In this #SliceofGasant (alternatively dubbed An Idiot’s Guide to Formula One), Gasant Abarder describes how he double clutched, granny shifted and stalled his way through his first watching of a Grand Prix race since Ayrton Senna was a champion.
Abarder, who recently launched his book, Hack with a Grenade, is among the country’s most influential media voices. Catch his weekly column here, exclusive to Cape {town} Etc.
I sat down with my dad to watch the Saudi Arabia Formula 1 Grand Prix on Sunday evening because I wanted to spend some time with him. I don’t know anything about this ‘sport’. My hot take: it’s guys driving around a track constantly complaining that someone faster than them is going past them.
They’re on their radios to their crews like a petulant Cristiano Ronaldo: “That guy just passed me. How in the hell is he going so fast? Investigate!” And duly, the DRS (a review system like cricket, I suppose) reviews the manoeuvre to check if the overtaking was legit or not. Much like a howzat, isn’t it?
In fact, the Verstappen guy that won the whole thing was crossing the finish line complaining about the guy, someone apparently called De Klerk, behind him in second place. I don’t know. If it was me I’d be whooping with delight. I couldn’t quite make out what Verstappen was saying but it sounded like he was telling his pit crew he had just soiled his pants.
My suspicions were confirmed because as soon as he finished they weighed him. He must have let rip on that final lap and they probably wanted to check if that gave him an unfair advantage as he’d most certainly be lighter.
But nevertheless, he was on the podium flanked by two Ferrari drivers! And he was driving a Honda. So, you’re telling me a Honda V-Tec beat a Ferrari to the finish line? No wonder these young guys in their tricked out little Hondas are so windgat on the roads of Cape Town (juiced up on Red Bull, no doubt too). Verstappen is clearly a bad influence!
Now bear in mind: I haven’t watched a single F1 race in its entirety since the great Ayrton Senna was champion. And boy, it’s changed. When the race began, there was the word “medium” written next to each driver’s name on the panel to the left of the screen. I instinctively thought this was the drivers’ order for Nando’s after the race and I thought it was a bit early to put in the order, not? Why were they all ordering medium Nando’s and no one was having hot? Are the flavours hotter in Saudi?
But then Mrs Laylaa Abarder pointed out my gaffe by saying it’s “mild” Nando’s not “medium” (and added, “You idiot”, for good measure) and it was actually a reference to the tyres. Hard, medium or soft. It was interesting to see that Sir Lewis Hamilton went from hard to medium tyres in what was a rather lethargic pit stop.
Now had Sir Lewis and Team Mercedes opted to source its pit crew from the Cape Flats his race may have had a different outcome. His pit crew had some fancy equipment but I’ve seen chaps on the Flats change tyres with a garden variety wheel spanner in record time. In fact, the manne here are so skilled they can relieve a car of a set of rims in the dead of night – whether that was requested or not.
Instead, Sir Lewis ambled out of the pit lane like that UK track runner. You know, the one who also complains that Caster Semenya is faster than her. It was tough to watch him start at position 14, advance to position 6 and finish in 10th. Looks like his Merc could also do with a tune up at Boeta Faizel from Athlone’s workshop. There his car will get a much-needed do-over with a chip, branches and NOS.
At the podium, it was amusing to see the race winners being handed no-name brand champagne. They waited patiently for the shaikhs in their full abayas to leave the winner’s stage before they sprayed what obviously was sparkling grape juice, right? I mean, this was Saudi after all. An Islamic kingdom. Not the Islamic State, obviously, because that is terrorism and the free world hasn’t condemned Saudi’s constant attacks on Yemen as such.
Sport is alive and well in Saudi apparently. Their attacks on Yemen are okay because global sporting events are still permitted there. It’s not like Ukraine. You’re allowed to own football clubs in the UK if you’re a Saudi because their victims are brown. You’re not allowed to own a football club in the UK if you’re Russian because everyone knows you draw the line at bombing blonde and blue-eyed people. Naughty, Russia!
But back to the Formula 1. I just don’t get it. And it’s okay. I never liked driving any way. But I can see the appeal. It’s in the glint of the eye of every racer boy who owns an entry level Beemer as they slalom their way through traffic. I may just watch next year’s edition of the Saudi Arabia Grand Prix in the city of Cheddar (if the commentators are to be believed) next year. Bet I won’t!
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Picture: Instagram