On Bahrain

The world's eyes have been fixed on the Middle East of late. Some people have been feeling national guilt over their governments sending arms and crowd-control devices (and by that I mean supplies of tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannons) to the various nations trying to stamp out the fires of revolution. Others have been feeling hopeful that the fire will spread to their country and bring much-needed regime change (yes, I'm in this group, although I'm not rushing out to organise a protest for fear of being killed or imprisoned for treason, which carried the death penalty in Zimbabwe). Still others have been feeling dismay that people could be so inconsiderate as to disrupt sporting events over a desire for freedom and democracy.

Bernie Ecclestone is among those wishing that the unrest would "blow away" and let the games carry on.


It's when things like his comments yesterday hit the press that I feel ashamed to be a Formula 1 supporter. Here is a country ousting a government that has out-stayed its welcome (in my opinion, spending longer than eight years in office is over-staying) and oppressed a major people group and are being violently abused. But what is he worried about? The security of personnel and fans? Probably not - Bahrain is on the shipment route to the race in Australia, so all the teams who have already put their equipment on the ship will lose money. In addition, he'll lose the revenue generated by ticket sales and advertising at the circuit and suchlike.

It seems he's alone in this. The Australian, British, Canadian and US governments have all issued warnings against people travelling to Bahrain. Teams have been making quiet inquiries as to whether there are circuits available during that time-period to avoid it becoming a blood bath. Even fans have been voicing their opinions to various teams and Formula 1 journalists, expressing displeasure at the possibility of the race going ahead.

For me, it's not a security issue. In Egypt during the revolution, the safest place for foreigners, according to a number of Al Jazeera and CNN journalists, was in Tahrir Square. The protesters have nothing against foreigners. It's an issue of respect. By holding the race in Bahrain, Mr. Ecclestone will be sending a message to the world that the injustice in Bahrain doesn't matter, that sport, and its associated profits, are more important than democracy, freedom and justice. As much as I love the sport, nothing is more important than democracy (as flawed of a political system as it is), freedom and justice.

Racks and racecars

Okay, yes, I used the word "rack" to describe breasts, but it alliterated nicely with "racecar".

This has been coming for a few months now. Supersport, the providers of F1 coverage in southern Africa went to great lengths during the off-season to put together a montage of F1 scenes to show before and after each practice, qualifying, and race session. They must have spent hours on it. Seriously. There's no way you could make a three-minute montage of nothing but breasts without having spent hours combing through promo footage. Not breasts belonging to women who are in some way connected to F1, for example drivers' girlfriends/partners/wives or team staff (and, yes, part of me is glad that there isn't a boob-shot of Petrov's manager [on the right of the shot]. That woman scares me). Not even shots of grid girls from last years' races. Women who are in no way recognisably F1-related. They just have great boobs, and most are wearing bikinis. Oh, there's one shot of Bernie Ecclestone (who is, after all *the* loveliest human being on the planet. The wiki article explains why I don't really like him), but, apart from that, just boobs.

Forget, for a moment, that I'm a feminist and politically object to boobs being used as marketing tools; I simply want an honest answer to a perplexing question. How, exactly, does a montage of bikini-clad breasts convey the meaning/intent/spirit of a car racing session? I thought title credits were supposed to convey the meaning of the show. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not above watching things that involve breasts. However, if I want to watch race cars, I want to watch race cars, not a montage of fake titties belonging to random anonymous women. Are they assuming that the only motorsport fans in Southern Africa are teenaged boys, unable to get their cheap boob thrills elsewhere? Wake up, Supersport! Don't try and get better viewership by showing boobs; we would far rather see race highlights, drivers and actual team members!

Lessons from drunk law students

This town seems to ge going crazy. In the last week, there have been three drink driving accidents. Now, I know that drink driving accidents are serious things, but, sometimes, you can't help yourself but laugh at the stupidity of some people. Bear in mind as you read this that, according to the South African constitution, you may not practice law if you have a criminal record.

