No Pressure

Dear 24 Hours of Spa,

How are you doing? I’m fine and I hope you are too. I know we haven’t spoken in a while. It must have been about a year. I guess the silence has been mostly my fault. I wasn’t very nice to you in 2015, when it rained heavily during all the days of your event. I can particularly remember the Saturday. By the time I got back to the hotel, my socks were soaked, there was a centimetre of water in my backpack, and even my skin was wet. I know I used some very choice words then, especially as I was wringing out my backpack, but I hope you know I didn’t mean them. I was just very tired. That was all. I swear!

Right now it’s my biggest wish that things between us can go back to how they were before. Not just because I genuinely want to rekindle our friendship, but also because I need your help. (And when I say ‘I’, I technically mean ‘me and all endurance fans everywhere’). You see, it’s been a tough season for 24-hour racing.

At the 24 Hours of the Nürburgring, the weather was deplorable. Hail balls cannoned from the skies; and at one point there was even snow! But the real hitch of the event was the finish. Some fifteen minutes before the end of the race various strange things happened within the Mercedes camp, which lead to the two frontrunners switching places on the last lap and the eventual number two-finishers accusing the winners of ignoring team orders and claiming they’d been robbed off the victory. One of the drivers of the number two-car even refused to go on the podium and only one of them showed up for the press conference. The mud-throwing went on for days afterwards, tainting the entire race.

At the 24 Hours of Le Mans, the finish wasn’t a much more cheerful affair. Toyota had looked set to claim their first victory – at last, after all those decades of trying! – but a lousy three minutes before the clock hit zero their car broke down. The looks of the Toyota crew as they were watching it happen on tv were heart-breaking, especially if you know that this wasn’t the first time this happened to them. (In 1994 a transmission problem ended their victory dreams 90 minutes before the finish.) I’m one of those nerds who frequently cries at the end of a 24-hour race, but I swear this is the one and only time I cried for sheer sadness.

And all that, my dearest 24 Hours of Spa, is what brings me to you. You’re the only remaining European around-the-clock endurance race left in 2016. After the anger of the Nürburgring and the heartache of Le Mans, my fellow race fans and I could honestly do with a dose of proper racing topped off with some no-nonsense, unmitigated happiness at the finish line. I know the proper racing-bit probably won’t be too difficult for you. However, I am hereby officially begging you: please try – really try – to give us a nice finish, without fights, without heart-rending drama, and with a winning car that has deserved the victory without a single doubt. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but me and the other endurance fans around the world are putting all our hopes on you. Please, please make it work. Please?

Kind regards,

Girl Talks Racing

How to Show Affection in Motorsport

I don’t like bullies. This is partially because of principles, but also largely because I was bullied myself as a child, by a boy at my primary school. He taught me how to hate recess. Every day he would come after me, kick me, hit me, spit on me or at one point even push me off a climbing frame. I tried to tell people of authority. Of course I did. But the teachers said they couldn’t do anything until they actually saw the boy bullying me, which they never did because he wasn’t so stupid as to do anything when school staff was around. My mother also laughed at my complaints. She said the boy was probably just teasing me because he ‘liked’ me. In the end the bullying went on for a year, until the boy moved schools, and in all that time nobody ever came to my aid.

I’ve never had cause to connect my experiences with bullying to motorsport. Of course motorsport has always encased political tricks, intimidation and mind games, but somehow I’ve never really classed those as ‘bullying’. It’s not that I approve of any of those behaviours. It’s more that that self-centered way of dealing with the world seems to be so interconnected with professional sports that it has transcended common bullying and become a culture, an athlete’s way of life. All behaviour spawned by this culture serves to help achieve a goal; the goal of winning. For example, a driver who is verbally intimidating an opponent is doing so in the hope that his words will result in a beneficial mistake on-track. In that sense, the behaviour isn’t even personal. It’s just a means to a selfish end.



When I think of ‘bullying’, however, I imagine a type of behaviour that’s not aimed at achieving a specific goal, but that stems from internal frustration and is taken out on another person for the express purpose of putting him/her down and causing pain; all to make the bully feel better about him/herself. As far as I’m able to tell, such bullying is relatively rare in motorsport, even if I did hear rumours last year about Formula 3’s Maxi Günther being bullied out of Mücke by his teammates. The story was never fleshed out though and no official action was ever taken. Who knows, maybe that ruined some of the series’ karma.

