Singapore Grand Prix – Marina Bay

I feel somewhat compelled to preface this entry with the following disclaimers. Firstly, I cannot claim to be a F1 enthusiast. Nor can I drive, and arcane vernacular like pit-stop strategy, soft compound tyres, horsepower and the whole caboodle are lost on me. Before the Singapore GP, I don’t know much about the racers, other than there were two Scandis, one Japanese, and a lot of Sebastians (I reckon).

I do however like Alonso and Massa. Can’t say much of their driving since I’m a complete dunce at that, but I like them cos they look like fuddly-diddly-do wombats with eyes the size of dinner plates. Positively cherubic. Slip them into reindeer sweaters, brush their hair, put on some spiffy ribbons and they’d be ready for the Toys R Us gift wrap counter.

As cute as a button... which is not to be confused with the actual Jensen Button, who is not quite as cute as a button himself.



Ergo, the following entry is a piece of untutored, and most likely uninformed, opinion, insofar as the Byzantine technicalities of motor racing are involved. But I feel inspired to write about it, because my country is holding the first F1 night race ever.

Now this F1 ballyhoo did not catch up with me until last weekend. Despite occasionally catching snippets of races, my reactions were usually tepid. I found the affair either incredibly repetitive (I’d have seen quite enough by the 10th lap or so, and sustaining 50 to 60 laps is just too laborious for my eyelids); or I’d enjoy watching cars crash, trundle out of control or flip over like lightweight burgers on a grill. Which made me uncomfortable because it seemed mildly sadistic, and I felt almost apologetic getting a kick out of watching disasters.

So when it came to the practice sessions on the Marina Bay track, I was paying more attention to the skyline and monuments flanking the circuit than to the cars. The night lights were stunning. Hats off to the Italian virtuoso who engineered the lighting system. From above, the circuit was an incandescent and seductively serpentine river of gold that snaked its way through the city.

It reminded me of ancient swordsmiths pouring hot, glowing molten metal into casts – an ardent luminosity coursing through an inky blackness, so bright that it literally throbs with a life of its own.



Another shot.



This is currently my desktop. =)



The backdrop.



The Durian by the Esplanade bridge.



To be sure, the buildings in the Central Business District could have revved up the lighting more to accentuate the skyline. Both the Flyer and Esplanade theatres were nondescript from certain angles. But generally, I loved the backdrop, especially the shots of the business district gleaming likely a faintly bejewelled swathe of black velvet. I don’t think we rival Hong Kong or Tokyo for sheer refulgence, but the fact that we’ve just beamed our city live in its resplendence to a worldwide audience frankly bowled me over.

As a Singaporean, I felt a swell of pride. Whenever I see images of London in movies or adverts, I’d be struck with a nostalgic familiarity of, “hey, I used to live 15 minutes’ away from this place,” or “that’s where we used to hang out”. Still, it wasn’t uncommon to see London’s cityscape on international telly. But Singapore? As the cars zipped past sights like the Esplanade theatre, the Fullerton Hotel, the old Supreme Court and Anderson bridge, I went "omigod, we really have done it". This is a coming of age party, of sorts. And the internationalisation of our domestic landmarks was a staggering thought that accosted me unawares. Venues like Las Vegas, Monaco or Tokyo are come-hither, swanky playgrounds of faraway places. But now, the icons and places we’ve grown acquainted with were thrust and showcased on an international stage. This was a wholly unfamiliar experience – a veritable blend of titillation, surrealism, sensory delights, patriotism and just a plain ol’ WOW.

So visually, it got the thumbs-up from me. What about the race?

I had expected it to be a snore-fest, given the dearth of overtaking opportunities. And the track – we know, bumpy as hell. The kerbs made it look like an obstacle race, although I quite enjoyed the sight of Fisichella’s car getting airborne after it rolled off a dangerous kerb. The first practice session looked like a Disney rendition of F1 on Ice as several cars spun round. I also contemplated the possibility of a torrential downpour in all its tropical glory, with lightning cackling and flashing in the sky or errant branches flying off trees and tumbling past oncoming cars.

