- 08 Apr 09, 23:03#104711
Ayrton Senna: WDC 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991
McLaren: WCC 1974, 1984, 1985, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1998, 1999, 2007
McLaren: WDC 1974, 1976, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1998, 1999, 2008
From The Times, April 8, 2009
Lewis Hamilton will live the lie for rest of his career
Matthew Syed, Sports Journalist of the Year
Lewis Hamilton’s reputation is in tatters and it will never be fully repaired. No matter how much he tries to heap the blame on to the shoulders of Dave Ryan, the sacked McLaren sporting director; no matter how much his father fumes about the injustice of it all; no matter how many World Championships he wins in what remains of his tainted career.
This, at bottom, is a question of morality and judgment, and Hamilton has shown that he is lacking — culpably so — in both departments. First he lied before the stewards in a quasi-judicial hearing in Melbourne. Then he compounded the deception ten-fold by repeating the lie four days later. If the first piece of moral handwringing may be understood, if not excused, as having occurred in the heat of the moment, the second provides conclusive proof that Hamilton is prepared to deceive in cold blood.
It hardly needs stating that, in leading the stewards on a merry dance, he was not only staking a claim to points to which he had no right, but he was also, by implication, calling Jarno Trulli a liar and a cheat. He was implying that Trulli’s claim that he had been allowed to overtake was a deception; that it was right and proper for Trulli to be handed a 25-second penalty, robbing him of points. In short, he was prepared to trash a fellow driver’s reputation and opening race in pursuit of a measly extra point in the drivers’ championship.
That Hamilton lied under the instructions of a senior team member offers no mitigation whatsoever and tells us everything we need to know about the strange world Hamilton and his father inhabit that they think it does. Every 10-year-old understands that the demands of morality and honesty are not suddenly made void the moment somebody gives you a nod and a wink, or even a nudge. Hamilton’s defence adds up to nothing more than a tawdry “But he told me to, Sir”.
Had Hamilton come out at that pitiful press conference in Malaysia and admitted that he had lied, that he had done so willingly, that he had been blinded by ambition and the lust for a second title, we could have understood and, in time, forgiven. He could even have recounted Ryan’s role in the deception and we would have understood the moral dynamics of the choice he made.
But by choosing the weasel words “I was misled” he compounded his original error and shone a powerful light on his own moral confusion. Does he not recognise that he could have said “no” when Ryan cooked up the plan of deceiving the stewards and swindling Trulli? That he could have cut across his sporting director to say: “But that is not true?” That he could, at any moment in the 96 hours between his two deceptions, have picked up the phone to his father or to Martin Whitmarsh, the McLaren chief operating officer, and said: “My conscience is troubled. I need to come clean about something.”
Ask yourself this question: had the stewards not unearthed the deception, do you think that Hamilton would have voluntarily confessed his deceit or offered the theatrical contrition witnessed in that claustrophobic room in Malaysia?
Ask yourself this, too: given what we know about Hamilton — that he is one of the most single-minded drivers to have entered the paddock; that he has been known to defy team orders — was it really beyond him to tell Ryan to take a running jump?
Anthony Hamilton is now running around in a state of fury that the fairytale of his son’s rise from a Stevenage council estate to world champion has warped into a morality play of very different dimensions. He is angry at Ryan, at Whitmarsh, at almost everyone except the one person who was in a position to end this sordid saga before it began: his son.
It is even reported that Hamilton Sr has sought the advice of Max Mosley, the FIA president, on the possibility of his son jumping team mid-season, leaving McLaren in the lurch.
This is almost beyond parody. Hamilton has been nurtured by McLaren since he was 13, having been given access to resources beyond the dreams of other aspiring drivers. When he entered Formula One as a 22-year-old rookie, he was handed arguably the best all-round car in the paddock, enabling him to drive to victory in his second season in one of the most thrilling climaxes in the history of the sport last year. He is paid an annual salary by McLaren of about £15 million.