Off-track driver behaviour has been questionable in formula 3 this season. In the past weeks there were two major incidents that have given me cause to genuinely worry. The first one happened in Hungary, when Nikita Mazepin thought it was justified to rough up Callum Ilott for blocking him in free practice. Mazepin was called to the stewards and handed a whopping one-race suspension. Various people, myself included, felt the punishment was too light. A three-race ban for the whole weekend would’ve sent a far stronger signal about where the uncrossable line between good and simply unacceptable lies. Now, however, it feels like Mazepin got a very-nearly-free pass out of trouble. And I can’t help but wonder: is that a possible reason we saw a second incident at the Norisring?

In the third Norisring race, Mücke-drivers Beckmann and Jensen crashed into each other, both retiring as a result of the clash. During live coverage, Jensen (21) was shown hanging over Beckmann’s cockpit to have a good shout at his 16-year-old teammate. Later on, the duo was shown standing side by side behind the barriers, with Jensen shouting some more at Beckmann and deliberately invading his personal space to make him uncomfortable. If that wasn’t enough, the last few seconds of the highlights reel showed a shot of Jensen in which it very much seems like he’s grabbing Beckmann by the hair.

Click here to view.



I’m not sure what to make of the footage. As far as I know, Beckmann didn’t file any assault charges and the stewards didn’t get involved either, even though they had an obvious reason to do so, especially given the precedent of the Mazepin incident. It would’ve been a fantastic opportunity for them to make up for the mediocre way in which they handled that indiscretion. But all there was after Norisring, was silence. Utter silence. And no clarity.

Ever since I’ve often found myself thinking of my school bully. I’ll never forget how lonely I felt when I realised no one of authority was going to help me. I can imagine that Ilott and Beckmann (if the scene pictured above is indeed what it looks like) have also become familiar with the feeling. After the stewards’ questionable responses to their respective incidents, who can they turn to now for protection? In fact, who can anyone in formula 3 turn to for protection if something like this were to happen again? And why wouldn’t it happen again, if the punishment is practically non-existent? I’ve always believed that, despite the culture of mind games and intimidation, sportsmanlike behaviour existed in motorsport and that it was championed by those in charge. But maybe I was wrong and naive. Or maybe sportsmanlike behaviour has started to die off. Or perhaps this is simply how Formula 3-drivers show they ‘like’ each other. Don’t people say boys will always be boys?

Got A Light?

I’m loquacious.

 

‘Loquacious’ isn’t exactly a word I use a lot. In fact, up until five minutes ago I didn’t even know it existed. I only stumbled across it in my dictionary when I decided to look up a nicer-sounding way to say that I talk a lot (possibly even too much) and if forced you’d be hard pushed to shut me up.

So again, I’m loquacious.

 

Ask anyone that knows me well, or even just a little. I may seem a bit on my guard when I first meet you, but once I’ve gotten used to you a bit the stream of words starts flowing. Fast. However, even I must admit that words, though my preferred way to communicate, aren’t always the best way to bring a message across. I realised that once again during the Blancpain GT-weekend at the Nürburgring two weeks ago. In between the races there was a demo by a customized truck that instantly made me think “I need to blog about this!” Unfortunately, though, with only a description in words, the demo lost all its power on paper. So I decided to convince my father, who was there too, to give me some of the pictures he took with his fancy camera – compared to his photos, my iPhone snaps are honestly worthless. I think they’ll bring the story to life much better than anything I can say. (Although I’m still going to add some worded by-lines. Ha.)

 

 

Once upon a time there was a truck, that looked surprisingly
like Jeremy ‘Powerrrr’ Clarkson had installed a huge engine
on the back of it.

 

I wonder what the purpose of that smoke is?

 

WOOOOOOOWWWW.
I definitely don’t what the purpose of that is.
But wow.

All Belgians Look Alike

I’m part of a group of girls who all love racing, but we don’t all have the same interests within the sport. Some prefer motorbike races, while others (like me) lean towards car races. Some prefer to watch single seaters, while others have a soft spot for endurance events. Within my group of friends I’m probably a bit of an odd-one-out, because my main interest lies with GT cars. Or, as my friends call them, “cars with a roof”.

 

It’s not always easy to have a group of friends with such varied interests. For one thing, we always struggle to plan a race visit with the entire group, because invariably not everybody will be equally interested in attending the event. Luckily, though, diversity also has its advantages. It’s an ideal opportunity to learn about new things. For example, my friends have taught me the basics of motorbike racing. Some years ago they even dragged me along to a British Superbikes event. Bike racing’s still not my thing, but it was great to get a taste of the atmosphere.

