Diary of A Mad US Grand Prix
What ever happen this morning (or last afternoon in America)? I woke up this morning remembering some glimpse of a six-cars race. At first, I thought it was a dream. Or I was to occuppied playing some grand prix game, that I still remembering the scenes from the game. But no, it was real. It was real, I tell ya. And it was one bizzare grand prix. For as long as I've became an F1 fans, I don't, I NEVER recall that this had happen before.
It all started at the Friday free practice session. The tyres of Ralf Schumacher's Toyota gave away because of the speed at turn 13. This accident caused the Michelin people to doubt wheter their product is safe and good to go for the grand prix. One thing led to another, and they demanded that a chicane is build at the turn 13, to slow down the cars, so the risk of another tyre failure is minimized. The FIA (and Bernie Ecks too, mind you, that money grabbing dictactor) did not give in to the demand. The start was delayed, but all cars were on the grid. The fans was cheering (I was too). The warm-up lap goes underway. But alas, to no avail, the Michelin runners (cars that used Michelin tyres) turn into the pit lane entry at the end of it. And there they were six cars on the grid, the two Ferraris, the two Jordans, and the two Minardis. All were Bridgestone runners. The crowd was startled. I was startled. Could this be true? A six-cars race? But then, as soon the six of them lined up on the grid, the five red are lighted and the race begun.
I was shocked, so does the crowd. I was appalled, so does the crowd (a water bottle thrown into the track prooved that point). The crowd chanting, wanting their money back. I was laughing hysterically, wanting my sleeping time back. This is what I wake up for? A six-cars race? A race so predictable, that you didn't need to watch the struggle, instead just the front and the back. A race so pathetic that I do not have the desire to watch, even as a self-proclaimed hard-core Ferrari fans (and Ruben Barichello too). A race so bemusing, it still feels like I was dreaming of a nightmare last night.
Alas, it was not a dream. It was real. It was real, I tell ya. As real as the pain in my forehead, from repeated slaps from my hand, it was not a nightmare. It was real, REAL, I tell ya. The most bizzare, pathetic, confusing, and oh-so-not-cool race ever. Was it the FIA mistake (for not giving in)? Bernie Ecks (that money grabbing dictactor, for being money grabbing dictactor)? Michelin (for a lack of quality)? Bridgestone (for whatever they do)? Michelin teams (for deciding not to race and forfeit points)? Bridgestone teams (for staying put on the track even thou' it was spelled disaster)? Well, one thing for sure, it was so bizzare that it would rather be forgotten. And another thing for sure, the fans, the crowd, and the drivers of Michelin teams was the victim of this schmagance (chaos, disaster, freak - red).
I WAS THE VICTIM, DAMN IT.
So does Jarno Trulli and his pole position. I'm sorry Jarno, best of luck next time. Peace and god bless.
