Ask Nigel: Feb 20

Dear Stuart,
Yes, it's true that that has often been said - and it's also true that Lauda was - and is - a much more outwardly self-confident individual than Watson. In fact, I always felt that John had more natural ability than Niki, but there's no doubt that the latter was far more streetwise, far more adept at playing the Formula 1 game. Lauda, I think, got the very maximum from every card in his hand, where Watson very often did not.

Niki was always the master of the put-down. When the pair of them failed to qualify their McLarens for the 1983 Monaco Grand Prix - yes, it really happened - he said this: "John and I were both very slow today. The difference is, I know why..." Typical Lauda, but said not unaffectionately. In fact, the pair of them always got along well. Psychologically, though, the more sensitive Watson had no chance.

John's natural talent was very high, I think, and when he was on top of his game, really confident, he was extremely formidable. When I think of him now, the picture that comes to my mind is always from 1977, when he drove that huge, heavy, Brabham-Alfa to such great effect. He had some incredible battles that year, such as with Andretti's Lotus at Dijon (where his car failed on the last lap), and with James Hunt's McLaren at Silverstone. It was grossly unfair that he never won a race in that car.

I think it's fair to say that Watson was one of those drivers for whom the car had to be 'right', rather than, say, a Peterson, who would simply make the best of what he had. There were times when one thought John simply fiddled too much; times, too, when one felt he allowed outside influences to compromise his huge driving ability.

He was - and is - essentially a shy man, without the bullish self-confidence of a Lauda or a Hunt, and to some extent was made to suffer for that: he was an easy target, if you like, and I always had considerable sympathy for him in that regard.

Something else I've always liked about Watson: he is genuinely a tremendous enthusiast of motor racing, one who grew up imbued in the sport. There are few drivers remotely interested in any era of racing bar their own, but John's knowledge of racing history is considerable.

A good bloke, in sum, but one whose results did not do justice to his talent. I remember the early laps of the 1975 Spanish Grand Prix, at the daunting Montjuich circuit; John was at the wheel of a Surtees, and he had that thing up in second place for as long as it lasted. His bravery that day left an indelible mark on all who witnessed it.



Dear Gordon,
Michael Andretti's single F1 season, with McLaren, was a huge disappointment, not least to himself - and not least to me, I should say, for I had seen him in many CART races prior to that, always thought him a consummate racer, and believed he would do well in F1. However, even before the end of the 1993 season, Ron Dennis replaced him with Mika Hakkinen. Ironically, his last race, Monza, yielded his best result of the year: third.

Why didn't it work out? There were several reasons, I think. I have known Mario for more than 30 years, and have very rarely disagreed with him on anything of consequence, but when he suggested to me, in 1992,
that Michael should go either to McLaren or Ferrari, I wondered about it.

A little while later, I remember mentioning it to Bernie Ecclestone, and he responded thus: "Those are the two teams I think Michael should not go to! If he goes to Ferrari, the pressure's going to be huge for any new guy in F1, but for him - because he's called Andretti - it would be ridiculous. And if he goes to McLaren, he's team mate to Senna - and anyone's going to look second-rate in that situation..."

That was one thing. Another was that Michael came to F1 at the very height of the 'gizmo' era, when the cars could hardly have been more different from the CART cars to which he was accustomed. As well as that, in 1993 the practice periods were shortened, and so were the qualifying sessions, in the sense that each driver's laps were restricted for the first time. For a driver new to the scene, with no experience of any of the circuits, this was hardly ideal.

I also think Michael made a great mistake in resolutely refusing to live in England. It's true that his father, through all his years in F1, commuted between Pennsylvania and Europe, and made it work for him, but really he had no choice, in the sense that he was also competing in Indycar racing at the same time! Hard to believe now, but it's true.

As well as that, in the years between Mario's time in F1 and Michael's, the sport had changed fundamentally in many respects, one of which was that testing had become an almost daily occurrence. Ron Dennis had Senna on the books, of course, but also a desperately ambitious - and quick - test driver, in the shape of Hakkinen. While Michael was back in Nazareth, Mika would be pounding round Silverstone.

Both the Andrettis have always argued that McLaren had only to pick up a phone, and Michael could have been there in a matter of hours, but while that's undoubtedly true, Mika was right there, on the spot - and impressing the team constantly with his quick times. Few doubted that Ron would have him racing a car as soon as possible.

