14/03/2007
NEWS STORY
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I was having dinner with Tony the Phone at The Elephant and Wheelbarrow (tram16 from the CBD) when I encountered Ozzie, Aussie, Cork (always bobbing up somewhere) Harry, Gazza and the Fat Controller. They all are answerable to Youngster) Chief Fire Marshall Allan Young) and Simone (Deputy Fire Marshall Simon Swyer).
They are Firies, volunteer firemen at every Grand Prix around the world and every FIA sanctioned event in the world.
These men, (and women) are all of mature years, and without them the Jenson Buttons, Mark Webbers, and us lesser mortals would not have a race or a venue in which to compete.
Around the world gentlemen (and gentle ladies) of mature years facilitate the great motor racing events and receive no recognition for their efforts.
In 2001 the unfortunate death of Graham Beveridge as a result of an accident between Jacques Villeneuve and Ralf Schumacher briefly brought their role into the spotlight however their contribution is largely ignored.
They, with the Kermits (medical intervention staff who wear green) and the "Jaffas" (who wear orange) make possible the Grand Prix and other associated events in our world of motor racing.
Last weekend all of the above officiated at the Clipsal 500, a taxi cab race run on a shortened version of the old Adelaide Grand Prix circuit.
At their own expense, and often at the expense of their careers the firies, flaggies, medical intervention, scrutineers, administration staff travel the vast continent of Australia and facilitate the events we take for granted. All over the world their counterparts make the FIA World Championship possible. Yet they receive no recognition. Their role is unpaid, they travel and accommodate themselves at their own expense, and as competitors we bitch at their intervention but are grateful when they bail us out of the incidents which are part and parcel of motorsport.
We, as competitors whinge when we do not have the correct stickers for electrical isolation of all systems on our cars, cringe when our helmets do not have the correct stickers indicating current compliance or our seat belts are not anchored in accordance with the prevailing technical regulations. Yet, we expect them to come to our rescue and place their lives on the line when it all goes wrong. We bitch when we are "called to the stewards’ office" as it is never our fault, but are the first to call on the stewards when we feel aggrieved.
Yet event after event they facilitate our every need and do so with a sense of humour and camaraderie.
Why, because they have a deep seated love of motor sport.
They risk their lives when our misadventure and over optimism causes us to find ourselves trapped in a volatile mixture of overheated components and dripping fuel.
I have a new Arai helmet, a new OMP fire suit and underwear, Proban boots and Willans restraints, all of which will need to survive scrutineering before I am allowed to compete.
Inevitably something will not comply and my instinctive reaction will be to 'bitch at officialdom', however after that yet another all nighter will allow me to take my place on the grid.
Then I rely on the skills of the above personnel to save me from my own excesses when it all goes wrong.
I met the owner of the Sunoco Lola, the Maybach of Stan Jones, father of Alan Jones, and other racing exotica. I met the owner of several significant F5000 cars and various other "old farts" who come for the support acts for the Australian Grand Prix. Each grumbled at the "excesses of officialdom, but grudgingly admired the role they play, for without them there is no Grand Prix and no opportunity for professionals and amateurs alike to strut their wares before the paying public yet all admitted that without them.
So when the glamour jobs of Safety Car Driver (Bern Maylander) Medical Car Driver (Jacques Tropenal) are filled, we, the competitors and paying public, rely on the Aussies, Ozzies, Corks and Fat Controllers of this world. The sad part is that almost all of these folk are in their "middle years" and very few new volunteers are coming through the system.
So if you are in the Elephant and Wheelbarrow and see a bunch of old farts, by them a drink or at least say thank you.
Without them there would be no Grand Prix.
To check out Paul's pictures from The Elephant and Wheelbarrow, click here