Ask Nigel: Feb 13

Dear Mike,
To me, it's not so much a matter of Tony George - or anyone else - 'winning the war' as much as 'Indycar racing' losing it. The decline in open-wheel racing in the USA upsets me deeply - I hate to see it these days summarily pushed aside by the Winston Cup Machine.

I note you live in New York - my favourite place on earth, incidentally - so tell me when you last picked up an NYC newspaper, and read any racing item to do with other than NASCAR?

I don't pretend to be an expert on American open-wheel racing, but I have always taken a keen interest in it, and have a great affection for it, so its decline over the last few years has saddened me. This began at the end of 1995, when Tony George, the owner of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, severed his ties with CART, and announced the formation of the Indy Racing League; overnight 'Indycar racing' was hacked into two series.

Anyone of any consequence, be they team owner or driver, stayed faithful to CART, and intially all were very gung-ho about the future. Virtually all the cards seemed to be in their hands, not least because the IRL was devoid of star names, but still you couldn't help noticing that the Indianapolis 500, downgraded or not, remained far and away the biggest open-wheel race in America. Even if TV ratings plummeted, and spectator attendances dipped, still nothing else was close.

Why? Because the race is an institution. Not everyone who queues on 16th Street is a racing fanatic, but that isn't the point; since the beginning of time many went to the Indy 500 because, well, because it was the Indy 500, a happening, and the same is true of Monaco or Le Mans. Folk go to these races who wouldn't think of attending any others.

Perhaps, if CART had continued to grow and to thrive, the absence from its schedule of Indianapolis might have been manageable, but in recent years the series seems almost to have had a death wish, and team owners have begun to defect, not because the IRL is booming, but because they became disillusioned by CART's lack of direction.

In 1996, the first year of the split, CART felt sufficiently confident to schedule a race at Michigan - the US 500 - deliberately conflicting with the Indy 500, but now a glance at this year's CART dates reveals a gaping hole around the month of May, this specifically to accommodate Indy, so many are the CART teams and drivers who want to run there.

Penske, after dipping a successful toe last year, has now taken the full plunge, leaving CART for the IRL. To an outlander like myself, that looks like a distinct step down - if the Penske team loses a race, people will want to know how and why! - but Roger will have sound commercial reasons for his decision, not least that he is the second largest shareholder in the International Speedway Corporation, which owns six of the tracks on which the IRL competes.

As well as that, it is known that Philip Morris have been unhappy with the increasing number of foreign races on the CART schedule, as well as not being able to capitalise on any successes at the Indy 500. Although Castroneves and de Ferran finished 1-2 last year, their cars bore no Marlboro signwriting, for the American tobacco advertising laws allow company identification in only one series, and Penske of course chose CART. From now on, as an IRL team, his cars can be in full Marlboro livery at the Speedway.

I feel sad for the drivers, I must say, for neither is exactly delirious at the prospect of competing in an oval-only series. De Ferran now has no opportunity of going for a hat-trick of CART titles, and Castroneves, who has always had F1 at the back of his mind, has no more road and street circuits on which to impress.

To my mind, variety will always be a very high card in CART's hand - the fact that the series embraces not only ovals, but also road and street circuits. I also feel that the fundamental quality of the teams and drivers is higher in CART than in the IRL: Ganassi went to Indy in 2000, running IRL cars for this one race only, and Montoya walked it; last year, Penske did the same - and where was the first 'IRL' finisher?

I'm tempted to think that Roger just might have stayed with CART if someone had been smart enough, a year ago, to see that Chris Pook was the only possible man to run it. I've known Chris since the early days of the Long Beach Grand Prix, in the late '70s, and have always liked and admired him very much.

Rather more significant than my opinion, however, is that of Bernie Ecclestone, who feels the same way. Had CART had the wit to hire Pook at the end of 2000, the series would not, I suggest, have plummeted the way it did last year.

Now, mercifully, Chris is on board, and the signs thus far are very encouraging - at last a 'racing man' is at the helm, as should always have been the case. Without him, I wouldn't have wagered too much on CART's survival.

As a lover of contemporary CART cars, complete with wailing turbocharged engines, I'm sad to see that in 2003 they are to be superceded by IRL-spec chassis and engines, but accept that really there was no alternative if the series was to survive in the long term.

In a way, though, it makes 'the split' all the more absurd, doesn't it? As of next year, there will two series featuring essentially identical cars, with the great majority of the races on the same continent. I think that both can, and will, survive, but 'Indycar racing' would be immeasurably stronger if there were simply one strong series.



