So, here we are. American fans of F1 racing, the few, the proud, the unloved.
After a year during which we saw the cancellation of the U.S. Grand Prix, the firing of Scott Speed from Toro Rosso -- the lone American-born pilot in the class, and repeated quotes from F1 head honchos to the effect that the sport doesn't care about or need America, we still find ourselves in love with the fastest, most thrilling race car driving in the world.
After all, as anyone who has ever been around the sport can attest, how can we not be smitten as such?
So what do we do?
Do we cry, gnash our teeth, beat our hairy man breasts or force ourselves to try and love NASCAR, IRL or Champ Car?
Fuck no! Not a chance. Doing so would only compromise our limited integrity.
Instead, we hope.
We hope that the elderly Harry Potter clone and Tony George find a way to get the Indy race back together (I still blame Michelin, you froggy bastards, it's not our fault that Olivier Panis sucked like a cold air induction system).
We hope that Graham Rahal or one of the other emerging young American drivers finds a chance (and a good chance, not a seat for Team Super Best Friends Last Place Aguri, but we love ya Sato!) to race in the sport in the next few years.
We hope that Red Bull decides to sponsor an all new event at Laguna Seca, or somewhere else, just as it has taken over the GP motorcycling races (more on my love of all things Red Bull in later posts).
We hope that Speed TV begins programming more F1 coverage during normal U.S. waking hours, and that they finally get a say in the broadcast direction so we can actually see the leaders passing eachother instead of another shot of Flavio Briatore's sweating armpits.
We hope that more of our countrymen realize that F1 racing is truly the creme-de-la-creme of autosport, forcing the aforementioned honchos and TV networks to cater to our revenue-driving selves in the name of gaining our advertising-loving eyeballs and merchandise-buying clout.
And we write -- at least that's what I'll be doing here on this blog. Putting a face, or more accurately some words, behind the reality of what it means and feels like to be an American F1 fan, abandoned in so many ways by our favorite autosport, but still loving it because it kicks so much otherworldy ass over all other forms of racing.
(And most importantly since we can still go to Montreal for the GP du Canada, where the women are hotter and the parties much better than they were in Indy anyways...)
So, let the silly season rage on in Europe and elsewhere in the world where F1 is still a living, breathing concern...
We'll try to keep it on life support here in the old US of A where we've been left alone to wallow in our own personal pity party, like so many backmarkers watching the Schumies, Alonsos and Hamiltons fly by while the slow boys struggle with ceaseless hydraulic issues...
To the grid!