Nigel Mansell Autobiography

by Nigel Mansell

  I would go as far as to say that it brings an almost unfair advantage, because if a racing driver doesn’t concentrate or pay attention going round a racetrack then he will get bitten on the ass real quick and will get hurt. So a driver’s motivation to concentrate is immense. Drivers are, if you like, self-policed, because they have to do the job properly otherwise they will be too slow and perhaps not be employed, yes, but more importantly they could get hurt. No one really wants to get hurt so there is a lot of self-policing and self-belief in motorsport.

  In most other sports, you can have an off day and you won’t get hurt. In fact, in many other sports you can simply pull out. Take golf again: if you have had some bad news or feel unwell, then pull out, miss that tournament, get well and go again at the next competition. In F1, you can’t do that because if you miss a race you lose points, you fall behind. If you have some difficult family news, or get the flu at the wrong time, or you eat something bad, you have to carry that through the weekend and still perform.

  The worst race I went into health-wise was in Hungary. I had a temperature of 105 because I’d caught chickenpox. I still put the car on the front row. That race was awful, though. I had to pull out halfway through and I was hospitalised with a blood disorder. Turned out I’d effectively boiled my own blood. That day in Mexico when I’d had Montezuma’s revenge after Murray Walker’s party was another time I could really have done with a day off . . .

  Anyway, being serious again, this is why people in motorsport need a different mind-set, because the level of risk sharpens their focus. In my opinion, other sportspeople suffer because they find it harder to sharpen their awareness for key events, where they don’t hone their levels of performance to the highest point. In motorsport you simply can’t afford to screw up big time because it might kill you. Self-preservation is an incredible motivator.

  In September, Alain Prost announced that he would be joining me at Ferrari after a very acrimonious spell at McLaren-Honda with Ayrton Senna. That move, as I later found out, would lead to my position in the team shifting dramatically. Of course, I had heard the rumours about Prost, which had surfaced earlier in the season, but I was confident in my ability and felt that, in a straight, fair fight, I could beat him. In the past, he had been fair with me and spoken with respect away from the track too.

  However, events did not unfold like that. I had number one driver status but that altered when they brought Alain into the team. I have to say, Ferrari were very honourable and beautiful people. They told me that the goalposts had moved. Unfortunately, over the course of the 1990 season, Alain worked very hard at motivating the team to support him. He was always a very political driver, and I quickly felt the emphasis shift away from me. Naturally, this was demoralising and disappointing.

  It was a season with little joy on the track. I had just one win, in Estoril, Portugal (which put me level with Sir Stirling Moss on 16 grand prix wins), and four podiums, and came only fifth in the title race behind Senna, who was now a double world champion.

  As a quick aside, Stirling remains hugely charismatic to this day; an amazing character, who can make you laugh so easily, too. Four times the World Championship runner-up and often the underdog; he should have won it but unfortunately he didn’t, and yet he is still so bouyant. Having been a bridesmaid three times myself, I know how much it hurts, and the way he carries himself is just incredible. He is also a mine of information and the thing I love about Stirling is that, no matter what subject he is talking about, he states it as it is; he doesn’t pull any punches, but he does so with grace and style. Eloquent and funny, entertaining and informative, I have got a special place in my heart for Stirling. I don’t think he is political in any way; he is a genuine sportsman, a true racing hero. So to be level with him on wins with that Ferrari victory in Estoril was a real joy.

  When I surpassed his total, he came up to me shortly after and said, ‘Thank you very much, Nigel, thank you kindly.’

  ‘Why, what have I done?’

  ‘Well, now you have bagged more race wins than any other driver who hasn’t won the title in the history of Formula 1! At last, you have taken it away from me. That is one record I don’t mind losing. Thank you.’

  We really laughed, it was so funny.

  Getting back to that season, it’s interesting that, with the passage of time, if people ask me about the 1990 season they don’t want to know about all the politics with Prost, the manoeuvring behind the scenes, the intrigue – they want to know about me overtaking Gerhard Berger on the Peraltada Corner in Mexico.

  With three laps to go, Gerhard had come down the inside of me on the main straight with all four wheels locked up. I looked in my mirror and felt that if I turned into the corner he could have T-boned into me and I would have been out. In my opinion, he’d abruptly pushed his way past me in the most forceful manner. I wasn’t happy with this move, not happy at all, and so from that moment I was determined that I had to regain the position. I thought to myself, There is no way I am going to give second place to someone driving like that.

  We proceeded to fight tooth and nail until on the last lap I was dummying one way and the other. I have to admit there was a little bit of red mist involved in what I did next. I thought, Screw you, I am not backing off, so I drove flat out at 180mph around the outside of Berger on the Peraltada Corner and screamed into second place. It was a very dangerous manoeuvre. Going round the outside of anyone at that speed is friggin’ dangerous. They only have to move a bit and touch you and you are gone. I wasn’t thinking that, though. I was just determined to pass him and get into second and, besides, the adrenaline and the exhilaration of that move was so exciting.

