Qualifying came round, and it was dry. However, we had a suspension problem, which meant we had massive bouncing while under load in corners. You’d come through the corners, get to the apex and the car would start jumping across the circuit.
As a result we qualified sixth, so not very good at all, but at least they fixed the problem for the race. Meanwhile, the race started and the rain was torrential. I mean, torrential. Very much like that race in Brazil, in fact, only without the accompanying loss of nerve, thankfully.
So, we started. I was running third behind the Toyotas and then the race was red-flagged because it was too wet, so I sat in the car for ages, got out, had a pee, got back in and they said, ‘Right, the race is going to start,’ and off we went behind the safety car.
A couple of cars spun off, even though we were going really slowly. So they red-flagged it again. Restarted it, the pace was good and by the time I brought it in for the changeover, we were third.
Mikhail got in. It was still pissing down with rain. He did a good job, kept it in third, and then it was Vitaly’s turn. He jumped in and it was all going okay until he lost it in one of the corners, spun off and spent almost an entire minute trying to get back on the circuit, during which time he was caught by one of the Rebellions. Not overtaken – not yet – but the Rebellion was on new tyres and was five seconds a lap quicker, so it was just a matter of time.
All looked lost. From a third-place podium finish we were about to drop to fourth with just three laps to go. Plus it was getting dark.
Next, Vitaly had to pit for new tyres. It seemed crazy at the time because if he pitted then we’d surely be overtaken, but wouldn’t you know it, the safety car came out, and so Vitaly pitted, was really quick in the pits and came out still ahead of the Rebellion but on new tyres.
Now he was four seconds quicker than the Rebellion and in the pits we were gnawing our fists. We were like, ‘Just keep calm, you’re on new tyres, it’s going to be easy, you’ve just got to stay in front.’
He crossed the finish line in third. It was pissing down with rain, it was dark and it was mega, because it was the team’s first podium, which made it a really special race for us. I’ve never seen a group of French people so happy, jumping up and down and high-fiving, hugging. They even put their cigarettes down.
Off we went to the podium together, and who should be there but Fernando, and – wait for it – it was the first time we’d ever shared a podium together since the 2012 Brazilian Grand Prix. Can you believe that?
I’d like to say the moment was very special for us both, but it wasn’t. I don’t think it really occurred to us at the time.
FACES AND PLACES
1. THE PEOPLE
At the top of the tree are the big bosses…
There’s no logical reason why you can’t get on well with a team owner. But for some reason you never really do. Is there a psychiatrist on board who can explain why there’s always an element of awkwardness at play? I’m telling you, a shrink would have a field day listening in on some of the awkward, stilted conversations that take place between a driver and a team owner. Even Martin Whitmarsh at McLaren, with whom I got on really well, always maintained a certain distance. And as for Ron Dennis…
Why? I just can’t say. And I even wonder if it’s something that I’m inventing, but then again, no, and I’m sure it was on both sides. Perhaps it’s the sums of money involved. The danger. Maybe it’s because they’ve employed you as the star driver and they don’t want to get too close; they want to maintain that employer–employee relationship, knowing that one day they might have to give you your marching orders.
Luckily, of course, we drivers can keep the awkward team-owner-encounter dynamic to a minimum, and when it comes to financial matters we have managers to sort our shit out (not literally), and that can be all kinds of hilarious because team owners tend to dislike managers. They dislike them because they don’t trust them.
They have good reason, because it’s true that lot of managers are not straightforward with team owners, but then they’re probably the managers who aren’t straight with the driver, either. They’re the managers you can’t trust. And believe you me, there are a lot of untrustworthy managers out there,
Me, I had to kiss a lot of frogs before I found my… well, let’s not get carried away, but Richard’s a diamond. Team owners don’t like working with him because they know he’s hardnosed, but they also know he’s better than the alternative because he’s honest. He doesn’t bullshit, he says it how it is, and I think they respect that he plays hardball. ‘You put this in the contract or he won’t drive.’ But he’s also a lovely character, and he can have a joke with the team owners.
As for me and him, there’s a lot of trust and respect. We don’t always see eye to eye, and we argue, but in the end I know he’s got my best interests at heart, which is the most important thing. He was introduced to me by my dad, which says it all, really.
Anyway, back to team owners, and in reverse chronological order…
Ron Dennis
My boss at McLaren was a contradictory guy. Still is, no doubt. Ron loves to talk, but he’s also quite shy. He has a famous, almost obsessive, love of the colour grey, but he’s actually quite a colourful, emotional character. Loves being the centre of attention. Appears awkward and ill at ease when the spotlight is on him. You see what I mean?
One thing that never changes, though, is that he’s a very clever guy, and a very shrewd businessman.
I don’t know anyone else like him, but I do have a lot of respect for him, even though we didn’t always get on, especially when I tried to get out of my contract at one point. Not to go into too many details, but he was like, ‘No, you can’t get out of the contract.’
I said, ‘Ron, you don’t want a driver driving for you who doesn’t want to drive.’
