Newsgroup: it.sport.formula1.moderato
Titolo: piloti, che gente (prima di Indy...)

The 14 Michelin-shod drivers who chose not to participate.
They had the power and, as each of the teams prepared their cars as if
the grand prix was proceeding as normal, opportunity to race.  They even
wished to do so.
'Juan Pablo Montoya, having seen the legions of supporters from his
native Colombia, was in tears as he returned to the pits,' reported
Sunday's The Observer. 'David Coulthard was particularly vocal over the
radio about his wish to race while Kimi Raikkonen had to be told in
words of one syllable to resist the temptation to return to the starting
grid and do what he does best.'
When it came to the crunch, the 14 obeyed orders. They heeded the safety
warning from Michelin and all, without exception, returned meekly to the
pits.
What this dispiriting episode underlined was the difference between the
21st century F1 driver and those we only remember through grainy
black-and-white footage.
In those days, F1 was always unsafe. Every venture was an encounter with
risk that most of us cannot conceive of.
We all take risks, it is true. Each trip in our sturdily-built Swedish
automobiles to the local supermarket carries an element of risk. But the
mid-20th century driver took on a risk far above and beyond that meagre
threshold. Crashes were commonplace. Death may not have been, but it was
still a regular companion.
Yet upon being informed that, in a rare change from the norm, racing was
a risky endeavour, the modern-day F1 drivers stayed in the pits.
Actually, that's not strictly true. They returned to the pits, which is
something different altogether.  They were in position to race. They had
tyres. They had fuel. They were on track. They were scheduled to start.
They had their cars. They could have turned off their radios and carried
on to the starting grid.
And then, when time turned to crunch, they did not.
Amid the Indianapolis post-mortem one key question was avoided:
'What was the level of risk in using the Michelin spec?'
There is, after all, a clear distinction between Michelin warning their
seven teams and 14 drivers that their tyres could be unsafe in the race,
and ordering them not to compete.
Judging by the communication between Michelin, the Michelin teams and
the FIA, and the response of Kimi, Juan, and DC as they drove the
formation lap, that the latter scenario did not occur is a reasonable
presumption.
A handful of the Michelin teams even reported that they hadn't
encountered any problems. Only Toyota, post-Ralf, publicly acknowledged
an issue.
So, for instance, was continuing on to the start-grid any more dangerous
than when Kimi Raikkonen continued to race despite losing his
right-front tyre at the Nurburgring, partially losing his vision and
then, finally, almost inevitably, his front suspension?
Despite being cited whenever justification for their multi million pound
salaries is sought, risk is increasingly absent in modern-day F1. Such
is the considerable improvement in the sport's safety levels that
crashes have ceased to carry significant danger. Kimi walked away from
his Nurburgring smash. A month ago, Alex Wurz was involved in F1's
fastest-ever crash and suffered no after-effects other than battered
pride. Even Ralf Schumacher, whose tyre failure on Friday precipitated
the Indy fiasco, was able to haul himself out of his shattered Toyota
and declared himself fit to race.
Thus it seems reasonable to conclude that the level of risk deemed
unacceptable by the Michelin 14 was no greater than the risk taken by
every driver in every race 40 or so years ago.
So let us return to that moment when the 14 Michelin runners circled
Indianapolis. Three questions should have been uppermost in their
thoughts:
1) Was is the likelihood of a tyre failure?
2) In the event of a tyre failure, considering how safe this sport is,
what is the likelihood of me then suffering an injury?
3) Was is it that I do for a living?
Now that the incredulity at the fiasco emerging in front of a global
audience of billions has subsided, my impression of Indianapolis is that
of disappointment.
Disappointment that the 2005 crop of F1 drivers proved themselves to be
so meek, so inferior to their predecessors.
And disappointment at their failure to grasp the opportunity before
them.
Recall, if you can survive the trauma, the sight of those 14 cars
peeling off the track. Now just imagine a McLaren or two, quickly
followed by Fernando's Renault, continuing on to the start line--.
Perhaps we would have even been privy to the team radio. 'I am racing. I
am a racing driver. I am prepared to take the risk on these tyres. I
want to win. I want that World Championship. This is what I do...'
Whatever the repercussions and results such an act would have
transformed last Sunday's events into F1's greatest-ever tale.
-- 
Posted via Mailgate.ORG Server - 
http://www.Mailgate.ORG

 a risky endeavour, the modern-day F1 drivers stayed in the pits.
Mi viene in mente Monza '56, quando Musso e Castellotti partirono ventre
a terra sulla soprelevata di Monza nonostante le raccomandazioni dei
gommisti di non esagerare perché le gomme non avrebbero resistito.
Finché una gomma di Castellotti non si stracciò a 290 orari e
sopravvisse solo per miracolo.
Altri tempi, altri piloti.
-- 
Massimo Bacilieri AKA Crononauta 
ICQ:4005815

Altri tempi, altri piloti.
Ti sbagli, i piloti sono sempre gli stessi. E' la consistenza degli
attributi che è cambiata. Sto proprio guardando, grazie a Nonno Paolo,
gli highlight delle stagioni dal '56 ad oggi. Beh, direi che a
riguardo di spirito agonistico & c. siamo proprio caduti in basso che
più in basso non si può....
Saluti
Redbird