Road&Track has an interesting interview with Michelin's racing department guy, Pierre Dupasquier, and they talk about the 2005 USGP fiasco, at which I was present. The above shot was taken by myself from our grandstand seat at turn 1, the moment the "race" was starting. Needless to say, this whole thing really p-oed me off. I immediately had thoughts of Bernie Ecclestone fleeing the scene in his sleek black hellcop.

Which brings me to think about F1 in general. I, personally, love F1. The cars are pinnacles of human engineering, and their sound, smell, and look are something unrivaled on the face of the earth. Yet Formula One has just given itself a bad name among the non-diehard racing fans because of the intense politics that is forever going on.

Whenever I watch the "Acura Pre-Race Show" on Speed Channel, Peter Windsor (a fine chap, indeed) always is covering some political story inside F1, whether it be about drivers switching teams, team owners having friction with their drivers, drivers vs. other drivers, or Bernie Ecclestone flaunting some newfound power of his. Now this doesn't happen all the time. They try to balance their coverage with a good dose of great stuff about the cars themselves, racing strategies, etc.; but whenever it turns into FIA C-SPAN, I get up and prepare some popcorn.

Now I may have criticism from diehard fans who like the political intrigue of F1, and that's perfectly okey-dokey. But for a simple-minded lover of the sport, racing is racing. When all is said and done, the real magic of F1 happens when the ignitions fire up and the starting lights flicker on. Hearing and seeing a Formula One car in all its glory is an experience I have yet to find a replacement for. It's something that you can tell your grandchildren about. When you sit them up on your lap, your not going to be telling them about His Excellency Bernie Eccelstone, or the 2005 USGP Michelin incident. You'll be telling them about the thrill of hearing the cars slam into gear; how you saw the great Michael Schumacher race; how you could smell the smoldering, cherry-red brakes from 200 yards away. That is what F1 is all about. Thrills. Spills. The glory of putting masterpieces of machinery onto asphalt.