Now he is reportedly planning to betray the entire organisation, with a staff of about 900, all of whom work to make him look good, because a single member of that organisation — unilaterally and without the consent of anyone else — suggested that he tell a lie.
If that is Hamilton’s idea of team loyalty, is it any wonder that his moral compass is so woefully out of kilter? Could it be that an uncompetitive car is also behind this sudden desire to jump ship?
Either way, Hamilton must get his head around the fact that running away from McLaren will not enable him to run away from his actions. He must understand that he can change teams, he can change sponsors, he can even change residency again, but he will never be able to alter the fact that he lied in order to steal a march on a fellow driver. This reality will stick to him like a leech, draining his commercial viability and public image.
If that sounds harsh, remember that this is the life Hamilton chose for himself. That he has milked his corporate and symbolic value, signing sponsorship deals with Vodafone, TAG Heuer and Hugo Boss. That he has let it be known that his ambition is to transcend sport in the manner of Tiger Woods and Muhammad Ali. He can hardly now weep of injustice when his own actions fail to live up to the image that he and his handlers have so carefully cultivated.
Hamilton claimed in Malaysia that he is “not a liar” and we may infer from this that he believes his actions in Melbourne were unrepresentative of his true persona. The problem, of course, is that we have been here before. When Hamilton moved to Switzerland, he told us that the sole reason for leaving was because he wanted to escape from the rigours of fame and celebrity (just before he appeared on MTV’s Europe Music Awards and ITV’s National Television Awards).
Within days it was admitted that this explanation was not wholly true and that part of the reason for the move was to avoid paying UK taxes. But, in a pattern that is becoming familiar, instead of apologising for the deception, it was spun that the youngster had been badly advised. Which poses the question: just when is this chap going to start to take responsibility for his own actions?
Hamilton’s only credible course of action now is to stay put at McLaren and instruct his father to keep a lid on his frustrations. He should admit that he lied, using that word, and apologise for having shamefully sought to shift the burden of blame on to another man’s shoulders.
That would be the big thing to do. It would be the decent thing to do. It would be the honest thing to do. But one suspects that, for those very reasons, it is never going to happen.
Lewis Hamilton will live the lie for rest of his career
Matthew Syed, Sports Journalist of the Year
Lewis Hamilton’s reputation is in tatters and it will never be fully repaired. No matter how much he tries to heap the blame on to the shoulders of Dave Ryan, the sacked McLaren sporting director; no matter how much his father fumes about the injustice of it all; no matter how many World Championships he wins in what remains of his tainted career.
This, at bottom, is a question of morality and judgment, and Hamilton has shown that he is lacking — culpably so — in both departments. First he lied before the stewards in a quasi-judicial hearing in Melbourne. Then he compounded the deception ten-fold by repeating the lie four days later. If the first piece of moral handwringing may be understood, if not excused, as having occurred in the heat of the moment, the second provides conclusive proof that Hamilton is prepared to deceive in cold blood.
It hardly needs stating that, in leading the stewards on a merry dance, he was not only staking a claim to points to which he had no right, but he was also, by implication, calling Jarno Trulli a liar and a cheat. He was implying that Trulli’s claim that he had been allowed to overtake was a deception; that it was right and proper for Trulli to be handed a 25-second penalty, robbing him of points. In short, he was prepared to trash a fellow driver’s reputation and opening race in pursuit of a measly extra point in the drivers’ championship.
That Hamilton lied under the instructions of a senior team member offers no mitigation whatsoever and tells us everything we need to know about the strange world Hamilton and his father inhabit that they think it does. Every 10-year-old understands that the demands of morality and honesty are not suddenly made void the moment somebody gives you a nod and a wink, or even a nudge. Hamilton’s defence adds up to nothing more than a tawdry “But he told me to, Sir”.
Had Hamilton come out at that pitiful press conference in Malaysia and admitted that he had lied, that he had done so willingly, that he had been blinded by ambition and the lust for a second title, we could have understood and, in time, forgiven. He could even have recounted Ryan’s role in the deception and we would have understood the moral dynamics of the choice he made.