Michael's refusal to live in Europe also sent out the wrong message to his team. From the start, some at McLaren murmured that it meant he wasn't as committed to F1 as he should have been, that he wasn't necessarily looking at in the long term. Symbolically, that had a big effect on the way they perceived him. He is a 'very American' American, and never really seemed at ease in Europe, never seemed to be enjoying himself very much over here. He's a nice fellow, and was very well liked within the team, but frankly few were surprised that the relationship didn't work out.

It's a shame, because I never felt we saw anything like the best of Michael Andretti in F1. In the rain at Donington in 1993, Senna scored what some consider the greatest victory of his career, while Andretti flew off the road on the opening lap. In the warm-up, though, run in similar conditions, Michael was just 25-thousandths slower than Ayrton...



Dear Bernard,
I rate Beltoise as extremely good, but not great, in the Stewart sense of the word. The accident of which you speak, in the Buenos Aires 1000 Kms of 1971, took the life of Ferrari driver Ignazio Giunti, and occurred in bizarre circumstances. At the time Giunti was leading the race, and he came upon Beltoise's Matra, which had broken, and which was being pushed by its driver across the track. If it is a fact that the track marshals should never have allowed him to embark on such a move, so I think it undeniable that Beltoise himself should have appreciated the risk, both to himself and to others.

I think, as you suggest, that J-PB's career might have been much more successful, had he not been so seriously injured in the accident at Reims in 1964. Although he recovered well, the shunt left him with a severely weakened arm, and, as there was no power steering on race cars in those days, this necessarily handicapped him a great deal.

In the wet, of course, where grip levels are much lower, it was far less of a problem, and it was in these conditions that Beltoise scored the greatest victory of his life, at Monaco in 1972. It was a privilege to witness that drive.

It rained on the Saturday, too, and Jacky Ickx - always sublime in the wet - was fastest, with Beltoise four seconds slower, and giving no indication of what was to come. Conditions on Sunday were even worse. The rain was one thing; more unexpected was the frigid wind lashing in from the ocean.

Beltoise and Clay Regazzoni may have been on the second row, but both got by the front row men, Emerson Fittipaldi and Ickx, before Ste Devote, and up the hill to Casino Square the red and white Marlboro BRM was in the lead. Jean-Pierre was off and running: "It was vital to get in front at the start," he said, "because only the leader could see anything."

After three laps, Beltoise had five seconds over Regazzoni, who was holding up Fittipaldi and Ickx, but on lap five Clay went down the escape road at the chicane, and Emerson, who could see little but the Ferrari's red rear light, followed suit. Now Ickx was into second place, and all anticipated that he would swiftly move in on Beltoise.

The gap, though, barely changed. Initially, Ickx pared a second or two from it, but then Beltoise became to go away again. And where one might have expected the Ferrari driver - normally far more assertive than Beltoise - to close up, getting through backmarkers, on this day he lost ground.

Drenched through, teeth chattering, I kept a shaky lap chart, routinely checking on the BRM's lead, and assuming that Ickx was saving his attack for the late stages; back then, there was no question of halting the race early - indeed there was not even the 'two hour' rule, at which point races are now automatically ended. No, it was 80 laps, and it would take as long as it took.

Finally, after almost two and a half hours, at an average of just 63.85mph, Beltoise took the flag, 38 seconds ahead of Ickx, the only driver not to be lapped by the BRM.

That one day in his seven-year F1 career, Beltoise produced a drive of majesty, one comparable with any of the great wet weather victories. There was a half-spin at Portiers, but otherwise he kept it all together, and what made his performance the more remarkable was that Jean-Pierre emphatically did not play safe. Throughout the race he passed left and right, over the kerbs, on the pavement, spearing through the dead reckoning as if guided by radar. It was a knife-edge drive, and if he never produced anything like it again, still he had known a Grand Prix driver's day of days.



Dear Jean-Michel,
At the beginning of 1983 there was a touching little ceremony at Daytona Beach. In this cathedral of stock car racing, they were naming one of the infield road course turns for Pedro Rodriguez, twice winner of the 24 Hours when sports car racing was alive and well. Present at the ceremony was Pedro's mother. No, she said, she bore no grudge against the sport which had taken both her sons. They had loved racing, enjoyed their brief lives.

Daytona, often cold and bleak during the February Speed Weeks, was always good to Pedro. Towards the end of his life he had two splendid victories in the Gulf Porsche 917, but it was an earlier win there, in 1963, which was perhaps the most crucial of his career.

