Poignant tribute from a Marco/Moto GP fan who mailed this in...
I don’t often post about events in the real world, but this has been a black and terrible week for motor racing. Two racers have been killed in the last week, Dan Wheldon and Marco Simoncelli, and the world of motorsport is reeling from their loss. I didn’t know much about Dan and I won’t insult his memory by saying that I was a fan; but I was a huge fan of Simoncelli, and I, along with many others, are still trying to come to terms with the fact that he is dead. Sometimes I forget for hours at a time, before it hits me again. It is surreal.
Yesterday morning, a week to the day since Dan Wheldon was killed at Las Vegas in a horrific 15-car-crash, Marco Simoncelli was killed at the Malaysian MotoGP, just four minutes into the race, after losing control of his bike on turn eleven and colliding with Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi. The impact was so terrible that it knocked off his helmet. The race was cancelled, and he was pronounced dead just under an hour later. For those of you with no interest in motorsport, this is another one of those tragic accidents that will inevitably occur when racing machinery are being raced at high speed. For those of us who follow racing, and especially motorcycles, with a passion, it is absolutely devastating.
After the crash, I, like many others, was glued to live news feeds hoping to hear he’d pull through. He was 24; too young, too talented, too loved to be taken so suddenly. But then the news came that he was gone, and we spent the rest of the day in shock, numbed and desperately sad. And that’s just us, the diehard fans. The people who probably never saw his great afro’d goofy grin in person. What his family, girlfriend and friends must be going through is unimaginable. Edwards and Rossi are utterly inconsolable.
Marco Simoncelli was one of the fastest rising stars in motorcycle racing, after moving up to MotoGP last year. He fiercely divided fans with his aggressive racing style, and was generally either loved or hated. Not much middle ground as far as Marco was concerned, which, funnily enough, was how he lived and raced. Described by many as a friendly, funny and loveable person, he lit up the paddock and was a breath of fresh air for motorsport. He has a huge fan base, who often turned up to races wearing afro wigs, who loved him for his character and style. Larger than life is a hopelessly overused phrase, too often used to describe politicians who actually crack a smile once a decade, or have an inordinate fondness for port. But Simoncelli was genuinely larger than life, someone whose personality was too big for the world. At 6 feet tall, he dwarfed the other riders on the track; and it was customary see his great, gangly legs flapping about as he steadied the bike on a tricky turn. Instantly recognisable, instantly likable, half-crazed and possessed of a driven and raw talent. Yes, he was larger than life. So large that, in the end, life couldn’t keep up.
Honda’s Andrea Dovizioso said yesterday in tribute:
“Marco was a strong rider and he always pushed hard. We raced together since we were kids, I saw him always pushing to the maximum, he crashed many times, but without major injuries, he seemed invincible,” he said. “What happened today seems impossible.”
And that’s just it; this seems impossible. It feels as though any minute now there will be an announcement saying there’s been a terrible mistake, and he’s fine. It’s inconceivable that someone so vibrant has vanished from our world, and from the tight-knit community of motorcycle racing fans. I was not the only person who felt a keen joy seeing Marco’s easy grin in the garage before the race, hair barely tamed, frizzed out around his face like a solar flare. He was a superstar, he was a fucking superstar, on and off the track, and I don’t think MotoGP will ever be the same. The image of his spare bike, with its bold red 58 waiting forlornly in the garage for him to return, is an agonising reminder that it’s true, he’s gone. He’s really gone.
The only thing that can be said that could in any way lessen our pain at his passing, is that he was doing what he loved more than anything else. He lived for racing, he died for racing, it was his passion and his dream. He was taken from us trying his hardest to fulfill that dream, and there’s not many of us who will end our lives in the same way, doing something we love with all our heart.
Ciao, SuperSic. You will be missed more than you could ever, ever know.
