Nigel Mansell Autobiography

by Nigel Mansell

  You should have guessed by now that lifting the title in Hungary was never going to be straightforward! The circuit was ridiculously dusty and on the Friday I had a fire in the engine bay. I also got caught up in someone else’s accident but eventually landed safely on the grid in second, behind Patrese. I slipped from second to fourth at the start, with Patrese, Senna and Berger ahead of me. After passing Gerhard and Riccardo, who slipped down to seventh after a mistake, I was in the second place I needed for the title. That’s when I got a slow puncture . . . Blimey, what do I have to do to win this title?

  The pit stop was executed brilliantly by the team – the whole Williams team had been tremendous all year – but it still dropped me down to sixth with 16 laps to go. Then Schumacher retired in fifth with wing damage, and I got past Häkkinen then Brundle, and after talking to Patrick on the radio to confirm the position I needed – still second – I took Berger and settled into the slot that would give me the world title with 13 laps left.

  This time there were no crashes, no tyre blow-outs, and I made it to the finish line in second, behind Ayrton, to take the title. Crossing the line as Formula 1 world champion was just the most incredible feeling. I had done it! Finally, after all the years, the battles, the sacrifices, everything that Rosanne and I had gone through, I was the world champion. I just felt total disbelief. I had done it.

  I was world champion with five races of the season still remaining – Britain’s first F1 champion for 16 years. I’d totalled 108 points, 52 ahead of my second-placed team-mate Riccardo Patrese. I’d recorded an unprecedented five opening wins, the most pole positions in one season with 14, the most fastest laps, the most points, the most wins with nine and a new British record total of 30 grand prix wins at that point. It was total domination, to be fair. I had finally done it.

  On the podium, Ayrton was very nice to me and at one point he leaned over to me and whispered into my ear: ‘Well done, Nigel. It’s such a good feeling, isn’t it? Now you know why I’m so difficult sometimes. I don’t ever want to lose the feeling or share it with anybody else.’

  I’ve mentioned already how I am a huge fan of Sir Stirling Moss. He’s a lovely man and Susie, his wife, is wonderful too. After my World Championship win, I bumped into him and he was so generous and funny. Remember, this living legend is a man who was bridesmaid four times and, if you recall, back in Estoril he’d thanked me for surpassing his number of grand prix wins without being world champion.

  When I saw him that day after winning the title, I playfully said, ‘Stirling,’ – he was not yet ‘Sir’ – ‘I believe I previously took your record for winning the most races without being crowned champion. Well, it gives me great pleasure to now hand that accolade back to you.’

  He leaned towards me with a delightful smile on his lips and said, ‘You bastard.’

  Winning the F1 World Championship was wonderful, it really was. The Williams team did a magnificent job that season with a fabulous car – my favourite, you might not be surprised to hear! – and I was totally dominant all year, so I am very proud of my achievement. It was the completion of one part of my life and dreams, and it felt especially good because I had been so close on all those previous occasions. Numbness, happiness, elation, so many emotions. I wish my mom and dad had been there to see me step up on that podium as world champion, I really do.

  The days immediately after winning the world title were incredible, fabulous, a joy. I had finally done what I set out to achieve all those years ago. I was the champion. It felt so good! We had a belated birthday party for Chloe, and Murray Walker came over to the Isle of Man to do a BBC special about my championship season.

  However, at the same time, my drive for 1993 with Williams was still not secure. The mid-season talk about Prost had not been welcome. The negotiation challenges I faced after I won the World Championship have been well documented, not least in previous books. To summarise what happened: I believed I had agreed a provisional deal to drive for Williams in 1993 but, as the season ran on, a formal agreement was seemingly delayed. Then it became apparent that Ayrton Senna was possibly in the mix for a drive, which really unsettled me. There was even talk of him offering to drive for free, while my critics were very negative about the money being speculated upon in my deal.

  Even though Prost would be the other Williams driver, I was excited about the possibility and the privilege of being able to defend my world title and of building on the enormous success we had all enjoyed at Williams in 1991 and 1992. However, we couldn’t seem to find a way to reach an agreement. Obviously, I had my view and Williams had theirs. Unbeknown to me, the relationship with the French sponsors was quite significant to Williams’ future.

  Bernie Ecclestone was fantastic as usual and tried to do all he could to help resolve the issues. He was always a great supporter of mine and wanted me to stay in F1, but even when I ultimately chose to race in the USA he told me that, if that was my decision, then I should at least go out there and win. Sadly, the situation with Williams could not be resolved and so destiny decreed that I would not be racing for Frank’s team and defending my world title in 1993.

  At Monza, I called a press conference where I announced my retirement, even though a Williams representative made last-minute attempts to dissuade me. My lengthy statement attempted to explain why I was retiring from the sport of which I was world champion. ‘Due to circumstances beyond my control . . . I have made this decision with some regret, but not without a great deal of thought.’ I explained my position and that since the saga started ‘relations with the team have not been good’. I acknowledged it was Frank’s prerogative to choose his drivers for his team but stated that I still felt very disappointed. I finished by thanking Williams and Renault for their support to date and wished them well for 1993. I also suggested I may look to America for my next racing challenge.

