The Observer

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone? Okay, so the old Hockenheimring was no paradise, but the modern version is certainly akin to Joni Mitchell's parking lot.

Take a circuit with a unique layout, characteristics and atmosphere, chop out the interesting bit and revert to bland stadium-track mode as you draw up the new one.

What have you got? The generic modern Grand Prix circuit, with asphalt as far as the eye can see. Well done, Formula One.

As I prepare to head off to the German Grand Prix, I'm sad to say I feel very little excitement. That has nothing to do with F1 itself or the country I am visiting. Germany is a true motorsport nation and its people are wonderfully enthusiastic about racing.

It does have a little to do with the prospect of chasing the latest developments on F1's future engine regs freeze (yawn). But mostly it is because I hate what Hockenheim has become.

Of course the irony is that the old circuit, with its flat-out blasts through thick forest, was reviled by many for over 30 years. It was considered bland, dangerous and soulless. But now it has gone, replaced by another modern circuit clone, the opposite is true.

The field streams towards the stadium during the 2000 German Grand Prix at Hockenheim © Ersek Zsolt/Forix

The thing is, despite its reputation, I always liked the old Hockenheim, and I was so disappointed when it was castrated in time for the 2002 Grand Prix. I liked it because it was so fast, because of its danger - because the races were often entertaining. The place had history, too.

The Hockenheimring was created in 1939 as a high-speed test track for Mercedes-Benz, just in time for the war to curtail its development. It wasn't until the 1960s that its potential for racing was realised, when John Hugenholtz (the Hermann Tilke of his day) was commissioned to upgrade it.

He added the stadium section at the end of the lap, creating the unique contrast of lonely tree-hugging straights followed suddenly by a twisting slow-speed loop surrounded by colourful grandstands, packed with lairy fans firing off air horns and flares (at least from the 1980s and beyond).

But just two years after re-opening, Hockenheim's dark reputation was sealed forever. On April 7, 1968, Jim Clark's Lotus 48 F2 car speared off into the trees. The greatest driver of his generation, perhaps the most naturally talented driver ever, had been killed in an inconsequential European race at a little-known circuit considered charmless by most who had been there.

As I read over the Autosport report from April 12, 1968, one sentence gave me a stark reminder of just how much the world has changed: "with no form of protection between the circuit and the thick tree-infested countryside, the Lotus disintegrated against the first tree it met, flinging the driver out."

These were pre-Armco days. He never had a chance.

But two years later, Hockenheim was considered a safer option than Germany's true home of motorsport. The infant safety crusade had caught up with the fearsome Nordschleife at the Nurburgring, and the growing influence of the Grand Prix Drivers' Association led to Hockenheim being handed its first Grand Prix.

The decision was met with a stony reaction by Motor Sport's legendary continental correspondent Denis Jenkinson, but in this example not because of a dislike of Hockenheim. His ire was directed at the drivers.

"I am well aware that motor racing, or any other form of racing, is dangerous, bloody dangerous, but that is what makes it exciting for spectators and competitors alike, and I know we have recently had a series of nasty accidents, but, for goodness sake, we must not get hysterical."

But six years later, Jenks gave Hockenheim both barrels! In the aftermath of Niki Lauda's fiery Nurburgring shunt, it became clear that the Nordschleife had held its last Grand Prix. Hockenheim would become the sole host of the race.

"How anyone can view an event on the silly concrete autodrome that is Hockenheim as a Grand Prix, let alone the 'Grosser Preis von Deutschland', is beyond me. And before any readers write to say the Hockenheimring is '...a great modern facility for F1...' I hope they will visit both Rings and compare them.

"If they think the German GP should be at Hockenheim then Grand Prix is truly dead, and F1 rules supreme."

Safe to say he wouldn't have thought much of the modern version of Hockenheim, then...

The stigma attached to the circuit only deepened in 1980, when French hero Patrick Depailler was killed in a dreadful testing crash. A chicane was added to the challenging Ostkurve in the aftermath.

The remains of the Ferrari 126C2 of Didier Pironi after practice for the 1982 German Grand Prix at Hockenheim © LAT

The place was spooky. Visibility on that narrow ribbon of track was dreadful in the wet, and a thick mist hung in the air even after the rain had stopped.

Didier Pironi was a victim of the spray when his Ferrari slammed into the back of Alain Prost's Renault in 1982. Pironi was probably on course for the world championship; instead, he was left with terrible leg injuries that would end his motor racing career.

But there were moments of high drama and excitement, too, and it is these that I think of when the old Hockenheim springs to mind.

Nelson Piquet punching and kicking a bemused Eliseo Salazar in 1982; Alessandro Nannini's futile attempt to hold off Ayrton Senna on shot tyres in 1990; Damon Hill's agonising tyre blow-out that robbed him of a first GP win in 1993; Gerhard Berger breaking a barren streak for Ferrari in '94, then taking an emotional final career win in the wake of his father's death in '97; and then, of course, the Schumacher years, when the grandstands would erupt to the sound of 'Schumi, Schumi'.

They will probably do so again this year. At least the modern Hockenheim still maintains its special stadium atmosphere.

But the magic has gone for most drivers - basically the ones who aren't German!

On the first visit to the new-look Hockenheim in 2002, Jacques Villeneuve was the most vocal. "It is not a nice circuit, it is not enjoyable and it is probably the least enjoyable we have in F1," he slammed.

Pedro de la Rosa, who was racing for Jaguar back then, summed it up perfectly. "Hockenheim has lost its personality," he said. "It was a different type of track, a low downforce set-up with long straights. The problem is you come here now and it is the same track as other places, and I don't think that is good for F1.

"The tracks have to be different from one another because otherwise it doesn't really matter where we go. During qualifying, I was driving around and it was hard to tell where I was - the Nurburgring, Hockenheim or Malaysia?

"There is no personality, and it is very boring."

Funny how things change with age. Even its detractors would probably admit F1 is now poorer without the old 220mph Hockenheim. It's like the old flat-out Silverstone: a track not particularly loved in its time, but we become nostalgic about the old Club and Woodcote corners now.

But maybe the views of the new Hockenheim will mellow with age, too. After all, the 'new' Nurburgring - which looks set to share the German GP with Hockenheim from next year - was generally disliked when it was unveiled in the mid-1980s, particularly because it had no chance of living up to the reputation of the Nordschleife. But these days I'd consider it a reasonably good Grand Prix circuit.

Maybe that's a damning indictment of how F1 track design has gone downhill. Maybe it's just human nature to hark back to the past and be suspicious of the new.

The good thing about the new Hockenheim is that at least it is a circuit where drivers can still overtake, largely thanks to the hairpin at the end of the long back straight.

And I'll be the first to say it: if Schuey, Alonso and the rest put on a storming show this Sunday afternoon, with plenty of drama and overtaking, all will be forgiven. Suddenly the new Hockenheim won't seem half as bad, after all.