Ah, but we reached a compromise in the end, and when I decided to leave, he was cool with it. He used me a lot for sponsor events and, as I said, I enjoyed it. It was good fun and I liked working with him.
Martin Whitmarsh, of course, was team principal, and I got on really well with him. We’d go out for meals, and I think he appreciated the fact that my arrival at the team had lightened the atmosphere a bit. I liked him a lot, actually. He was one of the few people who would stand up to Ron. Never minced his words.
Ross Brawn
Ross was great. A real talismanic presence. He would never lose his cool, never scream or shout. I remember when Brawn scored its first one–two on what was our very first Grand Prix, seeing him going absolutely nuts. It was a joy to witness because he was normally such a calm and controlled presence.
What’s more, the car he’d built was absolutely brilliant. You may or may not be familiar with the term ‘architect’s window’. An architect will include a window on his drawings knowing that it will draw the client’s attention and be vetoed. This way the architect gets his other ideas approved ‘under the radar’, as it were, because all the attention is on the window.
Brawn’s ‘double diffuser’ was a bit like that. All the attention of the other teams, the press, the fans and the FIA was on the diffuser.
‘Everybody’s looking at the double diffuser and they’re not paying attention to what else is on the car,’ Ross told me one day. ‘Plenty of little tricks on it.’
Things didn’t end as well as they could have done between me and Ross. He thought I was making a mistake going off to McLaren and told me so, but I was feeling the McLaren call for a variety of reasons and that was that. He was fairly cool about it, though. (The chief executive Nick Fry was not so cool but that’s another story, and one that’s already been told.)
Flavio Briatore
He was the Benetton team boss who was my overlord in my second and third season in F1, who called me a lazy playboy.
Later on, when I was at Brawn he called me a paracarro, which translates as concrete bollard or something similar.
So, a bit of a turkey, in other
words. Flavio based his whole persona on being a flamboyant Italian. And with that came a very outspoken side. Except that he tended to reserve his most flamboyant and outspoken moments for when the cameras and tape recorders were running. In private, to your face, he was actually really nice, when you could understand a word he was saying. But then he’d go off and say something to the press that contradicted what he’d just said to you in private and you found yourself wondering, Well, which is it, mate? Is it this way, that you’ve just told me in the office, or is it the other way, that you’ve just told the press in the paddock?
Like I say, I prefer people who are straightforward. Whether they like me or not, or we get on, I don’t care, it’s understanding a character and someone that’s honest that matters most to me, especially when you’re working with them, like…
Frank Williams
Frank couldn’t have been more different from Flavio, being very straight-talking, very up front. As a result, I got on really well with him. There were ‘issues’ in that particular relationship, of course, because although Frank had taken me on at Williams as a rookie in 2000, he also had Juan Pablo Montoya waiting in the wings. At the same time I was having some personal problems, making the headlines for the wrong reasons, etc. And then Frank announced that Juan Pablo Montoya was going to take my seat.
So that wasn’t great, and it sent me off to Benetton where for a while I had a torrid time under Flavio. But I didn’t and still don’t hold it against Frank. We’ve shaken hands over it. Let’s face it, nobody’s going to hold a grudge against Frank. He’s one of the true giants of the sport.
And then you have your rivals…
Depending on your reading speed you are, in about a minute, going to hear me go on about how your teammate is your biggest rival.
However, at the risk of dismantling everything I’m about to say on that, you still have to have a rival from another team. Step forward, Mr Sebastian Vettel.
We’ve always had a good personal relationship – he recently asked me to swap crash helmets, in fact – and on the podium at Abu Dhabi in 2010 when he’d won the Championship and thus taken it off me, he said, ‘I’m really happy to be standing up here with you, it really means a lot,’ which was a very cool moment, because the previous year we’d been on that same podium and I was World Champion and he was the guy who had been fighting me for it. So, yes, we’ve always had a good relationship.
Having said all that, the competition has frequently been fierce, and we’ve certainly had our moments together. There was Spa in 2010, and, of course, there was the incident in Suzuka, the thrills and spills of which I’ve covered already. After which there was a bit of bad feeling.
Me and him never shouted at one another, though. We have more respect for each other than all that. Plus we both know that the minute you start shouting you’ve lost the argument. Like if you start yelling at a bloke, the chances are that he’s going to start yelling back and any point you were hoping to make will be lost in the ensuing chaos, as cups of tea are upturned and vases of flowers sent flying. But go to him and make your point calmly and diplomatically, even if the point you’re making boils down to ‘You’re an idiot,’ and he’s more likely to reflect and maybe even repent.
Needless to say, I follow Seb’s career with interest. He’s a four-time World Champion, he’s obviously very talented, but I don’t think his current car is the right fit for him. Not only is the car not quick enough, but he’s also making mistakes and it’s surprising to see how many he’s made this year. He’s spun off quite a few times, hit the wall in testing as well in Monaco, had a couple of tangles, including a nasty little incident with Max at Silverstone. He’ll be back, though.
Unless he retires, in which case he probably won’t be.
