Beers with Martin

05/12/2011

The end of the Formula One season heralds the start of the Australian summer. While the teams head back to Europe for a well earned break, in Australia it beckons in the cricket season, and long lazy afternoons in the local pub discussing all manner of topics and solving all of them. Never one to turn down an opportunity for a cold beer I headed down to the local, to welcome the summer in and to take time to reflect on another long, glorious season of Formula One.

Having moved house my conversations with the ever-opinionated Bob are a distant and slightly hazy memory. But there's a Bob in every pub, and in my new local his name is Martin. A short man who is probably younger than he looks, his receding hairline and defeatist attitude suggest a man well into retirement. Truth is, Martin drives a convertible sports car, and listens to loud music while wearing designer clothes from five years ago. He's a classic mid-life crisis specimen, but talks a good game none the less.

"What's he trying to do," Martin scalds as the usual bubbles of spit begin to form around the corners of his mouth. Even in our short time drinking together it's become the recognisable sign that the soap box is about to be mounted. "Why would he come back? It's not like he was that good when he was there to begin with. Has he found a personality while he's been away?"

Looking for an opening and spotting an empty glass I offer Martin a beer, while taking the opportunity to interject. "The thing is he's done it all now, hasn't he? He's won the title, he's gone and done rallying and NASCAR and got that stuff out of his system. I think he'd got a little restless with F1 and needed a break. Take Malaysia in 2009. You say he doesn't have a personality, but while all the other drivers sat in their cars getting drenched in a monsoon he'd gone back to the motor home, changed, and started eating an ice cream. If that's not personality I don't know what is."

"Bah, rubbish," comes the quick reply. "That's bloody laziness I say. He wasn't doing his job. He should have been sacked for that..."

"He kind of was, in a way," I jest.

"But Renault, I thought he was going to Williams. They've been talking about it forever. Everyone knew he was going to Williams. They said so on the telly."

"You can't always trust what you read," I reply. "Come on, you know that. If we all trusted what we read you'd have got a better response from that dating website..."

"Watch it," he says with a slightly menacing tone, though it's hard to take Martin seriously when he's busy slipping off the bar stool.

"He was never going to end up at Williams," I continue without missing a beat, though an eyebrow may have risen from the bar staff. "The team can't afford him to start with, and why would he want to join a team at the back of the grid. If he was going to go there, why wouldn't he go to Renault? He'd be more competitive for a start, and that's what every racing driver really wants in the end."

Never one to beat around the bush Martin changes tact. "So that's it for the other bloke then." Taking a swig of beer while I collect my thoughts Martin ploughs on. "They wouldn't sign Kimi if that other fella was going to be coming back soon."

"That's a big assumption," I suggest. "I don't know what it says about Robert, but it's a bloody big statement from Renault. I mean, for me it's sort of the team showing that it's not happy running in the middle of the pack. It's a sign of ambition. Kimi's a big name. It's bold and brash and I think I like it."

For a moment the conversation falls silent as another round of drinks is poured, Martin having managed to steady himself on the bar stool while I've taken to leaning on mine in an attempt to mask my own increasing lack of co-ordination. It's not the beer though, I convince myself, it's just been a long day and I've not eaten enough.

The beers arrive and a mouthful later Martin makes a particularly cutting observation. "Balls-out driver," he says. "He just throws it at the corner and doesn't care if it sticks or not, as long as he's going fast. He's only in control when he looks out of control."

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