 

Of course it’s not just my friends influencing me. I do a good deal of influencing my friends as well – and by “influencing” I mean I shower them in unsolicited GT racing propaganda. I’m forever trying to get my friends to watch it. The results so far have been mixed, but I’ve gotten one friend hooked on GT Masters and another is now very keen to take a bigger interest in GT3 races after I dragged her to Germany last year to see VLN. My current mission is to get the latter friend to watch the Blancpain GT Series. It has big fields, close grids, fierce competition, and both sprint and endurance races. It’s ideal to get started, if you ask me.

 

Yesterday my ongoing promo campaign reaped its first results. My friend decided to sit down and watch last weekend’s qualifying race on the Nürburgring. Afterwards I immediately rushed up to her to ask her what she thought of it. I’m glad to say that she enjoyed the race! But at the same time I’m also somewhat humbled to admit she stumbled across a characteristic of the series that could possibly be problematic for new fans.

 

“So, what did you think?!”
“It was really fun! But it could’ve been better.”
“Really? How?”
“It would’ve been even more fun if it had been easier to tell the cars apart. Now I kept muddling everything.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“Yes! I wanted to follow Nico Müller’s race, but I could barely even recognise him!”
“I can sort of get that. WRT has six cars in this series.”
“Six?!”
“Yeah, and they all look pretty much identical.”
“And you wonder why I got confused…”
“But Nico is in car number 4, if that helps. He has teamed up with Vanthoor.”
“Laurens?”
“No, Dries. Laurens’ younger brother. You can really tell they’re family if you look at his face.”
“Great. So there are six near-identical WRT cars and two near-identical Vanthoors?!”
“Yes. Kind of...”
“Originality in sport isn’t a crime, you know.”
“Say that to the Belgians. Most others in Blancpain are relatively easy to tell apart.”
“True. The Nissan is easy.”
“Bless the Japanese.”

 

I know it’s one of those fiddly-tiny tid-bit problems, but my friend does have a point. The more GT cars a team is entering into a race, the more homogenous a GT grid tends to look. If you’re a regular viewer, that’s not a problem; but if you’re a newcomer, it could be discouraging. Although of course it could also be seen as a challenge, since recognising cars on livery colours alone is somewhat of a right-of-passage for many fans. Still, I personally wouldn’t mind if WRT became a bit more like my group of friends, with some more shades and some more colours, and generally more diversity.

The Night Before

The night before I go to a race event is always a bit of a double-edged sword. I can never quite make up my mind if I like it or not.

 

On the one hand, I dislike the night before a race weekend. By the time it comes around I’ve usually already spent the entire day looking forward to attending the event and after all those hours and hours and hours and hours of not being able to do anything but think of the great things to come… the day still isn’t done and I still have the entire night to get through before I’m allowed to finally be on my merry way. Sometimes I try to trick myself into thinking that the night won’t be so bad, because I’ll spend a large part of it asleep – and when humans sleep, they’re oblivious to the passing of time. Neat trick, right? Nope. Wrong. The more I think that time will go quicker when I sleep, the less I’m actually able to sleep. I often end up spending two thirds of the the night tossing and turning, waiting in agony for the arrival a morning that never seems to come because my alarm clock simply isn’t ticking fast enough.

 

Sigh.

 

On the other hand, I also like the night before a race weekend. It’s a moment of relative quiet. The work week is done, but the action hasn’t started yet - although the anticipation excitement is definitely there. It’s the quiet before the storm, only without a tornado approaching on the horizon and more butterflies in the stomach. What will happen during the races? Who will be quick? Who will be slow? How will my favourites do? And what will the weather be like? In all honesty, for rather selfish reasons, it’s usually the last two questions that weigh heaviest on my mind. I don’t count a lot of drivers among my favourites, but I definitely have a soft spot for the rare few I do like. I always want them to do well, obviously, but when I go to see them race live I really want them to do well. As a result, a small part of the night before is usually spent checking out the competition and estimating the chances of ‘my lot’.

 

And then there’s the weather question. It’s probably a no-brainer why that one has caught my systematic interest. You know, if I truly have no other option I will sit in the rain to see a car race, no problem. However, when it’s not absolutely necessary that I almost drown myself for the love of the sport, I really rather wouldn’t do it. This means another chunk of the night before is dedicated to staring at the weather website, especially when the initial forecast was bad, because until the last second I’ll hold onto the hope that the bad news will somehow turn good. This is why it’s only at the very last moment that my rain gear gets packed.

 

Packed?

 

Oh blast.

 

PACK.

 

It’s nine o’clock and I still have to pack my suitcase. AND I still need to shower, too. Goodbye butterflies, hello stress. Never mind this whole balanced goody two-shoes discussion above. I hate the night before.