Skip to main content

Bahrain GP - The finger is back!


Whilst the Bahrain GP weekend saw a lot of people towing the Bernie line, and attempting to make the volatile situation in the country seem like a minor inconvenience, Force India personnel having a worryingly near miss with some petrol bombs summed up the event neatly, not to mention scarily.

With two of their team traumatised enough to head home, team Fifi were the only ones bold enough to say “sod this”, and elected to miss the second free practice session to allow their shaken personnel to head back to hotels before dusk.

None of the other teams followed suit, but there was a definite sensation that the school bully had frightened them enough that they weren’t willing to step out of line and risk the wrath of the Diminutive One.

Putting the dark atmosphere to one side, the season was finely poised, with no clear pace-setters apparent after the first 3 rounds, and a win separating the first 7 drivers. Shocks were clearly on the cards, and Q1 deposited the first unpleasant one into Schumi’s lap, as a late effort by Kovalainen saw Michael fail to make it into Q2. Queue a long face. Oh, hang on... yeah.

Maldonado was already facing a 5 place grid penalty for shonky gearboxiness, and with Senna only making 15th, Pastor’s final position of 22nd signalled a stonking reality check for Williams after their recent good form. Massa once again dropped out in Q2, as did Raikkonen and Kobayashi, leaving Ricciardo with a stunning 6th on the grid, with Grosjean just behind him, whilst Vettel pulled his finger out twice – once to claim pole, the second time to waggle it around in front of the cameras again. Oh, how we’ve missed that. Whoa – my sarcasm meter just exploded.

Race day saw Schumi with more bad luck as he had gearbox wonkiness, the subsequent penalty dropping him to 22nd. He must have used a black cat to break some mirrors under a ladder factory, so crappily is his season turning out.

At the start, Button slipped back from 4th, with Grosjean brilliantly bagging JB’s slot, and a fast-starting Alonso up to 5th, whilst the Sebulator nipped off sharpish.

At the none-too-pointy end of the field, Kovalainen’s great quail was instantly negated by a puncture, whilst Michael began a steady climb through the field.

By lap 6, Seb was 4.5 seconds clear, with Hamilton defending from Grosjean, who brilliantly passed Lewis the following lap, whilst Raikkonen jumped the other McLaren of Button.

Lewis’ afternoon went awry at his first pitstop, as a grumpy wheelnut refused to go back on, leaving him 12 seconds to wonder why his wheels were worryingly wubbish. Sorry.

On the 24th time around the sandbox, di Resta brilliantly zipped past a battling Maldonado and Perez, whilst differing tyre strategies saw Kimi pass Romain for 2nd.

Very recent history repeated itself for Hamilton at his second stop – same wheel, same problem, another 12 second wait – meaning his afternoon was pretty much ruined.

Maldonado spun violently enough on lap 28 to scare his car into failing altogether, whilst Rosberg repeated an earlier move he had made on Hamilton on Alonso, making his one move to defend his position so huge that it encompassed the full width of the track, and most of the car park too. After the earlier move, Nico has been cheeky enough to radio in and say that Hamilton has passed him whilst off the track, but this time it was an aggrieved Alonso who radioed in to remind the world that YOU HAVE TO LEAVE SPACE, in an oddly high-pitched voice.

35 laps in, and Kimi was all over Vettel. His ragged attempt to get past turned out to be his only real chance. Stopping together 5 laps later meant his chances were gone.

With 5 laps left, Rosberg nipped past di Resta, and on the following tour, the poor afternoon for McLaren took a further nasty turn as Button limped in with a puncture, returning to the track in a lowly 13th.

As the lap counter showed just 3 remaining, Seb had a 3 second advantage, and when it clicked down to 2, the McLaren luck machine dealt them a final bitter blow as JB retired, with the exhaust exhausted.

So Vettel got to give his finger another airing, and jumped into a slim lead in the championship. He’s got it for the next 3 weeks, but it’s by no means guaranteed after that.

Raikkonen was an excellent 3rd, whilst Grosjean claimed the final podium position following a great drive. He seems really rather quick, doesn’t he? Schumacher scraped into the point in 10th, whilst Ricciardo did a great job of blowing his great quail effort big time, tumbling to a lowly 15th.

Post-race, a disgruntled Schumi gave the Pirelli tyres a verbal kicking, Alonso grumbled about Rosberg (who got away with his aggressive moves following stewardly investigation) and everyone bade a none-too-fond farewell to Bahrain.

Let’s hope that by next year, they really HAVE sorted it out over there, and F1 and it’s fans don’t have to go through another weekend of fear and fake smiles...

(Currently cruising through the Peter Gabriel section of my CD collection - Long Walk Home is an excellently atmospheric film score...)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Schaf Shuffle

The weather – source of endless fascination, conversation, irritation and (just recently) excess irrigation. And a fidgety weather presenter on the BBC... I’m endlessly fascinated with the weather, and will confess to making sure I catch the BBC’s updates whenever possible. Not the local ones, where half the presenters look like they got dressed in the dark, or ITV, where they seem to know very little about actual weather, but the national forecasts. Delivered by actual Met Office personnel, their job entails a tricky mix of waving your hands about a bit, explaining about warm fronts without smirking, and trying not to look too pleased whilst mentioning gales force winds and torrential rain. Or stand in front of Cornwall. Each has their own presenting style, but there is one who intrigues me above all the others. Step forward, Tomasz Schafernaker, the 37 year old man from the Met who breezed onto our screens in 2001, as the youngest male ever to point out that it was going to r...

Making an exhibition of yourself

Now and again, it’s good to reaffirm that you’re a (relatively) normal human being. One excellent way of doing this is to go to a business exhibition. Despite what you might have surmised from reading my previous columns, I am employable, and even capable of acting like a regular person most of the time, even joining in the Monday morning conversation about the weather over the weekend, and why (insert name of footyballs manager here) should be fired immediately. The mug! True, there are times, often involving a caffeine deficiency, where it is like having the distilled essence of ten moody teenagers in the room, but I try and get that out of the way when people I genuinely like aren’t around to see it. As part of my ongoing experiment with what others call ‘working’, my ‘job’ involves me occasionally needing to go and see what some of my colleagues get up to outside the office, and what our competitors do to try and make sure that they do whatever my colleagues do better than ...

RIP Jenwis Hamilbutton

We are gathered here in this... (looks round a bit) um... blog, to mourn the passing of Jenwis Hamilbutton. His life may have been short and largely irrelevant, but he touched the lives of so many people that... sorry? Oh. Apparently that was someone else... Jenwis Hamilbutton rose briefly to fame on twitter during 2010, when he was retweeted by BBC F1 presenter Jake Humphrey, having criticised his shirt. A similarly unspectacular claim to fame occurred when a tweet he crafted at 1am on a windy night appeared in F1 Racing magazine. An amalgam of bits of Formula 1 drivers Lewis Hamilton and Jenson Button (mostly the hopeless bits), he came into existence via 3 pints of cider, a Creme Egg and the Electric Light Orchestra’s mournful 1986 farewell album “Balance Of Power”, played loudly over headphones. In his short existence, he was followed on twitter by Paul Hardcastle of “19” fame, and a bunch of slightly odd but jolly nice people, whom he was never entirely sure actually exist...