Lesson 1: Don't catch lifts with strangers.
Two boys walked out of a bar; one of them was holding a beer in his hand. As they walk down the street, the boy holding the beer takes a swig. He knows (because he's a law student, and they learn these things) that drinking in public is illegal in South Africa (yes, it's ridiculous, but so are many of the laws in this country). However, he goes ahead and takes a good gulp, not realising that he's standing less than two metres away from a policeman. The cop promptly throws him in the back of the van. His friend, who was rather drunk at the time, yells "wait for me!" and hops in the back of the squad car, thinking he was getting a lift home. He subsequently spent the night in jail, and wasted the four and a half years that he had spent studying law.

Lesson 2: Watch where you're going
This story is less amusing. Actually, it's horrifying, but I'll get on with it. A guy, who is eight months away from qualifying as a lawyer, decided to drive drunk. Not tipsy, mind, he was properly drunk; slurring-and-struggling-to-stand-up-straight drunk. Anyway, he was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere, did a handbrake turn around a corner and accelerated out of it, ploughing down two people who were crossing the road outside a bar (the Rat, for those of you familiar with Grahamstonian geography). The girl got away with just a broken leg. Yes, I know a broken leg is serious, but wait. The guy who he ran into broke both legs, a number of ribs, and fractured his skull. The driver then proceeded to try and run away from the car, only to be stopped by the other (rather tipsy) students who were milling around. Yes, justice was served: he was arrested and is still in jail awaiting trial.

Lesson 3: If there is a stop sign at an intersection, stop
For those of you who have never been to Grahamstown, it is a town full of stop-streets and speed bumps...and on with the story. An eighteen year-old guy (yes, driving drunk) decides to jump a stop street. We've all done it, let's be honest. If it's the middle of the night and you're in a country where hijacking is common, you get into the habit of giving way rather than actually stopping at stop streets. What he didn't realise was that there was a police van parked five metres away from the intersection, which pulled into the street behind him and turned on its sirens. Instead of stopping and apologising, the kid decided to run. And run he did - up onto campus, through three stop streets, over seven speed humps, all the way up The Hill (upon which all the residence halls at Rhodes University are built) towards his house. In the process, he drove the wrong way up a one-way street and bumped into three cars. He then tried to park, crashing into the two cars on either side of the parking spot that he was aiming for. When he got out the car, the police duly tried to arrest him. He responded by trying to bribe them. Unfortunately, the cops he was facing weren't the kind that take bribes from stupid trust-fund brats.

Lesson 4: Don't give lifts to more people than you have seat-belts for
There is a filling station in Grahamstown that is home to the only 24-hour store in the town. It's called BP, and people tend to end up there in search of pies and/or samoosas and/or chocolate and/or drinking yoghurt at odd hours of the night (usually after last rounds at a bar). Our story begins when a guy (one year away from getting his law degree), driving a small, two-seater open-back truck, gave two of his friends a lift. His girlfriend was sitting in the passenger seat, so he told his friends to hop in the back and hang on tight. As they pull out of the filling station, a police van flashes its lights at him. Instead of stopping and talking his way out of it (which you can do for minor things like overloading, since it happens all over South Africa), he decided to try and out-run them. So, off he speeds, with his two friends in the back, trying desperately to hold on and not get thrown out of the vehicle. The driver decided to take all the back roads, turning at every intersection in an attempt to lose the cop car (I can only imagine how close his friends were to peeing themselves in terror). Eventually, he decided to try and cut across a school sports field. Unfortunately, he didn't see the lamp post in his way, and it brought his vehicle to a rather abrupt stop. His friends jumped out of the back and lay on the ground with their hands above their heads in the hopes that the police wouldn't arrest them. They, fortunately, evaded getting rewarded with a criminal record. The driver, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

We can conclude a number of things from this. 1) Driving under the influence is, perhaps, not as safe as one thinks it is at the time. 2) Grahamstown, despite being full of academic institutions, is full of very stupid people. 3) It's possible that male law students have a problem with authority.