THERE are, conceivably, more important aspects to life than winning in sport. Emptying the dishwasher, for example.

And I mention that solely because, last Sunday afternoon, that was what I was doing, Chez Lake, while at the same time listening to the Brazilian Grand Prix on the radio.

So hooked did I become, however, with arguably one of the greatest Grand Prix races of all time, that it took me a full hour to empty it. Would Hamilton win? Or would Brazil’s Felipe Massa, who won the race, take the championship and deny Hamilton the title which would make him the 30th Formula One champion and, at 23, the youngest in the sport’s history?

Without question the race was one of the most exhilarating sporting contests so far this century and one whose conclusion no-one, including the commentators, could have foreseen. Hamilton won the world title but only on the last bend of a pulsating race which – if I had been a Brazilian – I would have argued he should never have won. For surely the title was going to be won by Massa. Afterwards, however, I had ample time to think back on Hamilton’s fifth place and a world title that neither he, nor Massa, knew would be either Brazil’s or England’s until fully 15 seconds after the race had ended.

Why, I asked myself for the next hour or so, had Hamilton won the world title when Massa was, on the day, the better driver and had won, compared to Hamilton, more Formula One races this season?
Was it that the gods, or fate, had planned it this way? And I mention this without any deep philosophical insights; simply that for all of the money Ferrari and McLaren have spent on their cars and their drivers over the years, the reason why the race ended as it did was because of the weather. The rain came down and, by doing so, the Brazilian Grand Prix was decided by wet-weather tyres – the lap of the gods.

For without the wind and the rain, no matter how many tens of millions had been spent on the cars and the drivers, such a heroic ending to a full season (Hamilton 98 points, Massa 97) could never have happened. I’ve mentioned before that I really do believe that some sportsmen are fated to become superstars in their sports and it would appear that Hamilton is one of them. And although he is now a tax recluse in Switzerland and talk of tens of millions of pounds beckon for the son of an immigrant and a Stevenage boy, his title came courtesy of the weather which, as we all know only too well, comes unbidden.

It was a tremendous end to a season which could so easily have turned sour for the English fans. But it didn’t. And as Bernie Ecclestone was running for cover when the heavens opened, I wonder if he realised that the rains would, if not this season but next, make him an even wealthier man than he is now.

A day in the life of a gallant runner-up

BEFORE moving away from Formula 1, two other thoughts struck me last Sunday and today, as I write this comment piece.

First was Massa’s reaction to Hamilton’s win when he believed that he had won the race.
Choking back the tears, he asked what it meant to him, to be denied a world championship when, less than a minute before, he thought he’d won the race and the title.

I was so struck by his reply that I immediately wrote it down. ‘We won the race and we have to be proud of that,’ he said. ‘Missing out by one point – that’s racing. You learn how to win and lose.’ And then Massa said something which, I believe, other members of the media didn’t quite take in, or who didn’t give enough credence to the profundity of what he was trying to say. ‘Right now I am very emotional; but this was just one day in my life.’

When I heard Massa say that I stopped dead in my tracks. For, having just lost a world championship, he was talking about how this was just one day out of many. ‘Just another day. And the world continues to turn and we move on until tomorrow and the day after that,’ is what Massa was, in effect, telling the commentator. The world moves on. There was no petty rivalry; no back-biting; no excuses, no bitterness or recrimination.

As someone who loves his sport with a passion, I cannot remember, for many a long year, someone so close to a world championship who came away with so much dignity. Sport’s important; but I am reminded of a famous writer who, when asked about the words he was asked should adorn his gravestone, said that ‘he wrote several of the world’s great books’ wasn’t as important as ‘he was a good husband and father to the family he loved.’

So which would any of us prefer? To be remembered for your sporting prowess, with all of its millions of pounds on offer if you’re good at it, or to be remembered for your commonality with your family and the intimacy of the family life you live within.

While you’re thinking this over I’ll remind you that when asked if they’d shorten their lives by ten years to win an Olympic gold medal, 85 per cent of Americans said they’d take the gold first, longevity second. Me, I want to live to be at least 125. Not just because I enjoy the world I live in but also because, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been told ‘Never forget that there’s always someone older and wiser than you.’ Maybe. But eventually I want it to be me.

Beware pretty ones.

Just over a week ago the Island hosted its first professional bout for almost two decades. Hopefully, this will be the start of a new dawn and we will see more professional fights in Jersey in years to come
I know full well that there is a market for pro-boxing – the main problem has never been ‘who will come to see the show’ but more one of ‘which Island venue is big enough to seat all the spectators’.

There is a ready made capacity audience of boxing spectators in Jersey, most of whom not only love their sport, but are also very knowledgable about the sport they follow.

Because of that, I will end this week’s comment piece with a few words of advice lightweight world boxing champion Joe Calzaghe’s father, Enzo, gave to his son when Joe was 19 and about to step into the ring in Sardinia for the very first time.

s because the guy he was about to fight had a busted nose and already had cuts beneath his eyes. But this, apparently, is what his dad had to say. ‘The damaged ones (boxers) you don’t have to worry about. But beware the pretty ones. They’re pretty because they don’t get hit.’

And after that fight? Joe Calzaghe took up his father’s words and explained what he’d done to a welterweight boxer who was called DiMaso. ‘From the first bell he got the worst beating of his life. I remember him afterwards, crying in the showers. His eyes were swollen, he had a busted nose. I did a proper job on him, like.’

So beware the pretty ones . . . And finally, also a few words from Joe Calzaghe about street boxing: ‘It’s usually people who can’t fight who pick fights after a few beers, not the ones who can.’

Whistle start

Postscript: I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would ever want to be a referee, but congratulations to the 12 new referees who have recently qualified to bring the number in the Island to a total of 45. May your whistles never run dry!