But really, it’s all about the teammates
I cannot say this often enough, but you have to beat your teammate. It really is the only true competition in the sport. You might not be winning a race – well, you definitely won’t be unless you’re driving for one of the big three – or you might be winning, or you might have technical problems or you might not.
Doesn’t matter. You have to beat your teammate.
After a race, you’ll get changed, shower, and then go into your meeting at which all the engineers and strategists will usually be present. After that, you go into a private talk with your race engineer and your data engineer. Usually, you’ll have kept something back from the other meeting that you’ll share with your engineers. A little secret titbit for their eyes and ears only.
At the same time you’ll all be super aware that he’ll be doing the same thing. You’ll also be aware that the walls have ears. It makes for a really strange, surreal environment. You’re kind of at war, but pretending not to be. It’s the reason why if something’s bothering you, you tend not to make too much of a fuss about it because you don’t want it spilling over into bad feeling. It’s like a marriage that both parties are desperately trying to keep off the rocks.
In Turkey in 2010, the two Red Bulls in front of Lewis and me in our McLarens wiped each other out. (And there is nothing more embarrassing than wiping out your teammate, etc. etc.) I closed in on Lewis and readied for an overtake.
Meanwhile, he was on the radio, having been asked to conserve fuel, saying, ‘Is Jenson going to overtake me?’
‘No,’ he was told, ‘he won’t.’
But I never got that memo, and I passed him.
Next came some exciting racing that ended up with him first, me second (the official gap between us was 0.0 seconds), after which he said, ‘Did you pass me against team orders?’
‘No,’ I said, somewhat puzzled at how irate he seemed, given that he had in fact won the race.
After that he decided that the team were taking my side against him, which actually, when you think about it, makes no logical sense, because in a one–two situation almost nobody in the team gives a toss about who’s first and who’s second.
It was just a miscommunication, but we drivers tend to get very emotional, especially if we think that the team are backing your teammate more than you.
For example, Daniel Ricciardo, who was with Red Bull for years, had Max Verstappen as a teammate. Max came in, super young, super fast, won races. He didn’t really outperform Daniel, but they were on a par. However, Daniel felt they were backing Max more – apparently, Max was on more money than him – so he left and went to Renault and now he’s got a long-term contract with them.
I don’t see Renault winning a race in the next three or four years, whereas at Red Bull he’d be fighting for a podium the whole time and there’s always the possibility of winning a race. But he’s moved, maybe because he’s got too emotionally attached to the idea that he needs to have equal treatment and maybe doesn’t feel he was getting it at Red Bull.
By rights, we should all just think, ‘You know what? I can do my talking on the track,’ but that’s easier said than done and it’s all too common to get hung up on perceptions of the way you feel you’re being treated.
When it comes to the essential difference between you and your teammate, the equipment is, of course, the same, but you can adjust your car to work differently from his and sometimes you do go in a totally different direction, one that suits you more, and your teammate might be fine with that.
Ditto the reverse situation. As far as I’m concerned, he can do what he wants, I feel that I’ve done the best set-up I can for me.
But then if your teammate’s quicker and he’s done a different set-up, you’ll be like, ‘Hang on, I want to try and work out why he’s quicker. Can we do his set-up?’ And you might copy it. You might choose his base set-up and then make your own little refinements, hoping that you can improve on his. Maybe he likes more understeer, or you like the car a bit low at the rear to give you more traction.
There’s no harm in a bit of in-house fighting, of course, especially if there’s no other team in serious contention. That was why the in-house fighting
between Nico Rosberg and Lewis was great, because no one else could touch them. Mercedes were so much faster that you had to have in-house fighting, or else it was a boring weekend.
Same at McLaren when it was Alain Prost and Ayrton Senna. They were a second and a half quicker than anyone else. People forget that. It was the best racing of F1 history, they say. No, it wasn’t. Those guys could be almost a lap down and still win the race, so it was all about beating their teammate, and that’s why there was so much passion and, I guess, a bit of hatred between them, because all they had to do was beat each other.
As they both knew, it hurts when a teammate kicks your arse. I had that with Checo Pérez in 2013. Lewis had just left and because he was so shit-hot I assumed that nobody could come in and be close to him.
Then at the third race, in Bahrain, Checo aggressively overtook me, pushing me out wide in the process.
I got on the radio, bit cross about that, feeling like he was taking the piss. Then I overtook him, and then he tried to overtake me back and we made contact and I was back on the radio complaining about it, after which he beat me in the race.
Not a great day for me. And afterwards, I was pretty pissed off about it and made my feelings known. I was so angry the way he was driving, and even said so in the press (in the diplomatic, euphemistic way we do in Formula One: ‘Soon something serious will happen so he has to calm down. He’s extremely quick and he did a great job today but some of it is unnecessary and an issue when you are doing those speeds.’).
It took me a few races to work out that I wasn’t really angry at him for the way he was driving, because he was racing and, after all, that’s what we’re paid to do, otherwise it’s not sport, it’s a catwalk for cars. I was just angry because he’d beaten me, simple as that.
How to Be an F1 Driver Page 20