In those days the annual sports car race was over 1000kms, and Pedro came to it in a confused state of mind, still grieving at the recent loss of his brother and not certain that he wanted to continue. Ricardo, they all said, had been the more committed racing driver, and the more gifted.

Winning at Daytona, in a Ferrari 25OGTO with Phil Hill, swept away most of Pedro's doubts. He would not retire from racing, but several years would pass before it became his full-time occupation. For the moment he would take life as it came, accept drives as and when they appealed to him, live most of the time at home in Mexico.

Both Rodriguez brothers had enormous natural ability in a race car, and their father's wealth enabled them to show this precocious talent to the world. Don Pedro wanted nothing more than to see his sons high in the racing firmament.

As a consequence, the boys were always several steps ahead, racing motorcycles at 11, cars at 14. In 1957, indeed, 15-year-old Ricardo had his own Porsche RS, and at a race in Puebla he drove it quickly enough to hassle Ken Miles, then acknowledged to be one of the best Porsche drivers in the world, all the way to the flag. The following year he was bitterly disappointed to have his entry for Le Mans rejected. Sixteen, said the Automobile Club de l'Ouest, was too young.

Pedro, all of 18, did race at Le Mans in 1958, but while Ricardo yearned for time to pass, desperate for Europe and the big time, the elder Rodriguez was less certain about his future. He loved to drive race cars, certainly, but mainly it was fun. After leaving university, he launched a car importing business in Mexico City, and that took up much of his time. Motor racing remained his hobby for the moment.

In 1959 the two brothers shared an OSCA at Le Mans, and after that they frequently drove together, usually in Ferraris for Luigi Chinetti's North American Racing Team. At this time Ricardo was usually a little quicker than Pedro, but decidedly more wild and unrestrained. He worked his cars very hard, and had a lot of accidents. There was about him, said some contemporaries, a fearlessness of disturbing proportions.

Chinetti, though, believed that in time this side of Ricardo's racing personality would be calmed. And if patience could be blended with the explosive pace, he reasoned, a quite remarkable driver would emerge. He missed no opportunity to sing the praises of both Rodriguez brothers to Enzo Ferrari, and the wily Commendatore offered Don Pedro the opportunity to buy them into the factory team.

Ricardo, not surprisingly, lost no time in availing himself of the chance, but Pedro decided against it, still not certain that he wanted to be a pro - amazing when one considers how compulsive was his attitude to the job a few years later.

A mix of Ricardo Rodriguez and Scuderia Ferrari was always going to be volatile, but even his adoring father was stunned by the young man's first outing in a Formula 1 car. To make your Grand Prix debut at Monza in a Ferrari - at 19 - is to face as much pressure as motor racing can possibly exert, and the consequences, given Ricardo's personality, could have been disastrous. He was one of five Ferrari drivers that September weekend in 1961, and in an older car than the rest. Yet he qualified second, just a tenth slower than Wolfgang von Trips. There were not a few who worried for him on race day.

As it was, Ricardo retired early on this, a day of tragedy, a day when von Trips and several spectators were killed in an accident on the second lap. The Commendatore faced turmoil as usual in these circumstances, branded by the Vatican as a killer of young men. And as usual he rode out the storm, later announcing a full racing programme for 1962. His drivers, he said, would be Phil Hill, Willy Mairesse, Lorenzo Bandini, Giancarlo Baghetti and...Ricardo Rodriguez. And since he had not the slightest intention of running five cars on a regular basis the message was clear: earn your drive by beating the other fellow. Maranello was still positively intimidating in those days.

Ricardo went there at a bad time. Dominant the previous year, Ferrari found itself leapfrogged in 1962 by new V8 engines from BRM and Coventry-Climax. No one, save World Champion Phil Hill, could count on a regular drive, the Old Man constantly shuffling his pack around. On occasion Rodriguez was able to give vent to his talent, hassling team mate Hill all the way at Spa in a battle for third place which, said Phil, aged him by five seasons! And at the Nurburgring, although he finished only sixth, Ricardo clearly outshone all his colleagues.