Fisichella does a flying lap, literally.



I must say with some degree of pride I had predicted Alonso to be the winner – I just thought he looked less bumpy than the rest during practice. So I was downcast after his fuel-system failure during qualifying, especially when he got out of his car and hopped about in rage. It was somewhat mitigated by my other favourite wombat-lookalike, Massa, clinching pole position. Go Massa. I couldn’t bear the thought of Lewis Hamilton winning, and you are my best chance.

Race day itself was better than expected. The start of the race was predictable enough, with the top four or five maintaining their positions. For a while the cars were simply zipping along in a soporific single file. Yaaawn. Alonso and Rosberg both did some overtaking, and Massa’s car slurped up a piece of debris off the road, with no apparent damage.

No crashes at the get-go.



Love the flare at the top.



And so it seemed to cruise along, until Nelson Piquet Jr’s car pirouetted out of control and crashed spectacularly against the barricades like a soufflé with bits of crusty flakes skimming off in all directions. Oh dear. I thought he would be done for, when he popped out of his vehicle and even managed to dangerously jaywalk across the track. Good laddy.

And my favourite car, the safety car, made an appearance!! I was thrilled, because there’s something extremely comical about the sight of state-of-the-art, high-powered F1 mean machines limping obediently behind a run-of-the-mill vehicle. It’s like a procession of schoolboy miscreants sulking behind the headmaster. Excellent comedy.

But the most dramatic moment came when Massa’s car pulled away from the pits after an erroneous lights signal, yanking off the fuel hose with it and knocking over one of his own mechanics. Yikes. I felt sad for Massa, although admittedly it was hilarious the way the Ferrari team got their knickers in a twist – with Raikonnen nearly slamming into the fallen mechanic, the fuel hose (or what’s left of it) spewing fuel like monstrous entrails, Massa's rather priceless expression of frustration and resignation as his mechanics huffed and puffed to extricate the hose, and the best part – the Ferrarri mechanics darting down the pitlane to salvage Massa’s car, cheered by the McLaren crew. Ooooh, catty.

Ferrari’s shambolic day at the pits.



The hapless mechanics finally managed to wrench the hose out of Massa’s car, but his race was over – it was a colossal amount of time wasted on the whole fiasco. Bring back the lollipops. Massa was slapped with a drive-through penalty for exiting dangerously into the path of Sutil, which relegated him to the last of the pack. But I doubt the Darth Vader fans after the Spa fiasco would be placated by his penalty, since he's effectively out of contention. Poor, poor Massa. What a deflating turn of events. He was a real darling for not blaming his crew afterwards.

And so with several drivers ahead having to fuel and Kubica and Rosberg made to serve stop-go penalties for pitting too early, the sequence of drivers was dramatically reshuffled. It looked like my boy Alonso might have a sliver of a chance of a podium finish after all. Cheers all round. What about Darth Vader? He was languishing at 8th at the time, but he’s always a slippery one to watch out for.

Much as I don’t fancy Hamilton, gotta admit that the McLaren car looks one mean machine under the lights. To me, the most stunning car on the track.



The Ferrari ain’t too shabby either, I suppose. ;-)



The Renault looks delectable as well. I love the fact that it looks like Alonso’s nearly not tall enough to see the track.



I love these close ups – here's Nick Heidfeld.



Meanwhile, I enjoyed nettling my brother with a litany of annoying questions:

Me: What’s that piano on the back of the Ferrari?
Brother: What?!?
Me: That piano, keyboard, or whatever on the tail fin of the Ferrari.
Brother: It’s the Marlboro advert, idiot.

Looks like a piano at the back right? Or barcodes...



Me: What’s the car that looks like it’s bleeding?
Brother: Bleeding??
Me: Yeah. It looks like a white car with blotches of blood all over it.
Brother: Erm… that would be the Toyota.
Me: Eh? I thought Toyota’s blue or black and white?
Brother: No, that’s Toyota Williams.
Me: Wazzat? Is it Williams or Toyota? Why are the names all so bloody confusing?