Dear John,
I think it's even sillier than you suggest. Now what is being discussed is one engine per driver per Grand Prix weekend! If a driver blows his engine in the course of practice or qualifying, apparently he will still be able to start the race - but from the back of the grid. Perhaps someone somewhere thinks this might make for good TV, but it would be unfortunate if, say, a World Championship decider was wiped out by having Michael Schumacher on the front row and, say, Juan Montoya - having blown a motor - at the back...

What astonishes me about this 'one engine' idea is that it is apparently in the interests of saving money - and comes at a time when the 'electronic' rules in F1 have recently been relaxed. Who can imagine how much money is spent on R&D in this aspect of F1?

I think of the wise man in the paddock who was asked late last year how best to curb costs in F1. He thought for a second or two: "Impose a limit on the wingspan of private jets..."



Dear Tom,
As you may have gathered from my remarks in the first question, I would most like to see a Grand Prix in Manhattan, taking in 5th Avenue and Central Park. Never happen, though...

When you talk about reviving circuits, I presume you mean for F1 use, in which case I'd cite the 'old' Nurburgring, the only remaining classic circuit which has not been torn up/modified/shortened/homogenised. Never happen, though...



Dear Antonio,
No, Johnny Servoz-Gavin wasn't 'faster than the other F2 pilots of his time' - not all of them, anyway, but he did have very considerable natural talent, and the fact that his career petered out was largely of his own making. Servoz-Gavin was too much of a party animal even for the world of motor racing 30 years ago...

Let's start at the end. Servoz-Gavin retired from racing the day before the Monaco Grand Prix in 1970. He was team mate to Jackie Stewart in Ken Tyrrell's team, but while JYS had put his car on the pole, he had failed even to qualify.

That evening Johnny organised a party on a yacht in the Monaco harbour, and there, working his way easily through a bottle of his favourite Chivas Regal, he felt only relief. "You have seen me," he said to his friends, "in a racing car for the last time."

They laughed at that, but he meant it, and stuck to it, too. The following week he informed Tyrrell of his decision, and he never raced seriously again.

Two years earlier, Servoz-Gavin had started the Monaco Grand Prix from the front row, and what made that the more remarkable was this was his first race in a Formula 1 car. In an F2 accident at Jarama, Jackie Stewart had broken his wrist, and Tyrrell needed someone to drive his Matra-Cosworth in Monte Carlo. He thought first of Jean-Pierre Beltoise, but he was to debut Matra's own V12 car; next down on the company list was the man always known as 'Servoz'. At 25, he had made a strong impression in F3 and F2.

Johnny Servoz-Gavin...was ever there more mellifluous a name for a racing driver? As a rabid F1 fan, I made my first visit to Monaco in 1968, and thought, like many others, I saw latent greatness in this newcomer.

He was wonderful to watch that weekend. Clearly it wasn't Stewart at work in the blue car, and more than the unfamiliar helmet told you that. Servoz realised what an opportunity had been handed to him, and where Jackie would soothe a car into going quickly, his young stand-in bullied it. Hence, the Matra frequently found itself at angles not encountered before.

If I recall anything in particular of that weekend, it was the Saturday morning session, which was wet and treacherous. Servoz enjoyed himself fully, time and again powersliding through Casino Square, in the manner of a Rindt. In that rainy session, he was two clear seconds faster than anyone else, and in the dry afternoon was beaten only by Graham Hill. The following day they lined up side by side, and at the fall of the flag the Matra was first away.

Probably it was wisdom and experience that kept Hill from following too closely, and they served him well. For three laps Servoz ran away from the pack, but on the fourth he abruptly slowed, left rear suspension broken. Although Johnny still insists he never hit anything, onlookers at the chicane were adamant that his car had kissed the barrier at the exit. Whatever, the Matra retired at the pits, with Tyrrell stony-faced, his
driver ready to weep.

Servoz was one, it seemed to me then, absolutely right for his time. If the name looked great on the side of a cockpit, so also the man looked the part. After an era in which too many Fl drivers - for my taste, anyway - were to be seen pushing prams around paddocks, Johnny had the freewheeling ways of my childhood heroes. He was a throwback to Alfonso de Portago, a reminder that not all racing drivers lived like monks.

Servoz, emphatically, did not live like a monk. "I always liked the girls," he said, which is little like saying Michael Schumacher is quite quick. Johnny also liked to eat and drink well - liked the good life, in fact.

