Sport

I've never been a big sports fan. Although I was a fairly handy goalkeeper when I was in school, I never really got the point of football and rugby was too much like organised rioting; being tall I was constantly pushed into basketball but lacked the hand to eye coordination to actually do anything - or, at least, so my PE teacher would wearily write on my reports, year after year.  The one sport I got, the one sport I understood, was racing and, in particular, motor racing.

I could wax lyrical about the poetry of man and machine in harmony but that would be pretentious and, despite the subtitle of this blog, I try not to be pretentious too often. Suffice it to say that I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, enthralled by the sight of Formula 1; watching the races (when they were on TV) and recreating them on Scalextric with my friend Rodney.

And then, in the 1990s, I watched in horror as Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna were killed at Imola and my taste for motor racing waned. Other things attracted my attention and, looking back, I think I was a little sickened by a sport that killed its participants.  I came back to the sport in 1999, and my love for it was as fanatical as ever.  I would watch every race.  In the off season, I would recreate the races again but this time on a PS1, then a PS2.  A few years later, I discovered Indy Racing and Champ Cars in the US, and fell in love with oval racing - the speed, the tension, the lead changes.  I had tickets for the 2005 Indy 500 and, had G not left me a few months before, would have gone - I regret not going anyway.

It took a while but I got to know the personalities of the drivers - cheery Helio Catroneves and his habit of climbing the catch fencing after a win; surly Paul Tracy, seemingly always with a chip on his shoulder about something; matey, down-to-earth Gil de Ferran; talented, quick but somehow untrustworthy Sam Hornish Jr, the IRL's version of Nando. And then there was Dan Wheldon; the Brit done good in the US. The guy who always seemed cheerful, always seemed happy, with a smile on his face and a mid Atlantic accent that was charming.

Wheldon did well; he achieved a high degree of success in the sport, winning the Indy 500 twice - including the 2005 race that I nearly saw.  Latterly, he had struggled to find a seat - Indy has its money problems like everyone else, and the sponsorship just hadn't been there - but he managed to get a few drives this year, including the Indy 500 (which he won in an astonishing race that actually left me hoarse at the end) and yesterday's season finale at Las Vegas.

Sure, I knew it was dangerous.  I watched Kenny Brack's horrendous accident in Texas in 2003 and remember going to bed not knowing whether he had survived (he did, fortunately).  But you get used to seeing drivers survive - in IRL and in F1.  Robert Kubica and Mark Webber have both had horrendous accidents in the last few years which, in times past, would probably have killed them.  I lost touch with IRL because of the later night timings of the races and Sky's sometimes patchy and rather poor showing, but I was upset when I heard that Paul Dana had been killed in a practice session in 2006.

And then there was last night.

I didn't know him but I'm genuinely sad about Dan.  I feel sorry for his wife and his two young children and for his family and friends.  Motor racing is a great sport but no one should die for a sport.  I've seen the crash, before I knew that Wheldon had been killed, and I won't be watching it again; it's horrendous and I have no desire to see a man die.  Those who say that they watch motor racing for the crashes are idiots and have no place in the sport.  And, just as I did in 1994, I'm wondering whether I have any place in watching it anymore.