India is suffering from IPL fever. I am also running a slight temperature. Have been following the fortunes of the Chennai Super Kings despite the superhuman effort needed to wrest the remote from hubby who has nothing but disdain for India’s new religion. My warning that he will be burnt at the stake as a heretic have fallen on deaf ears. But even as I watch the men in yellow slug it out on foreign shores, I find my thoughts wandering to F1, that Mt. Everest of auto racing.
The sport is practically unrecognizable with the new rules that have been implemented. Unlike the autosexuals who constitute F1’s rabid fan following, for me auto racing is all about the drivers. Those fellas race at speeds of up to 360 km/h! I feel like the car is spinning wildly out of control when I am doing a feeble 20. Dad once said I have three speed levels – slow, slower, slowest (Sigh, the truth hurts). And as for the gears, and clutch, and the other complicated gizmos, they represent differential calculus, algebra, geometry, men, and the million other things I find incomprehensible. So for someone who has taken the the term “lousy driver”, to new depths these guys are Gods.
The current season however has witnessed the fall of the Gods as the drivers have diminished in stature even as the cars have grown omnipotent. Former champs like Kimi Raikkonen and Lewis Hamilton remind me of myself behind the wheel. Of course the rubbish cars they are driving are to blame for their hopeless bumbling. And Jensen Button is the same driver he always has been and owes his newfound dominance to the sexy Brawn GP. Guess the drivers are just along for the ride and the cars are the real stars. May as well put those amazing hunks of metal on the podium. Hate to admit it, but the autosexuals may have had it right all along. And perhaps I could undergo a magical transformation and turn into a fantastic driver if only I could get my hands on a Brawn GP or a Red Bull!!!!