SPECTATOR SPORT
Silly games
Simon Barnes
COLERIDGE talked about 'that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith'. The army officer in Monty Python talked about 'get- ting silly'. Together, these make a suitable epitaph for the just concluded season of Formula One motor racing. The notion of suspension of disbelief is a crucial one for sport. To enjoy sport, we must willingly forget, for the moment, that it is nothing more than kids' games, played for alarmingly high stakes. We must set aside the sensible notion that it cannot pos- sibly matter. Instead we must accept sport's belief in its own earth-shattering impor- tance. And we can maintain that position with comfort and a good deal of enjoyment, so long as sport does not wreck the illusion, does not start getting silly.
A sport that has manifestly got silly is professional wrestling. No one can suspend disbelief, willingly or otherwise, once men With tights and pneumatic muscles start roaring. Another silly sport is stock-car rac- ing, in which cars biff and bang each other in a loony free-for-all of crumpled metal and 1-boning smashes. I have even seen stock-car racing on a figure-of-eight circuit: hilarious, and manifestly silly. Formula One teeters on the edge of silli- ness. For a while, it seemed that the world driver's championship, which had come down to the last race with a single point separating the leaders, Michael Schumach- er and Jacques Villeneuve, would be decid- ed on the question of who filled up with petrol quicker. 'And do you mind checking the oil while I'm here?'
This is rather like deciding the Olympic marathon on the question of who can lace up his plimsolls faster. But the petrol busi- ness is important, because nobody in For- mula One ever overtakes anybody else unless he has stopped for petrol.
In 1994, the world driver's championship was decided when Schumacher whacked Damon Hill off the track in the last race, in Adelaide, Would anything like that happen this year, in Jerez? Don't be silly, everybody in Formula One told us. This is serious sport. But then Villeneuve, flying in the face of precedent, dared to overtake Schu- macher, and Schumacher deliberately tried to whack him off the track.
Alas, poor Schuey whacked himself off the track instead, and Villeneuve nursed his damaged car home for the world champi- onship. The television caught the magic moment to perfection, for there was a cam- era in Schumacher's car. In replay after replay, we saw him swing his wheel hard to starboard, ramming the overtaking Vil- leneuve amidships.
No one expressed the slightest doubt that this was a deliberate move. 'Michael showed his true colours,' said Hill. 'It was Adelaide all over again,' said Frank Williams, head of the Williams team, for which Villeneuve drives. 'I didn't expect Schumacher to do something like that,' said Bernie Ecclestone, a man not otherwise noted for naive statements.
But the race stewards decided it was a 'rac- ing incident' and therefore merited no pun- ishment. This was alarmingly silly. The clear message was that the sport daren't put at risk vast sums of money associated with Ferrari (Schumacher's car), Schumacher himself, Italian Ferrari fans, German Schumacher fans. Therefore Schumacher is allowed to do what he likes.
The day after Schumacher's exoneration, Formula One thought again. Schumacher must now face a meeting in a fortnight's time. They might fine him, which to one of his pocket would not matter a fart in a thun- derstorm. The only way to maintain credibili- ty would be to ban him for a number of races. Dare they do that?
Formula One has so far done everything possible to avoid alienating Schumacher and Ferrari. Instead it has alienated its entire audience, who want to believe, at least for the moment, in a credible sport. The fact is that in Formula One, it is no longer possible to sus- pend, even for the moment, one's disbelief.
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