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Hoses of the Holy in the Parallel Universe

July 12, 2004

What-everrrrr

Another weekend, another Grand Prix I didn't bother to watch (more DIY hell, partly, but also a big chunk of lack of interest).

I grew up loving it, as I've said before, and was watching it when Jackie Stewart was world champ, when Graham Hill was still driving, and listening on the radio as James Hunt won his title in Japan. How exciting it was then, how lethal, how stupidly dangerous. A bunch of rank amateurs tinkering with engines and racing them round airfields etc.

But Bernie Ecclestone turned it into a corporate money pit, and keeps adding more and more races, while fewer and fewer drivers seem capable of winning a race, except under freak conditions.

And it's not just me not watching the last two on telly. Believe it or not, I had a VIP pass and ticket to the Friday practice (some product launch), but I thought the prospect of the queues and traffic wasn't worth the experience of being there. I'd have been even less likely to go for the race, by the way - you get more track action on the practice days than you do on race days.

And I just object to corporate hospitality and ticketing. I loathe events with salespeople and marketing people invited to eat a buffet and attend a conference, with the odd sporting event taking place in the background. It is offensive, but more than that, it's a waste of fucking time and money, because none of the invitees gives a shit. As far as the company inviting me is concerned, nothing I saw or heard on that day would have made a blind bit of difference to the way I sell their products. They're either good products or they're not. The most effective way to "bribe" me is to loan me something so I can try it out and see/hear it working. If I like it, I get behind it. I'm nnot even saying they should give me stuff - I haven't the space for any more stuff. A couple of weeks loan, that's all it takes. Much cheaper than a flaming gold pass (and, no, I'm not in the slightest bit fooled by gold tickets and VIP passes on red lanyards - one of only 100,000, I'm sure).

Formula 1: disenchantment. All those VIPs and liggers - they're as unspeakable as guys in red coats chasing foxes.

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