Don't get me wrong I'm a sports fan. I played it, worked in it, watched it. I've been the Coach Potato, a coach, a player. I was brought up on it. I used to love it. be obsessed by it. That is until i discovered Kronenbourg 1664, High strength LSD and Stephanie Tegg.
Today in my guise as Marketing and Sponsorship Consultant (I know this blog doesn't lend itself to me being professional or corporate, but i did 8 years in Premier League Football and 6 as Manager of a Rugby Club so how do you like them apples?) - I took a tour around the Marrussia F1 factory in Banbury.
I have been drafted in by a former client (now a client) to help on their sponsorship deal with the F1 team. Ie. Make it work. Today i officially became a cunt by using the words USP and 'leveraging' the deal. God help me.
Now, i have never really been interested in F1. Yes i remember growing up knowing about the glamour, big anoraks, crashes, Fag brands and people getting killed. Fast cars, great birds and enormous sideburns. Yes i remember the 80's. Mansell being Brummy and hairy, Senna being a god Prost big nosed and Damon Hill. Just dull really.But i never was into it.
Where were the heroes of the 70's? James Hunt and all these boys who supped on a few beers, sucked on a marlboro Red, hoovered up a few lines, got blown by some stunning models and then drove a death trap car around a circuit on a massive tank of fuel with circuits with no barriers. That was fucking sport!
I have never been into cars. My brother was mad into them. But to me a dipstick was something that was used in Smokey and The Bandit to describe a knob head. A spark plug was an electronic butt plug and the rear axle something for the gay community. I had no interest and no clue.
Today, with an open mind i went to the factory, met some great people, had a tour around and was amazed by the details, sophistication, technology and the sheer amount of design and engineering that goes into making the F1 cat a star for 3 hours on the Sunday. The team was 80 strong, all in different parts of a huge warehouse. All military organised. It is a big operation and they are one of the poorest teams with a £50m budget per year. A fifth of the top boys.
I was impressed by the amount of detail and technological components that go into the sport. it is like making anything else, and all things need to be working properly in order to be competitive. I understand Raceday. I understand drivers are operating on the edge. That it is a skill. That there must be a perfect marriage of man and machinery. Engineering, design and driving skill. Yes to all of that. i get it.
But i still don't get it. Cars driving round a circuit with only a handful that can win, spending £5 million a year just to transport them around the world to the various meets. A charade of wealth and vulgarity. A beauty parade of vain glory and power. TV audiences, global brands, activation rights. Where is the fucking sport in that?
Drivers trained to be like machines. Drive like them, talk like them. Little or no personality. Corporate mules to be wheeled out at the next sponsors event to talk monotone dullness.
I suppose i won't be putting this in my sponsorship plan of course, as the companies that pays their money to be associated with this deserve to get lots back. But where is the sport? Premier League football is becoming the same. Global brands and dull mediocre players, talk shows, analysts. Where is the truth. Where is the sport. Where is the fucking soul?
Having said all that, the F1 car was fucking impressive and I'm told when you go to a race the noise, speed, power and atmosphere is highly charged and addictive. Plus the tottie that goes is mind blowing. The car looked well sexy. Shame i didn't
So, to sum up. Fuck the soul. Fuck the identity of sport. Fuck what i said earlier on. I'm on board. An official fan of F1 and Marussia. Who gives a toss about hypocrisy. If i can overlook the banal, arrogant, grotesque flouncing of wealth, Divine right and self importance then maybe, just maybe i'll consider slipping Tamara Ecclestone a length. But only if Max Mosely is in the corner dressed as a Nazi. (apparently)
xx
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