Dear Alpine, we needed to write to you to start our therapy. Some experts say it comes through writing, so go to the first paragraph.
Alpine, we didn't see you coming
Eyes still wet, dark circles, empty eyes, still haggard from the day before. This is how we woke up this morning, still bruised and humiliated by your Grand Prix the day before. The pain is doubly acute because since the start of the season, Formula 1 was our refuge, our French comfort zone, our safe place. With you, we had time to see it coming, reassured by the Clio 2 energy of your cars, your questionable strategies in qualifying, your sabbatical pit stops, without forgetting the Norman-Norman touches between your teammates.
In short, everything came together for you to make this year 2024 a symbol of tricolor loss, a season for eternity. Our only faithful ally after the cataclysmic Olympic Games for the blue-white-red defeat. With this ninth place in the manufacturers' standings, the “last of the rest” ahead of Sauber, you were the pride of all of France. Every Monday after Grand Prix, our meme “Not bad, right? It's French” was already scheduled.
In short, everything was going well until this dark Sunday, November 3, 2024.
F1 Sundays won't be the same because of you
However, the Brazilian Grand Prix had already shown us that he knew not to be gentle with us. Pierre Gasly's first F1 podium in 2019 still resonates in our heads, even five years later and that damn climb wheel to wheel with Lewis Hamilton. But like we said, we felt invincible this season. Even Esteban Ocon's fourth position in qualifying failed to alert us. Denial blinded us, there was nothing to do about it.
Then the race begins, the laps go by, and we quickly understand that Ocon's qualification is anything but an accident. Seeing Leclerc and Verstappen stumble behind the Frenchman for many laps only confirms our fear; we're going to have to squeeze our butts all the way to the finish line. Even more so when the red flag allows Pierre Gasly to temporarily climb onto the podium. Result, a general panic takes the premises of the FFL, worthy of Michael Scott in the offices of the company Dunder Mifflin.
Then that fateful hour arrives: 7:00 p.m. The one where your drivers cross the finish line in unison in 2nd and 3rd positions. Never again will we look at the hands of a watch in the same way when they indicate the 19th hour of the day. From now on, our days will go straight from 6:59 p.m. to 7:01 p.m. The 1140th minute of the day will be null and void from this day forward. Too bad if Seven to Eight must begin at 7:01 p.m.
Alpine F1: six letters, just like “treason“
And the word is weak. In a single race, you erased the colossal work accomplished this season. At the same time, should we be surprised to see two Normans excel in the rain? Finished ninth place in the manufacturers' standings, you are now jubilant in 6th position. We have a tender thought for the dozen supporters in France of Williams, Racing Bulls and Haas that you martyred in front of their televisions. Please know that if you are reading these words, we know how you feel.
In the end, we would have preferred to be under the flood of Sao Paulo, at least there no one would have guessed our hot tears running down our cheeks. Your drivers Esteban and Pierre have just stopped a series of 27 years, and 519 Grands Prix, during which two French people were NEVER on the same podium together. At the time, Olivier Panis and Jean Alesi had already tarnished the 1997 Spanish Grand Prix. Hoping not to relive that day before 2051. Until then, we hope that Q1 will remain your garden, and that your races will be will unfold in total anonymity in the soft belly, when you finish them.
Good to you.
Date of FFL.
