Yeah, how 'bout them Worry Arse last Sunday.
Meanwhile in a park five miles south-east of Milan, a dude in a Minardi was busy winning a Formula One race. That's a simplification, obviously. It was a Minardi painted to look like a can of Red Bull in accordance with the team's current owners, and the dude wasn't so much winning as collectively pantsing the entire field and applying his size eleven repeatedly to the bullseye so formed. Rookie German pilot Sebastian Vettel, best known to date as that hapless monkey who piled into the back of Red Bull 'senior team' leader Mark Webber in last year's Japanese GP... under the safety car... (cue Webber's post-race interview on worldwide TV: "It’s kids isn’t it... kids with not enough experience... they do a good job and then they fuck it all up"), actually turns out to be fairly handy in the wet - being named after a brand of mineral water can't hurt - as long as he's out in front and doesn't have anyone to run into. He's also, it would seem, vaguely likeable. He swears in press conferences, quotes Little Britain and Monty Python, and generally looks like he actually enjoys being paid to race F1 cars at Ludicrous Speed around race tracks every other weekend. The bumfluff beard is a bit Greg Bird, who is a worthless fucktard with no redeeming qualities whatsoever (but not as utterly fucking stupid as his missus), but we can safely assume Seb has never heard of the Dirty Bird and is probably better off for his ignorance. He's also flipped the bird (see what I did there?) at suggestions he's the next Schumacher - having carried the big-chinned arse to Germany's win in the Nations Cup segment of the Race of Champions at the end of last year.
Of course the British press barely noticed a bloody thing having still been trying to untangle the knot they'd managed to wad in their knickers over Lewis Hamiltron getting stung with a retrospective penalty for passing Look-At-Me-Kimi Raikkonen by jumping a chicane in the previous week's damp closing stages of the Belgian GP, then not quite giving the spot back to reverse the dodginess before sodding off for the win. Amidst the bleating - and some of it was astonishing - noone actually thought to ask whether anyone else thought it was unfair. And when the other drivers were actually asked, next week in Monza, the answer was a very Andy Symonds style 'Nah mate nah.' However none of the drivers asked any of the press to go fishing with them and knock back a few Solos rather than pulling laps of a very wet Monza for the weekend. Basically noone thought the Second Coming of Jesus Christ (to give Hamiltron his official title) was hard done by. You pass someone illegally, you give the place back. Properly. Entirely. And you don't try and blouse past into the next turn. Ferchrists, even Russell Ingall can work that out, and he's a congenital retard from Adelaide. Why couldn't Hamiltron? Did Ron's software wonks forget to compile that line of code into his CPU?
Christ, the sooner Britain's footballers start playing proper football and the tabloids can fuck off out of F1, the better... what? Four-one against Rampaging Roy Slaven Bilic and the Stoned Cros? Work experience kid Theo Walcott getting a hat-trick? Jesus, they'll be insufferable. They even think they're a shot at the Ashes now they're unbeaten since the skunk-headed Saffer is driving the bus (did I tell you I saw him in person a block from Lords the day he got the job, getting shepherded about the place by a bunch of blazer-wearing twats? Did I gratuitously namedrop the fact I was in London and you weren't? How much of a complete fucking punisher do you think I can be about it? That much? Fair enough).
It's less than a year to the Ashes, and yet again, it's time to put the English in their place. Do they ever learn?
The Doctor is OUT.
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