To his great regret, however Ferrari refused to send any cars over for the inaugural, non-championship, Mexican Grand Prix. Ricardo could not bear to miss the race, and accepted a ride in Rob Walker's Lotus 24. At the end of the final practice session he went out once more, trying to steal away pole position from John Surtees. And on the track's long, banked, flat out corner the car went out of control. When officials reached him, Ricardo Rodriguez was past help. At 20 he had been his country's national hero. A potentially great career had been snuffed out in its infancy.

Pedro, of course, was there that day to watch his brother, and a long time passed before he wanted even to think about racing cars again. But time at least cauterised his distress, and that Daytona win, three months later, resolved him to carry on. For two or three years he stuck to his policy of racing when it suited him, and by the end of 1966 felt that he was ready to go at it seriously. When John Cooper offered him a one-off drive in the Maserati-engined car for the first Grand Prix of 1967, at Kyalami, Rodriguez took it up - and promptly won!

It was, in truth, a most fortunate victory. Although Pedro qualified fourth, considerably faster than team leader Jochen Rindt, he lost second gear early in the race and was not truly a front runner. The race looked like going to a local man John Love, but six laps from the flag the Rhodesian had to pit for fuel, and Rodriguez had only to cruise in.

No matter. Cooper was sufficiently impressed to offer him a drive for the rest of the season. And the die was cast. Pedro was now a full-time, professional racing driver, and would remain so for the rest of his life.

Moreover, his commitment to the business was complete. Not for Rodriguez, ever, the life of a Grand Prix specialist, racing only in Formula 1. Now that he was living in Europe, returning home only rarely, Pedro counted a weekend lost that did not have some kind of a race for him.

Through 1967 he drove not only for Cooper, but also undertook a variety of sports car races and, whenever possible, Formula 2 in one of Frank Costin's Protos cars. It was in one of these, indeed, that he had a major accident in the late summer. At Enna the wooden-chassis device somersaulted, and Rodriguez was hurled away down the road, suffering a broken ankle and smashed heel.

Sicily was not the place to have an accident like that. With no anaesthetic available for him, Pedro went through the pains of hell while they set his ankle. And it seemed certain that he would not be able to race until the following season.

The Mexican Grand Prix, however, was the last race of the year. Against medical counsel Rodriguez drove - and finished sixth. Groggy and exhausted, he had to be lifted from the car afterwards.

For 1968 came the offer of a BRM drive, at that time a desirable proposition. And two memories of the year stand out. In the Race of Champions Pedro's engine died on the line, and the field was long gone by the time he was able to move off.

Brands Hatch was oily and treacherous that afternoon, but Rodriguez was a man who always excelled on a slippery surface, when delicacy and 'feel' came particularly into play. In the course of the 40 laps he came through to second in the dark green car, which then ran out of fuel a mile after taking the flag. Pedro eventually appeared on the back of Amon's Ferrari, a trifle bemused by clamorous acclaim from the crowd, which had taken him for all time to its heart.

Then there was Monaco, a circuit for which he never cared. Rodriguez had a passion for fast tracks, for flat out sweepers; and Monte Carlo he considered something of a joke.

"You can play around there, slide the car and have fun, but I prefer somewhere like Spa. There you cannot make a mistake and be safe, you know. You have to race really precise..."

At Monaco in '68 Pedro came down past the Tip-Top, put the brakes on for the tight right-hander at Mirabeau - and the pedal went to the floor. Putting the car sideways he somehow got it through most of the corner, but finally slid wide at the exit, climbed the kerb - no guardrail there in those days - and hit the wall very hard.

And then I remember that he climbed out and sauntered down to Station Hairpin, helmet swinging on his arm. I remember the jaunty walk, the absolute coolness, as if he had meant to park the BRM that way. There was not a trace of emotion.

Rodriguez had no fear of death, but there was a rational explanation for this, he would say. He was a religious man, but also a devout fatalist. "God is the only one that can tell you this is the end of the line, and it is no matter where you are. You can be racing, in the street, in church, you can be anywhere..."

This philosophy he held to very strongly. "There was a man, an Indianapolis driver, who once raced in my country, in the Carrera Panamericana - Bill Vukovich. He won at Indianapolis two times. Was his only race in the year. And he was killed there, trying to win his third. But Nuvolari, he raced 30 years, every week - and he died of illness. Was God's way. Was not his time to die in a car. My brother ... was like the American..."

Perhaps because of memories of Ricardo, Pedro always had a particular ambition to win at Le Mans. And in 1968 he achieved it, sharing a JW Automotive Ford GT40 with Lucien Bianchi. To the end of his life he maintained that this victory overshadowed any other.