But by choosing the weasel words “I was misled” he compounded his original error and shone a powerful light on his own moral confusion. Does he not recognise that he could have said “no” when Ryan cooked up the plan of deceiving the stewards and swindling Trulli? That he could have cut across his sporting director to say: “But that is not true?” That he could, at any moment in the 96 hours between his two deceptions, have picked up the phone to his father or to Martin Whitmarsh, the McLaren chief operating officer, and said: “My conscience is troubled. I need to come clean about something.”
Ask yourself this question: had the stewards not unearthed the deception, do you think that Hamilton would have voluntarily confessed his deceit or offered the theatrical contrition witnessed in that claustrophobic room in Malaysia?
Ask yourself this, too: given what we know about Hamilton — that he is one of the most single-minded drivers to have entered the paddock; that he has been known to defy team orders — was it really beyond him to tell Ryan to take a running jump?
Anthony Hamilton is now running around in a state of fury that the fairytale of his son’s rise from a Stevenage council estate to world champion has warped into a morality play of very different dimensions. He is angry at Ryan, at Whitmarsh, at almost everyone except the one person who was in a position to end this sordid saga before it began: his son.
It is even reported that Hamilton Sr has sought the advice of Max Mosley, the FIA president, on the possibility of his son jumping team mid-season, leaving McLaren in the lurch.
This is almost beyond parody. Hamilton has been nurtured by McLaren since he was 13, having been given access to resources beyond the dreams of other aspiring drivers. When he entered Formula One as a 22-year-old rookie, he was handed arguably the best all-round car in the paddock, enabling him to drive to victory in his second season in one of the most thrilling climaxes in the history of the sport last year. He is paid an annual salary by McLaren of about £15 million.
Now he is reportedly planning to betray the entire organisation, with a staff of about 900, all of whom work to make him look good, because a single member of that organisation — unilaterally and without the consent of anyone else — suggested that he tell a lie.
If that is Hamilton’s idea of team loyalty, is it any wonder that his moral compass is so woefully out of kilter? Could it be that an uncompetitive car is also behind this sudden desire to jump ship?
Either way, Hamilton must get his head around the fact that running away from McLaren will not enable him to run away from his actions. He must understand that he can change teams, he can change sponsors, he can even change residency again, but he will never be able to alter the fact that he lied in order to steal a march on a fellow driver. This reality will stick to him like a leech, draining his commercial viability and public image.
If that sounds harsh, remember that this is the life Hamilton chose for himself. That he has milked his corporate and symbolic value, signing sponsorship deals with Vodafone, TAG Heuer and Hugo Boss. That he has let it be known that his ambition is to transcend sport in the manner of Tiger Woods and Muhammad Ali. He can hardly now weep of injustice when his own actions fail to live up to the image that he and his handlers have so carefully cultivated.
Hamilton claimed in Malaysia that he is “not a liar” and we may infer from this that he believes his actions in Melbourne were unrepresentative of his true persona. The problem, of course, is that we have been here before. When Hamilton moved to Switzerland, he told us that the sole reason for leaving was because he wanted to escape from the rigours of fame and celebrity (just before he appeared on MTV’s Europe Music Awards and ITV’s National Television Awards).
Within days it was admitted that this explanation was not wholly true and that part of the reason for the move was to avoid paying UK taxes. But, in a pattern that is becoming familiar, instead of apologising for the deception, it was spun that the youngster had been badly advised. Which poses the question: just when is this chap going to start to take responsibility for his own actions?
Hamilton’s only credible course of action now is to stay put at McLaren and instruct his father to keep a lid on his frustrations. He should admit that he lied, using that word, and apologise for having shamefully sought to shift the burden of blame on to another man’s shoulders.
That would be the big thing to do. It would be the decent thing to do. It would be the honest thing to do. But one suspects that, for those very reasons, it is never going to happen.
Ayrton Senna: WDC 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991
McLaren: WCC 1974, 1984, 1985, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1998, 1999, 2007
McLaren: WDC 1974, 1976, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1998, 1999, 2008
- By darwin dali