Me: I have a brainwave for Massa that would salvage his awful night.
Brother: Which is?
Me: Since his race is effectively blown, can’t he lie in ambush at some obscure corner of the circuit, wait till Hamilton shows up and ram his Ferrari smack into Hamilton’s nose so that neither driver gain any points?
Brother: Yeah, great idea.

And while Lew was mixing it up in the middling ranks, I searched nervously for Alonso. After Trulli pitted, my boy was well and truly (pun not intended) leading. Yay!! Who would have thunk it, after he started from 15th? Luck does go around. Alonso pitted again shortly after, and I watched the clock biting my nails but he exited pitlane just in time and skimmed ahead of Coulthard and Pussy Cat Boy. Wolf whistles galore at Alonso retaining his lead. He streaked away soon after. Coulthard, however, got out-muscled by Hamilton, and then both pitted. Coulthard nearly did a Massa with his fuel rig, but braked in the nick of time.

Hamilton hassling Coulthard.



We overheard Alonso’s team radio told him not to panic. Who’s panicking now? Moments later – another crash, this time involving Sutil. Was it Massa's fault though? Collective prayers went round for the marshal who decided to pull a stunt himself, sweeping the debris off the road with his back facing the oncoming cars. Good lord.

Then came the other shocker – Raikonnen rammed into a wall at the Turn 10 chicane, with about four laps remaining. Game over for Ferrarri. With Alonso’s win more or less secure, I turned to my final hopes for the race – that Hamilton would be ejected from the race – engine stalling, penalties, crash and burn – whatever. Zero points for Lew, please.

No such luck, unfortunately. Hamilton was content settling for third place and six points instead of risking a maneuver to go up a notch in the rankings. So it looked pretty predictable for the checkered flag, although I still held my breath for Alonso’s last few laps. No screw-ups now. And thankfully he glided past the flag without incident, with Rosberg and Hamilton trailing. The Renault fans and crew went wild, whilst Alonso did this inexplicable “twinkle twinkle little star” gesticulation as he drove back to the pits. What on earth was that?? But never mind, job well done, albeit with a prodigious stroke of serendipity. Podium finish with Alonso’s old nemesis should be worth the price of admission alone. Poor boy looked like he’d been dunked in a swimming pool when he took off his helmet. Awwww.

So there you have it. I was pleased for Alonso, and proud of Singapore’s efforts in putting this event together. I suspect F1 purists may be a tad disappointed with the lack of action – and by that I mean proper racing action, not pitlane comedy and safety car lottery. The smorgasbord of visual treats was all well and good, but street circuits generally don’t make for great racing. For the casual viewer however, there were enough incidents and errors to keep us entertained, and keep hankering for more. By the way, this is probably the second time I’ve kept awake for the duration of a full race, and I’m suitably proud. F1 racing, it seems, is not so dreary after all.

I'm the king of the world!!



And the world welcomes its fourth Great Tenor... something needs to be done about those pants though... looks like somewhat pelted him with tangerine puree or something...



Because you had a bad day / The camera don't lie / You're coming back down and you really DO mind...



Hamilton: Smile and be nice to me on the podium or I'll plunge a rivet into your frontal lobe.
Alonso: Not listening...



Great to see him back to winning ways.



Well done Fernando...



And Renault.



Check out this website for more great pics.

Tags: Formula 1, Formula One, F1, Grand Prix, Bernie Ecclestone, Singapore Grand Prix, Singtel Singapore Grand Prix, Marina Bay Circuit, Marina Bay, Ferrari, Felipe Massa, Kimi Raikkonen, McLaren, McLaren Mercedes, Lewis Hamilton, Heikki Kovalainen, Renault, Fernando Alonso, Nelson Piquet, BMW Sauber, Robert Kubica, Toro Rosso, Sebastian Vettel, Toyota, Williams, Williams Toyota, Nico Rosberg, Honda, Red Bull, Red Bull Renault, Force India