  I finished second behind Prost, but as far as my overtaking move was concerned, I didn’t think anything more of it. Anyway, on the slow-down lap, the fans were all going berserk around the circuit. On the actual Peraltada Corner they were standing up and clapping. I was a little perplexed, to be honest. I thought I’d come second but maybe Prost had retired on the last lap and I’d won?

  That feeling gathered momentum when I got into the pits. Prost must have broken down . . . As I entered the pits almost everyone – drivers, team managers, mechanics – were clapping me in. I thought, I must’ve won, right? I got out of the car and all these people were congratulating me. One of my mechanics said to me, ‘Nigel, I cannot believe what you have done!’

  ‘Er, what have I done?’

  ‘Peraltada . . .’

  That’s when I realised that I hadn’t won; they were just so stunned by the overtake.

  ‘Oh that! Yes, that was pretty hairy!’

  Those moments are pretty magical. When your peers, these world-class talents, engineering experts and Formula 1 legends are clapping a move you have made – even if they don’t like you perhaps – then it is a lovely feeling. These were people who had seen everything, done everything, yet here they were applauding me for this manouevre. Wonderful.

  Mexico was the highlight of the year for me, but with all the behind-the-scenes political upheaval surrounding Prost and Ferrari, I did not believe that I had the opportunity to compete on a level playing field anymore. At the British Grand Prix that year, I found out that Prost had liked the look of my car more than his so they were switched, which really disheartened me further (although I was re-energised to beat him and put his car on pole). However, during a bitterly disappointing race, a gearbox failure halted me, so shortly after the grand prix I announced my retirement from Formula 1.

  I had been number two to Keke Rosberg, then to Piquet and now it seemed to Prost. Remember after Elio died and I had resolved only to continue in Formula 1 if I had a genuine opportunity to compete? This feeling was now more relevant than ever. I was risking my life and felt I deserved the opportunity to go for the world title, but that seemingly wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want to make up the numbers. I was tired of all the politics. I had been so close to the World Championship and had it snatched away on more tha
n one occasion, so when Ferrari swapped cars at Silverstone, the gas went out of me and my motivation dissipated. It was exacerbated by the fact that the history and heritage I had with the British fans was something very precious and pure to me. We weren’t hard up financially; I had fulfilled so many of my ambitions and I was happy to retire, even though I’d not won the title. So I made my announcement and retired from Formula 1.

  However, there was, of course, another twist in the tale for me. Frank Williams started enquiring if I would drive for his team in 1991. There had been much intrigue about where Senna was going to drive in 1991, but eventually he signed for McLaren. Given the great times I’d previously had with Frank and his team, there was certainly a synergy in us working together again. I was obviously pleased that someone like Sir Frank was interested, but in my mind – and I can’t stress this enough – I was genuinely retired.

  Eventually, after Frank enquired some more, I began to contemplate the idea of a swift return. I spoke to Rosanne and eventually we decided to talk to Frank about the circumstances of any drive. I said I would come back for him but only on very specific conditions: with number one status; certain guarantees in the paddock and in testing; wages and other terms were discussed too. I really wanted to make sure that if I was to return to F1 then it was to be with a genuine shot at the title. Sir Frank said at the time that what I was asking was ‘impossible’, and I was okay with that. I respected his right to do what he felt was best for his team, just as I had my right to look after my career and family.

  Then, three weeks later, I found out that the impossible could happen after all and the Williams team agreed. This was potentially brilliant news. I personally felt that the combination of being the number one driver with the very best of the best presented to me, along with Frank, Patrick Head and the team behind me, and with the car I had heard about being developed, meant that finally, after all these years, my moment might be approaching.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE MOST SUCCESSFUL RETIRED F1 DRIVER

  I really had trouble in the winter time before rejoining Williams for 1991 because of the emotions I’d gone through when I retired. I’d made a public announcement and in my head I was an ex-racing driver. I felt I had retired for all the right reasons and genuinely felt at ease with my decision. Then, suddenly, I not only had a drive but I had a proposal that potentially could take me to a world title. Yet in the past I had been on the receiving end of situations where I felt events did not pan out as expected, so I was also wary of getting too excited.

  I was criticised at the time for coming out of retirement, but I was used to barbed comments from some quarters of the specialist press. The funny thing is, in some ways I stayed retired in my mind, so as far as I’m concerned I am the most successful retired driver in the history of the sport, because while I was retired I came back to F1 for two years, and I went on to two motorsport world titles back-to-back. I was a happy boy!

  In that winter, I was determined that if I was going to come back I’d be fitter, stronger, leaner and more focused than ever before. We were living in America, so the countless transatlantic flights were tiring but there was a feeling that the team could make a big impact in 1991. Living in Florida meant the conditions for getting fit were excellent; I could almost train 24/7. I worked so hard; the lightbulb went on in my head to make this opportunity count.

  I was also aware of my age – I was approaching 38. The clock was ticking; I realised that I had only a finite amount of time left and that was a precious commodity. I knew that I wasn’t going to get this time back again, and so I grasped it and I worked my little ass off.

