Steve Cooper: On the Limit

The skies have turned a mellow turquoise on a balmy Thursday evening in Monte Carlo. Already, the barriers at Rascasse have been lifted out of their bolt holes in the ground, and a steady stream of people and traffic slowly jostles past the famous trackside cafe that shares its name with the corner.

On the building's roof, a covers band blasts out a sanitised version of Razorlight's America. As the sun goes down, the seafront turns into a throbbing, pulsing nightlife mecca as the young and beautiful come out to play. Gradually, everything goes blurry.

Perversely enough, however, Friday morning in the Principality gives you plenty of time for reflection. For many, it's more about the morning after the night before. But for most in the paddock, it's simply another working day - albeit one carried out without the usual breakneck urgency.

Kees van der Grint, Bridgestone's head of track engineering operations and the man tuned in to every team's needs, puts it best when he says: "Back in the days of the tyre war, we used to spend three hours discussing tyre choice every Friday evening. But at Monaco, we just spend eight hours doing it on Friday. That's just motor racing."

It's strange what drives people to do Formula 1 - and the slight distance you're able to put between yourself and your subject on a lazier-than-usual Friday gives you the perspective to see just what an odd and compelling sport this is.

In fact, F1 isn't simply an ever-present occupation, it's a serious intoxicant - one that can hook its participants, dragging them in and leaving them powerless to stave off their addiction. Of course, Monte Carlo has a well-known propensity for drawing moths to the flame but, nonetheless, the Monaco paddock told the story of a sport that many simply find hard to relinquish.

You saw Michael Schumacher once again back in the Ferrari pits, a wild-haired Eddie Irvine sat atop his yacht, Anaconda, bobbing gently in the harbour. Even Eddie Jordan returned to the paddock, filming an interview with Ron Dennis for a new BBC television series.

For all their denials, these people can't get F1 out of their system, can't help returning every now and then for an illicit view of the world from which they turned away. And the list goes on. While you could easily explain away the ongoing paddock appearances of former luminaries Martin Brundle, Keke Rosberg, Jackie Stewart and Niki Lauda, ask yourself - are they here for a reason or an excuse?

Like any compulsion, there's a thin line between constructive enthusiasm and destructive addiction. And the weekend left you asking questions about those who may have overstepped the limit. Was that esteemed team boss still attempting to put one over his old rivals? Is that revered technical director still pushing the boundaries of acceptability? How can that ex-driver still be dallying so carelessly with the notions of fact and fiction?

However, a blurry beachside chat with Mike Gascoyne on that same balmy Thursday evening in Monte Carlo told you there was hope for all but the most hopelessly addicted. Many felt that 'Gazza' was an F1 lifer, back for another bite of the cherry at Spyker. Surprisingly, he has meticulously prepared his escape plan - preparing to sail off into the sunset in a few years' time in order to become a contented yachtsman.

It's an against-the-grain decision that is typical of the man, but his prospective new life is also in sharp contrast to those in the paddock who cannot escape. They may have made even more money from the sport, but they cannot do anything else with their lives. Gascoyne's planned exit is a salutary lesson that F1 needn't consume all that it touches.