Formula 1 there were several places but no wins for him that year. It was generally agreed, however, that he had done a fine job for BRM, holding the team together in the aftermath of Mike Spence's death at Indianapolis. And Rodriguez expected to stay for 1969, partnering John Surtees.

He had reckoned without the unpredictable hand of Louis Stanley. In a move of characteristic eccentricity the hefty BRM boss replaced him with Jack Oliver, leaving Pedro to face a thankless year in Tim Parnell's privately-run BRM. At the end of it 'Big Lou' was only too happy to re-hire him...

Now began the Mexican's great period as a race driver, the sadness of it being that he had so little of life remaining to him. Not only was he back in a factory BRM for 1970, but also in a Porsche 917.

Pedro and the 917. There have been, through the history of this sport, cars and drivers who belonged together, synonymous for all time, and this was one such partnership. No one ever drove this most dramatic and daunting of sports racing cars like Rodriguez.

John Wyer's original intention, when handed Porsche's factory racing programme, had been to partner Pedro with Jacky Ickx. How, one wonders, could such a duo ever have contrived to lose a race? As it was, though, the Belgian returned to Ferrari for 1970, and Rodriguez had to share his car with Leo Kinnunen, a Finn who proved brilliant at the Targa Florio, not much use anywhere else. And Jo Siffert, number one driver of the other pale blue Gulf car, had with him the superb Brian Redman.

For all that, Pedro was the undoubted star of the team. Once in a while Siffert was able to match him for pace, but it was always a little frantic, lacking in his team mate's fluency and case. And Seppi was very much harder on the cars.

"You always had the impression," said David Yorke, team manager at JW Automotive at that time, "that Seppi did the job with arm muscles flexed, while Pedro sat there resting his thumbs on the wheel..."

Particularly unforgettable, of course, was the BOAC 1000Kms in 1970, run virtually throughout in torrential rain. It began at midday and ended shortly before seven, and most sodden spectators were there to the end. How was it possible for a man - a Latin born to heat and dust - to excel his contemporaries with such case? There was a magic about Rodriguez that cheerless April day. The race surrendered to him within minutes of the start.

At mid-race Kinnunen drove the car for an hour or so, but in the pits Rodriguez fretted, and soon the 917 was back in more capable hands. Although the result was never in doubt, the spectators stayed because they wanted to pay their tribute to him at the end. They had witnessed an afternoon which would pass into motor racing legend.

In Formula 1, too, Pedro's star was rising. The BRM P153 was a competitive tool, if not an especially reliable one, and the little fellow was usually well on the pace. At Spa, his favourite circuit in all the world, he won, tailed throughout by Amon's March.

Jackie Stewart, of course, loathed Francorchamps passionately, and considered Rodriguez 'irrational' in his enthusiasm for it. But Chris Amon - who fought him all day - disagreed. "Pedro loved it," he once told me, "for the same reason that I loved it. Spa was Grand Prix racing as we always thought it should be. After a race there I felt high for hours, and Pedro was the same. Driving flat out at Spa - which we both did that day from start to finish - left you feeling you'd really done something. And Pedro's precision was fabulous. I knew that I would get past him only if he made a mistake somewhere - and he never did. And, of course, that had to be the one day when the bloody BRM held together..."

There were no further Grand Prix wins for Rodriguez that year, but he was always a front runner, and in sports cars he was supreme. At the end of 1970 he renewed his contracts with BRM and JW Automotive.

Pedro, now, was entirely at peace with himself and the world. The days of selling cars in Mexico City, racing only as a hobby, were very far behind him. He had become, in fact, curiously Anglicised. Some time previously his marriage to Angelina had foundered, but he lived in great happiness with a girl at his house in Bray-on-Thames, drove around in an elderly Bentley which he adored, sought out the best restaurants and enjoyed them. Never, however, did he go anywhere without quantities of hot Tabasco sauce. And head waiters the world over were appalled to see him produce a bottle from his inside pocket, then spray its contents liberally over their local speciality!

His appearance, too, was hardly mainstream. The Bentley would glide into a paddock somewhere, and out would step this small figure, black hair swept straight back, omnipresent sunglasses, Goodyear jacket. Then, very carefully, he would apply the finishing touch, the deerstalker from Bond Street! That done, there remained only the famous slow grin, and the picture was complete.

