23/06/2005
FEATURE BY MARGEIT & CROMPTON
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This was the central, lyrical theme of a particularly annoying song by 80s one-too-many-hit-wonder Howard Jones. In the aftermath of the travesty that was Formula One's 2005 Indianapolis event, those turbid, whining lyrics leapt into my mind.
Because the one thing I know for certain is that in the days to come, I will be reading endless reams of blathering twaddle, all of which will be carefully crafted by its authors to lay the blame for the farce at any doorstep other than their own.
By the time you read this, much of will have already happened.
The Michelin-shod teams will be pointing the finger of fault at the FIA, Ferrari and anyone else who rejected proposals for a replacement tyre or track modification. Indeed in desperation and perhaps to appease what must be a plethora of very annoyed sponsors, I wouldn't be surprised if there are recriminations hurled in the direction of Michelin themselves.
Max, naturally, can be counted on to deliver a scathing though eloquent rebuttal of all criticism. A rebuttal which will doubtless remind us of Michelin's responsibility to supply their teams with a tyre capable of complying with his rules as they presently stand. I'd even stake some of my more cherished body parts on the likelihood that Max will speak ill of the teams who did not take the field at Indy, replete with references to their responsibility to the fans, contractual obligations and damning overtones of self-interest.
For their part, Michelin have already taken the fall in formal terms but does anyone really expect that to be their last word on the subject? As I type, their "no regrets" statement has entered the public arena.
Indianapolis supremo, Tony George, has made it clear that all complaints are to be directed to anybody but him. Tony has gone so far as to publish a list of contact details for those who are not him, that he be spared the ire of his paying patrons (I'm personally thrilled not to have been included on the list).
Meanwhile, Jordan, Ferrari and Minardi will probably note that they actually raced and therefore how on earth can they be expected to shoulder any blame for anything from anyone, ever, whatsoever?
Come to think of it, I'm tempted to publish my own denial of responsibility just to be on the safe side and as a concession to my pathetic urge to run with the pack.
In short, we are in for a serious display of spectacularly inspired - albeit as useful as a bucket of sun-dried dingo kidneys - politics, accusation, counter-accusation, attack, defence, thrust, parry and whatnot! In the end, all public debate will probably be closed down as Max is driven to raise his time-honoured trump-axe, the "bringing the sport into disrepute" threat. Always works a treat that one!
Perhaps that will be a good thing because no amount of public posturing is ever going change what happened.
As far as any cogent view of my own is concerned, I don't have one. I probably never will and it wouldn't matter much either way even if I did. As public as this spat is supposed to have been - what with all sides eager to make their correspondence available for publication, none of we mere non-millionaires can ever expect to be in possession of anything even remotely resembling the true and underlying facts of this debacle.
What I do know for certain is that I, like every other fan of Formula One, was shown in no uncertain terms how little I matter. My absurd wish to see a competitive Grand Prix was finally and unquestionably cast aside in favour of some or other power-politics about which I do not, and never will, care.
I'm glad that at last my importance has been clarified. From now on I can merely video tape Grands Prix that do not suit my sleeping patterns, then make my own decisions as to whether or not opt to view them or pass the tapes on to Mrs Crompo for use by way of recording daytime Soaps.
For as much as we sad fans would love to believe it, Formula One is not a sport at all. It has not been so for some time. It is a business of entertainment. Teams command brain-splittingly large budgets from sponsors for no other reason than their ability to provide a prestigious platform upon which advertising may be daubed. A platform with a huge global television audience.
So there we have it. I've finally come out and confessed to myself, F1 is just another couple of hours of high-priced advertising on the television. No better than any other vile reality-ish program.
But wait, if I'm saying that F1 is just entertainment, a whole new bunch of rules must be observed, entertainment rules.
And the first rule of entertainment is; the show must go on! At Indianapolis, the show, most certainly, did not. F1 at Indy 2005 was a west end opening night that saw the curtain rise to missing actors and suspect props.
A west end audience would have walked out and demanded refunds and they'd have been right to do so. They'd have paid good money to be entertained and they'd have been failed. Remember this before you damn too harshly those who were allegedly infuriated into hurling projectiles onto the track and assaulting team members. I will never condone such actions but I will afford a measure of understanding.
F1 commands premium prices for every aspect of itself because it is such good entertainment. If you doubt this then ask the sponsors who deliver budgets of up to three hundred million US dollars per annum.
When six cars out of twenty grid up for a race, it is no longer a premium entertainment product, It is a sham. And when every fan of F1 across the world has trusted F1 to deliver, what they deserve is more than for every millionaire responsible for the disgrace to duck responsibility.
The fans who bothered to show up at Indy deserve refunds. The rest of us deserve an apology. But before that can happen, somebody has to poke up their hand, show some leadership and say "It was me, I'm in charge, I run this show and I promise you this will never happen again."
But what are the odds of that happening? Is anyone really in charge? F1 is governed by the FIA, commercially controlled and therefore funded by Bernie's marketing arm - subject to his soured position at the hands of banks - and built around an agreement that gives all the teams a degree of influence.
Last Sunday, that conclave of seriously-rich-bastards failed to find accord and in the absence of any form of leadership, made the fans and sponsors pay. Talk of the visibility of trees in forests would not be out of place here methinks.
I suspect that power is in the balance here. I suspect that the Michelin teams - who just happen to also represent the GPWC teams - are playing games with Max. I suspect that Bernie, with his weakened position after the German Banks' court win, is attempting to tread a thin line between the two. I suspect that Indy was a mere extension of the BAR "secret fuel tank" debacle. I suspect that there is a life and death struggle between the FIA and the GPWC and that those stakes are so high that games of bluff and counter-bluff have finally escalated to the point whereby the combatants have failed to recall that if there is no audience, their collective product is worth nothing.
In the end, I don't care what I suspect and in that respect, I'm sure I'm in accord with you.
The once-globally-famous and wealthy facsimile of a pop musician, Howard Jones, is apparently now panhandling his stipend down at Editor Balfe's local pub. (Oh, I wish! We're stuck with Stacey and whatever other rubbish Mike Reid Promotions can dump on us, not including Cally or Amanda - Editor) I speak of Howard who once irritatingly moaned to us that "no one ever is to blame". The parties responsible for the Indy catastrophe would do well to ruminate over this.
But on a cheery closing note, Ron and Flavio performing a karaoke version of a love duet at Balfe's local pub to fund their supper is just a bit to delightful to prevent me from a sly smirk in spite of last weekend! (See above, this would still be better than Stacey or Mel 'bloody' Harris and friends - Editor).