A playboy, then, and something of a hippy, too. This was the late '60s, after all, and Johnny's hair was fashionably long; he was also years ahead of the game when it came to designer stubble. All very louche, in a James Dean sort of way, but not contrived. Simply, he seemed like a free spirit who had found the perfect job. The abiding problem was that he lacked the commitment to do justice to his talent.

Despite the setback at Monaco, Tyrrell occasionally entered a second Matra for Servoz in 1968, and at Monza he took a fine second to Denny Hulme. There was no question of a drive with Ken for 1969, though, for Matra were keen to 'place' Beltoise in the Tyrrell-run team until ready to return with their own factory team the following season. That year, therefore, Johnny concentrated on F2, and duly clinched the European Championship with a victory in the last race, at Vallelunga. For 1970, Tyrrell hired him as Stewart's permanent number two. He looked set.

Then, one day that winter, he took part in one of those curious semi-rally events, so beloved in France, for such as jeeps and Land Rovers. It was fun, nothing more, but in some woodland, a small branch caught him in the right eye. Aware of the possible consequences for his career, Servoz initially said nothing. He had treatment in hospital, stayed in a darkened room for five weeks, and hoped.

In the early races of 1970, though, the old panache - and the pace - were gone. Of course it didn't help that Tyrrell was now running a pair of agricultural March 701s, rather than Matras, but Stewart certainly made the most of his, winning the Spanish Grand Prix at Jarama. That same day, Servoz was fifth, two laps down, the last man to finish.

He was - and is - a complex man, and even 30 years ago found Formula 1 a little too pressured for his liking. "I was never a true professional," he said. "I was only a professional because I didn't have the means to be an amateur..."

What most affected his motivation, though, was that he knew his peripheral vision was fundamentally, and permanently, impaired. Placing the car accurately for right-handers was now impossible, for he had the impression he was putting a wheel off the road, when in fact he was still a few inches from the apex. At Monaco, where he created a sensation only two years earlier, he failed to qualify, and at one stage had a big accident at the chicane.

"I wasn't enjoying it, anyway," he said, "and I thought back to Lorenzo Bandini's accident in the same place, three years earlier: he was burned to death..." By the end of that weekend, he had made up his mind to quit, which is where we came in.

"I told everyone I was retiring because I was scared. There was much more to it than that, of course, but saying it that way avoided hours of discussion. I just wanted to break free, get away..."

A month later, Francois Cevert appeared in the second Tyrrell March at Zandvoort, and by then Johnny had turned his attention to sailing, which, unlike motor racing, was to be an enduring love of his life. He bought a 37-metre yacht, and took it across the Atlantic; it was the best way, he said, of learning how to sail properly.

"That was when I realised there was something else harder than Formula 1: the sea! When things go wrong, you can't pull off by the trackside, or come into the pits. You're alone with your boat and the elements - it made me feel very humble, but I loved it."

In the early eighties, Servoz was dreadfully burned on one of his boats, when a gas canister exploded. For a time, his life hung in the balance, but ultimately he recovered, and he sails to this day, a forgotten figure in motor racing circles, but not greatly concerned about it.

Who knows how good Johnny Servoz-Gavin really was, or what, had his sight not been damaged, he might have made of a Grand Prix career? Probably not too much, because he simply didn't want it enough - it got in the way of the good life. Just on the evidence of that wet morning in Casino Square, though, it seemed to me he had talent to throw away. Which is precisely what he did with it, of course.



Dear Gary,
On the face of it, it's quite ridiculous that Justin Wilson doesn't yet have a drive organised for 2002. He did a superb job last season, and fully deserved his F3000 title. I confess I haven't seen much of him, other than on the track, but he seems a very pleasant lad, and there doesn't seem much doubt about his talent. When Jordan tested him late last year, they were extremely impressed, by his feedback as much as his natural speed.

There are two problems, though. One is that, while Justin is immensely promising, the times are long gone when a British team would pick him up simply because he's British. In an ideal world, that might be the case, but in the real one it's rather different, I'm afraid.

The other problem, of course, is Wilson's height. It might sound absurd that a driver's career prospects should be compromised by the fact that he's very tall, but in this case, sadly, that appears to be the case. One team owner murmured to me that it would be a matter of constructing a car specially for him - like the 'wide bum' MP4-10B made by McLaren for Nigel Mansell in 1995. And a problem with doing this, of course, is that then you can't have a T-car that fits both your drivers.

Do I see any hope for Justin? Yes, of course, there must be hope for a young man with his ability, even if F1 seems unable to accommodate him at the moment. It's a travesty that he doesn't have anything to drive at the moment.