"Pedro was eccentric in many ways," David Yorke said. "In fact, if you didn't know him you might have got the impression that he was a bit of a dilettante. But, My God, he was everything but a prima donna in a car. I don't think I ever knew a more totally committed racing driver. Absolutely nothing mattered to him but winning.

"One little incident to illustrate that has always stuck in my mind. At the Daytona 24 Hours in '71 he was sharing the 917 with Jackie Oliver, and during his stint Oliver was sick. The cockpit of that car was pretty cramped, you know, and awfully hot. When we opened the door to let Oliver out the whole scene in there was pretty frightful...

"Pedro was standing there, in fresh, clean overalls, but he didn't hesitate for a second. He just hurled himself into the cockpit, amid God Knows what, and away he went!"

Rodriguez won that race, as he had the year before, and other victories followed. In the BRM, too, he looked set for his finest Formula 1 season. At Oulton Park, on Good Friday, he comfortably beat a small but select field, which included Stewart. And at Zandvoort in June, another wet day, he and Ickx made their rivals look clumsy and inept.

Raymond Mays well remembered that day. "Pedro was brilliant, wasn't he? We knew that the BRM was no match for the Ferrari, but in those conditions Rodriguez, I believe, could have beaten anybody in anything. He and Ickx were the race, and when the rain was really heavy Rodriguez had the upper hand. When it began to dry out, unfortunately, the superiority of the Ferrari told."

John Wyer has always believed that Pedro's greatest race was at Zeltweg, in the Osterreichring 1000Kms late in June 1971. After leading the early laps he lost nearly six minutes in the pits while the battery was changed.

"His stamina was extraordinary. He could drive absolutely flat out indefinitely, it seemed, and that day he had to. At half-distance he had to hand over to Attwood, who made up no further ground. In fact, Dickie was only out for 10 laps before Pedro asked if he could take over again. Eventually he got himself back onto the same lap as the leading Ferrari, which Rodriguez then crashed. Mind you, we all believed that Pedro would have made up that lap, and won anyway. It was as great a drive as I have ever seen."

The following week Rodriguez ran second to Stewart in the French Grand Prix before retiring, and he had the highest hopes for the BRM through the sweeping curves of Silverstone, next on the Formula 1 schedule. Ten days before the race he tested the car there, setting the fastest time.

Wyer went to watch that day, and afterwards invited Pedro down to his house for the weekend. He was astonished to be told, however, that the Mexican was committed to a minor Interserie race at the Norisring, holding to his creed that any race was better than none. He would drive a Ferrari 5I2M for Herbert Muller.

Like Wyer, the BRM team was less than enthusiastic about Pedro's plan. "We didn't want him to do that race at all," Mays said. "But they wanted a star name for the weekend, and he was offered a reasonable Ferrari. We felt that his going there might interfere with our Silverstone testing, but everyone loved Pedro, and we knew how much he loved to race. Under the terms of the contract we could have stopped him going to the Norisring. And, of course, afterwards we wished to God we had..."

Rodriguez led the opening laps without problem. then, a few minutes into the race, he came upon a slower car, which moved across as he went to lap it. The Ferrari went immediately out of control, hit the barriers with terrible force, somersaulted and exploded. It took a long time to release him from the wreckage, and when this was done Rodriguez was beyond saving. At early evening he died.

"We thought the world of him at BRM," Mays recalled. "The mechanics worshipped him - and that is always a sure sign of a man's worth. The remarkable thing about Pedro was that he got better and better and better. In the latter part of his career I think he was, without any doubt, one of the three best in the world. And in the wet he was definitely the greatest of his time."

John Wyer, gruff and apparently hard-bitten, was shattered by the news. "Everyone in the team loved him. As a driver he was an absolute inspiration to us, as a man irreplaceable. We could not have wished for better. He always gave his absolute best, never complained about anything. Money was never very important to him. He simply loved to race."

Afterwards there was much talk of the tragedy of it all, of the fact that so great a driver's life had been tossed away in so trivial an event. But Rodriguez himself would not have seen it that way. "Once I had won Le Mans," he said, "all races were the same to me. Whatever they were I wanted to win them." And in the terms of his own fatalism, of course, he was quite right. God, he would have said, decided that 11 July 1971 was the end of the line for him - "And it is no matter where you are..."

Did either of the Rodriuez brothers have the capability to be World Champion, Jean-Michel? Both, without any doubt at all.