goes on to win the world championship. It would probably be much easier to just auction Adrian off at the beginning of the season and give the world championship to whichever team bids the most money, either that or shoot him so all the teams can compete on a level playing field.
But, for some reason, I love Formula One and every other Sunday I sit glued to the telly for 2 hours while the kids beg to be fed, the dogs beg to be walked and my wife begs me to do whatever chores she has given me. What is more, I am only interested in the fortunes of one driver and that is Lewis Hamilton. I am at a loss to explain why this is. Take, for example, his taste in clothes – baggy trousers, hoodies, ridiculously bright trainers. It’s no wonder his team make him wear a Nomex racing suit at all times. Then there’s the kind of music he listens to – hip hop, need I say more. Although he comes from Stevenage, he insists on speaking with a strange mid Atlantic accent and using the words “for sure” in every other sentence. He hangs around with celebrities when he’s not racing and, worse still, they are American celebrities. To add to his sins, he sulks when he loses but then doesn’t have the decency to gloat when he wins; instead he modestly thanks the team for their efforts. Who needs a modest hero?
So, why am I such a diehard Lewis fan? Well, it all goes back to 2008 when he won the World Championship. Back then, there was a standing joke that the initials of the sport’s governing body, the FIA, actually stood for Ferrari International Assistance. Ferrari’s Felipe Massa was Lewis’s closest rival and the FIA was determined he was going to win, whatever it took. So, basically, they cheated and made some incredibly dodgy decisions that penalised Lewis and rewarded Massa. When it comes to a toss-up between a brilliant sportsman and a bunch of cheating bureaucrats, I’m on the side of the sportsman every time.
There’s another thing too, Lewis is a supremely talented driver and a born racer; he is thrilling to watch. Sportsmen and women are performers, no more and no less. I don’t expect them to campaign for a particular political party, or listen to my kind of music, or crack funny jokes. I just want to be entertained and that’s what Lewis does.
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