  Pretty soon after I first sat in the 1991 Williams, the excitement levels started to rise. They were working with Renault and Elf, and the brilliant designer Adrian Newey was also on board. Couple that with Frank and Patrick’s expertise and vast experience and it felt like a very strong team indeed, certainly one capable of winning the world title. My already high spirits were lifted still further when I was awarded the OBE by the Queen, which is something I am exceedingly proud of.

  In pre-season testing I challenged the team and also Elf to push the boundaries and strive harder and harder. There were new fuels from the likes of Agip, which were seemingly providing considerable power advantages, and we could not afford to miss out on this development. So I really pushed Elf hard.

  Speaking of pushing fuel suppliers to raise their game in pre-season, I won’t say which team but another well-known F1 outfit once put some of the very special racing fuel in a small rental car they had, for fun. The little car ran really well for about five minutes, but then the whole engine collapsed and the car imploded because the fuel had effectively melted every seal and gasket!

  Although the start of the 1991 season was plagued by gearbox problems as the team worked on the exciting new semi-automatic box, we all felt the FW14 had the makings of a championship car, not least because of the highly impressive aerodynamics. The team were working relentlessly to resolve any issues and the atmosphere in the garage was brilliant. A few people, including my race engineer David Brown, had commented that I was a quicker and more accomplished driver post-Ferrari, and I would have to agree with that, which was very reassuring. After retiring in the first two races and crashing out of the third, I got my first result with a second place in Monaco. By then I felt the car was wonderful and really believed I had a chance to push for the title.

  One common ailment that can really impact on your race is hay fever. Sometimes, my hay fever was so bad that my eyes were watering inside my helmet and I’d be sneezing as I cornered at 160mph, it was really difficult. When you can’t breathe very well it affects your performance.

  In order to try to resolve this I went to Harley Street and found out it wasn’t just pollen. I am allergic to apples and oranges as well, for example, among other things, so I have to be very careful. Cooked apples are fine but raw can send me into an anaphylactic shock. When I was racing I even underwent a two-year programme of injections to try to alleviate the hay-fever symptoms, but it didn’t really work, even though I had to have the injections every two weeks under very specific conditions. At the start of the two years they told me it had a 90 per cent success rate. Well, I’d like to say it is still very sniffly over here in the other 10 per cent!

  Years later, after I had finished racing, I went to a doctor who was supposed to be the latest bee’s knees in the field, and he said he could cure people with allergies. He took a load of bloods and tested me, then called me up and said, ‘It is all in your mind.’ I disagreed but he said he was convinced, and to prove his point he wanted to run some controlled tests. ‘When was the last time you had a Granny Smith apple?’ he said.

  I reluctantly agreed and so Rosanne went off and bought a Granny Smith. They made some small prick marks in my skin and ran three tests with water, raw apple and antihistamine. Within 20 seconds my lips were numb, in 30 seconds my throat was inflamed and I was having trouble breathing. Obviously they had the correct antidotes on hand, but I was not impressed! Later, the doctor actually apologised to me and said he’d failed to do the one thing that they were always taught – to listen to the patient.

  A few other drivers had similar problems with hay fever, not just me. I think it doesn’t help that all racing drivers were exposed to some pretty serious fumes during their careers. It wasn’t just my nostrils that were sore sometimes. I’d noticed that my moustache seemed to be catching some of the pollen because at times it was very sore to touch and was covering a raw rash. So in 1991 I shaved off my moustache. When people asked why I had done that I told them it was for aerodynamic reasons.

  1991 was a great season. Riccardo Patrese was my team-mate that year and at first he was out-qualifying me, so I really had to be on top of my game. A second place in Monaco – my highest finish at that fabulous track which has traditionally not been so kind to me – was a big boost in May and after that my season went very well. I really enjoyed driving the car
and we picked up some great results. Despite the early reliability problems I would go on to win five races and earn four podiums. The Canadian Grand Prix brought me some vitriol from certain critics, who accused me of switching off my engine when in the lead. Actually what happened was the gearbox just went into neutral and I couldn’t get in gear. Eventually, although I was revving the engine, trying to keep it going, it stalled. It was probably one of the hardest races to lose because we had such a fantastic lead at the time.

  Nonetheless, we played catch-up with Ayrton for the rest of the season and pushed him hard, winning three races in a row in July. This included my third British Grand Prix win, which I earned despite wheel balance and gearbox problems – by this stage of my career it would take a gargantuan effort by another driver to stop me winning at Silverstone; I adored racing there, even after it had been redesigned. Mansell mania, as they called it, was in full swing! This famous win even earned me a congratulatory fax from the prime minister, John Major.

  On its last lap, Senna’s car ran out of petrol and he was left stranded at the side of the track, in front of all the British fans. There had been talk of ‘bad blood’ between us, which was nonsense. Yes, we were rivals, of course, but there was no personal animosity. Now he was stranded trackside after one of his rivals had swept to victory.

  So I stopped my car and gave him a lift back to the pits.

  It was just one of those spontaneous things: I came up to the corner and saw him out of the car, standing on the track. I just felt he was having such a hard time, and I could transpose myself straight away and imagine Ayrton thinking, My rival’s just won, I’m at his home grand prix with 100,000 of his fans, my car’s run out of petrol and I am stranded – this is not good!