Tea Leaves

While there are many German words that I know, the one that I think is most apropos here is schadenfreude.

Auf wiedersehen, liebchen.

The American conception of Italian masculinity is somewhat out of step with reality. 30 years of Italian-American gangster movies have firmly ensconced the idea of Italian men as sort of irrationally hyper-macho. The truth is a little more prosaic. Any native Italian woman will tell you: Italian men are mama’s boys.

I say this without rancor or intent to insult. It’s not inherently negative, it’s just the simple truth, to the point where the Italian government offers tax breaks to men to move out of their mothers’ houses already. Read the rest of this entry »

I want to go on record saying, publically, that season 9, episode 3 of Top Gear might be the finest thing ever shown on television since the medium was invented.

And not just because of this segment.

Well, OK. Mostly because of that segment. But the political commentary about New Orleans is spot on as well.

I’m sure many of my urban liberal friends will think “This is unfair. It’s Alabama.” But the truth is that I can drive 30 minutes outside of Pittsburgh and find towns which would have given the Top Gear boys the exact same reception.

Richard Hammond

I don’t usually do this, but I wanted to take a quick moment to say that Top Gear presenter Richard Hammond who has been seriously injured in a jet-powered car crash, is in our thoughts today. Our hopes go out to him and his family.

Top Gear might be my favorite show on TV right now. I certainly enjoy their wild stunt segments, many of which Hammond hosts. I’ve always thought that they were stunts that looked more dangerous than they were. Evidently, I was wrong. I think I speak for all the fans of the show when I say that I’d give up those segments forever with no regrets if it means that Hammond’s two daughters, Isabella and Willow, can have their daddy back safe and sound.

If you’re so inclined, donate a few dollars online to Yorkshire Air Ambulance in his name.

Richard Burns

I’d like to take a moment today to mourn the passing of Richard Burns, 2001 WRC Rally Champion. Diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2003, Burns passed away on Friday night. He was just 34 years old.

A section for memorials has been started on his web site. His family asks that in lieu of flowers, they would prefer donations to Cancer Research.

So it’s come down to this. Eleven years after Ayrton Senna’s tragic death cast a pall over Formula 1 and made everyone rethink safety, Bernie Ecclestone and Max Mosley have put up a tent and made everyone rethink clown cars.

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A few months ago, in a fit of good sense, I cancelled my satellite dish service when I realized that I was paying about $40 a month for the privilege of not actually watching any TV.

And, for the most part, it has worked out. I’ve read a lot of books. I’ve played a lot of videogames. I haven’t missed it at all.

Unfortunately, Formula One season starts this weekend. This puts me in a bit of a bind.
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Around Thanksgiving, in my house, the pheromones that men emit while bonding flow thickly and freely. In the haze of their L-tryptophan enhanced post-prandial stupors, men move slowly, so as not to alarm their pack-mates. Belts are loosened. Talk of politics is avoided. Attention focuses, inevitably, on whatever sport is on TV. Often, this ends up being football, naturally, but every so often I’ll walk into the room only to find all eyes focused in rapt attention on a golf match.

I have great respect for the skill required to be a competitive golfer. It is a subtle game. It requires more stamina and strength than you’d think, if you’ve never tried it. Put on a replay of an amazing putt and I’ll be able to appreciate it, as long as I don’t have to watch for more than about 30 seconds or so. But I can’t understand the point of watching an entire golf match, or even a hole. As a spectator sport, it is composed entirely of interstitial pauses. Watching golf because you “like sports” is like listening to John Cage’s 4′33″ because you “like music.” When a golfer is taking a shot, the game is interesting. At all other times, the sport is of merely academic interest.

Realize, then, the pain it causes me to admit that WRC Rally racing, which I love, is the golf of the motorsports world.
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“The power output of an engine [equals] the size of the bangs, times the number of bangs per minute that you can manage to get.”

Keith Duckworth — Cosworth Engineering

The Chariot Makers

Former Benetton mechanic Steve Matchett has written a new book, The Chariot Makers: Assembling the Perfect Formula 1 Car. True to his usual style, it is a breezy, informal, and very readable book. While perhaps too light on detail to satisfy the most hardcore mechanic, it’s aimed at those of us who merely appreciate the engineering that goes into race cars, rather than understand it.
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Heinz Pruiller, a commentator for ORF TV in Austria was asked “How many more races is Michael Schumacher going to win before the end of the year?”

He looked at Speed TV’s David Windsor as if he were daft, and answered: “All of them. All of them.”

He paused, briefly.

“All of them.”

Marcus Gronholm’s co-driver Timo Rautiainen was injured when a metal bar lying in the road pierced the undercarriage of their Peugeot 307, and the seat, and Timo’s backside. It was at this moment that viewers everywhere learned that it is entirely possible to rattle off driving directions in Finnish while, at the same time, cursing in English.
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The highlight of the Indianapolis Formula 1 Grand Prix qualifying session for me was seeing some enterprising fans holding up a hand-made sign which read:

“Team McLaren:
New Tech Center - $300 million
Drivers - $17 million
3 Points behind Sauber - Priceless”

Nordschliefe. Kinda.

My new favorite site, Autoblog, has pointed out a fabulous article on learning to drive the Nordschleife. Project Gotham Racing fans, start saving for airfare to Frankfurt.

The Nordschliefe vies with Belgium’s Spa for the distinction of being one of the most famous and unforgiving road courses in the world. In 13 miles (!) it has over 100 corners (!!), and elevation changes that are more suited to an air show than a road race. I’ve only ever driven it in simulation, but even that has been enough to induce gut-wrenching fear.

On the down side, Autoblog is a frustrating my fantasies of obtaining a Lancer Evolution. So I guess if I ever do take a lap around the Nordschliefe, it won’t be in a LanEvo. If only I could convince Nissan to sell a street-legal version of the Skyline here.

He’s insanely talented. He has won Grand Prix after Grand Prix, and seems absolutely invulnerable. The gods love him. He can take certain defeat and, using a seemingly endless reserve of luck, skill, and cojones, turn it into a victory. His rivals seethe with bitterness and jealousy, and fans wonder if the sport will ever be free of his domination.
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Well, the Australian Grand Prix is over, and once again I have to face ridicule from people like Dushyanth, who ask:

“Why do you watch this “sport”? All they do is go round and round in circles, and in the end Schumacher wins.”

As time goes by, I have fewer and fewer answers to that question. But instead of talking about Formula 1 as a sport, let’s discuss it as a media event.
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Formula 1 is not a sport in decline; it’s actually in a full-fledged plummet. Addicted to tobacco money, scouting race locations in such dynamic and interesting places as Bahrain and Hyderabad, trying to be a fan of Formula 1 nowadays is like trying to give emotional support to your crack-addicted second cousin who is constantly scaring young girls in the supermarket parking lot but somehow still manages to think that they’re just intimidated by his great looks.

What do we have to look forward to this year? Fewer European races. More stupid rules. Drivers that can’t wait to escape from the teams they are driving for. Where to begin?
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