By Pete South

I suppose my story is fairly similar to that of thousands of formula 1 fans out there.  Most can’t remember exactly what made us watch our first race, nor what made us come back for a second or third.

But usually, there is one defining moment that stands out and makes you sit up and pay attention to the spectacle of F1. Even though it was confusing, dizzying and confounding – just what are these people talking about with their downforce and pit-stops? – there is something about it which planted a seed in my brain that has kept me watching ever since.

I wasn’t attracted to the glamour or even the spectacular duels between drivers. I was always engrossed by the tactical side of the sport – boring I know – and how a race plays out.

Even the technical side has never interested me a great deal. Talk of air flow and aerodynamics leave me somewhat cold when pitted against the sight or sounds of formula 1.

Seeing someone stretch out an early lead only for the chasing back to reel them in, second by second, as the yellow and grey graphic flashed across the bottom of the screen showing Olivier Panis had caught Mika Hakkinen by a second a lap for example got me hooked.

It was these mini-tussles within the race that I always found the most intriguing – the ebb and flow of a race and seeing who would pit at the right time, who could get out ahead of the backmarkers and who would be caught up.

“What some people call the golden age, with Senna, Prost, Mansell et all had come just before my time, I was perfectly content watching Gerhard Berger, Heinz-Harald Frentzen and Michael Schumacher shoot around ribbons of tarmac all over the globe.”

To this day I spur drivers on when I see someone catching up, or shout my advice of the best time to pit straight at the TV in the vain hope they may take my advice and be fed out into a clear track.

Damon Hill was always my hero. Perhaps because of that rather English notion of the try-hard underdog going into battle with the likes of Schumacher, Villeneuve and Hakkinen, or it could be I rather liked the Williams livery – the sight of him winning the world Championship in 1996 is etched into my brain, and in many ways is the reason I am sat here writing this article now.

I had a collection of tatty old JVC video cassettes with “Three Man and a Baby” scribbled out on the side, with “Brazilian Grand Prix 1996” daubed over the top (much to the frustration of my sisters) and scratchy images of far-away lands and my Father becoming increasingly frustrated at setting the timer on the video player became a bi-weekly event while I slept with anticipation at waking up to a freshly recorded race.

What some people call the golden age, with Senna, Prost, Mansell et all had come just before my time, I was perfectly content watching Gerhard Berger, Heinz-Harald Frentzen and Michael Schumacher shoot around ribbons of tarmac all over the globe. I remember nothing of Senna’s accident except my Father being upset, and part of me remains glad that my earliest memory is not of one of the greatest drivers losing his life – perhaps this would have changed my outlook on the sport, or worse still, turned me away from it.

When Hill did win the title I was actually allowed to wake up and watch the race. I didn’t know who Graham Hill was and talk of becoming the first father and son to win the world title didn’t interest me, I was only interested in seeing my hero defying the odds and out-doing the man who had slowly become the villain of the piece – Jacques Villeneuve. The Canadian qualified on pole as he looked to destroy what I had hoped to be a perfect weekend, but when he retired and left the path clear for Hill to win his only world title, I couldn’t stop smiling – and I still have the commemorative video my Nan bought for Christmas that year.

From that spark came a fire that stays alight to this day. From being confused over who Arrows were and why Hill couldn’t get anywhere near the men he used to beat to the Schumacher days of dominance, including the sense of outrage as he charged into Villeneuve during the climax of the 97 season –  the thrill of watching the ebb and flows of a battle continue to engross me and pull me in.

The sport has changed from what it used to be and that is no bad thing. I’m not someone who buys the argument that technological advancements have ruined the sport while selling its soul to the Middle East in pursuit of new Arab money.

Formula 1 remains what it has always been about – being the fastest, most enthralling and exciting motorsport there is regardless of its means of getting to the chequered flag or where the track is – and that is something that will keep me coming back for more for another 15 years and beyond.

What is your first memory of formula 1 and why do you love it? Read why other people love F1 and join in the debate here

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