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Hammer and tongs. 9/12/2006

This MotoGP post is a day late. I’m sorry, but work keeps getting in the way. Sometimes deadlines mean exactly what they say, if you cross the line, you’re dead. Don’t matter if the report you’re writing is going to be circular filed, unread.

Anyway, coming back to the content of this post. I didn’t get to hit the track on the weekend, in spite of having press, pit and grid passes up the wazoo. It’s the first time I haven’t been to the track for a home MotoGP since god only knows when. Did I miss it? Yes. The atmosphere, the heat, the noise, the smells, the machines. Nothing beats actually being there. But personal is not the same as important.

So I had to settle for watching the race one step removed, on the idiot box. My first problem was actually getting the box to work. The various remotes in my place have had a hard life, variously used as book marks, levers, hammers, and a tool to vent my frustration. I think I must get through about 5 remotes a year for the box, because every time I hear something stupid on BBC or CNN, I promptly fling the remote at the TV, cursing out stuff like rising oil prices, or the half baked idiocy that passes for government policy around the world. Especially when soldiers get killed.

The race started. I watched. I know the track well. Intimately even. Her curves are more familiar to me than any woman I know. Every twist and turn, radius and apex. And watching the masters perform their magic on her was revealing. I once had the chance to get onto the track a day after the MotoGP boys finished their winter testing, and I saw all their lines. As in, the dark lines of rubber they left behind in the corners, blasting their way through.

The thing was, watching the race on the box, listening to the commentary, drove me to boredom. I fell asleep on the sofa. Not because the race was boring, but because I couldn’t connect. These guys were there at my home track, and I wasn’t watching them do it in real life. I watched the start. I caught the first few laps. And then blissful sleep. Helped along by generous amounts of Tiger consumed during the 125 and 250 sessions. Until about 10 minutes from the end, when someone decided that I was missing the race, and promptly woke me up by bouncing a fire engine off my head.

I sat up, and saw that Loris was in the lead. Followed very closely behind by Rossi.

I watched the last 5 laps with intense interest. I was now connecting with the race. No doubt Capirossi had only a slim chance of getting back into the running for the championship, while Rossi needed the points to firm his grasp on it. I saw them go for it, hammer and tongs. The Desmosedici fishtailing through the tight, fast corners that are a trademark of this track. They exchanged leads faster than the commentators could keep up.

It came down to the last laps, and I was on tenterhooks. And in the back of my mind, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Rossi was going to pull off his favourite trick. Getting the lead in the last corner. The Ducati, on the day, was the faster bike. And Capirossi likes Sepang, having won here last year. I’ve spent time discussing the track with the guys from the Corse team. But Valentino Rossi is rider a cut above the rest.

3 corners from the end, on a downhill left hander, Rossi made his move. And took the lead. At this point, I screamed, and threw my beer can at the screen. Followed immediately after by a throw cushion, a can of Pringles and a partridge in a pear tree.

I didn’t begrudge Rossi the win. But I really felt for Loris, because he had done a good job of keeping the hounds at bay. This was motorcycle racing at its best. You would never see this in Formula One. Exciting, close in racing, banging fairings and fishtailing.

All pictures courtesy of Ducati Corse Press

Comments»

1. KY - 9/12/2006

Rossi was fast because he was running away from a souped up Kancil.