  I’m not going to repeat myself here but suffice to say I felt incredibly deflated, dejected and very disappointed that I wouldn’t be defending the title I was so incredibly proud of. I was criticised by some for leaving F1, while Williams were also criticised by certain parts of the media and public alike, with some even demonstrating outside the factory, but in a statement they said they felt ‘deep regret’ that I had chosen to retire and I had a ‘special place’ in their team’s history. They also said I ‘richly deserved’ the title but pointed out, as was their prerogative, that they felt they had to preserve the wellbeing of the team. So, as I’ve said, destiny decided that I wouldn’t be blessed with the opportunity to defend my F1 World Championship.

  I have a very healthy respect for Sir Frank and certainly what he has achieved in Formula 1 is absolutely remarkable. Obviously, as with many relationships, we had some disagreements in our time working together, which I have touched on here. Clearly, when I thought his decisions were not in my best interests, then we had strong differences of opinion. Conversely, Sir Frank always said he had to put the interests of his team first. The Williams team is one of the finest in Formula 1 and I am extremely proud to have been a part of that history. I think, after his accident, to go and win the constructors’ title in the same season typifies the bulldog spirit and culture of excellence that Sir Frank creates in his team.

  There were still races left in the 1992 season. After announcing my retirement, hydraulic failure curtailed my race at Monza, albeit only after setting the fastest lap. I won the next race in Estoril, a record ninth win that was overshadowed by my team-mate Riccardo Patrese’s awful accident when his car went airborne, which thankfully he emerged from unscathed. Riccardo finished second in the championship and Williams won the constructors’ title. It was a hugely dominant performance from the whole team all year. Unfortunately, after Estoril I had two retirements for my last brace of races for Williams, in Suzuka and Adelaide. The first was an engine fault, the second was an accident, when Ayrton’s car hit me from behind and took us both off.

  So, despite being the reigning F1 world champion, I retir
ed from Formula 1. The day after my title season ended, I came back home and was admitted to hospital for the operation on my long-suffering foot. I was on crutches for three months and recuperated in time for the new motorsport season, which, as destiny had decreed, would not be in Formula 1. As you know me by now, you perhaps won’t be surprised to learn that, for all the considerable disappointment of not defending my F1 world title, I would immediately bounce back, across the Atlantic, in what some people considered was the fastest and at times the most dangerous motorsport of all: IndyCar. Exciting times ahead!

  CHAPTER 15

  COME TO THE WILD WEST

  In sharp contrast to the disappointment of not being able to defend my F1 title, I was very excited about the prospects for a new career racing in the USA. I had previously been made offers to race over there, but at the time I was still intent on becoming the Formula 1 world champion. First of all, I have to say we would never have come to America without the support of Paul Newman. My new team boss, Carl Haas, was doing all the negotiations, which were fairly protracted as these things tend to be, but we got there in the end, and I signed for the revered Newman/Haas IndyCar team. Once or twice, when there was a bit of a stall in the process, Paul Newman phoned me and we had some really nice chats. He said to me, ‘Nigel, you will love it out here – it’s like the Wild West! It’s so exciting to race and your family will love it too; they will all be included. I will give you my personal word that I will support you and do whatever is necessary to try to win the championship. Come and have some fun with us – come and have an adventure!’ How can you say no when Paul Newman phones you and says that?!

  Very soon after we arrived in the States to race, I realised that being Formula 1 world champion counted for very little over there. People in the American racing world knew about F1 and, of course, respected my achievement, but among the wider American public that wasn’t really the case. I think it’s fair to say that, back in the UK, I was one of the most well-known sporting faces of that period along with the likes of Frank Bruno, Nick Faldo and so on. One time, Frank and I were the only sportsmen invited to a dinner at Number 10 Downing Street to meet Bill and Hillary Clinton. That gives you an idea of the profile I enjoyed in the UK.

  In America, however, it was nothing like that. When I went over there, I was insignificant. In the UK, we have a population of about 65 million; in the States, it’s over 300 million. The country is so vast and there are so many high-profile sports. We came from being a big fish in a small pond to being just a tiddler in a massive ocean of sportspeople. There are literally tens of thousands of sporting heroes in America – golfers are ten-a-penny, baseball players, NFL players, basketball stars, thousands of professionals, proper sports megastars who are paid fortunes.

  Yet my relative anonymity was a pleasure because I could take my children out for a pizza or go to the cinema or play with them at the park, whatever, without being recognised or asked for photographs or whatnot. I was allowed a completely normal family life and that was really lovely.

  I was very excited about my first season in IndyCar. Several drivers got in touch to wish me well and welcome me to IndyCar, even though I would be racing against them, which I thought was wonderful. I had been told by several veterans of the series that it would take two to three years to get the hang of IndyCar, the oval racing in particular. This US motorsport that was so different in many ways to Formula 1.

  Well, I won the IndyCar title in my first year.

  IndyCar was amazing – it demanded incredible race craft and I just embraced the whole spectacle. At the time, it was the biggest auto racing in America and possibly challenged F1 in certain races, it was so popular. On a practical driving level, the cars were different to F1 cars, even though they might look similar. They were heavier, less nimble, possessed higher top speeds but less downforce, less G-force and were generally less high-tech, with manual gear changes, inferior brakes and passive suspension.

  My first season in IndyCar was such an eye-opener and I had a fantastic time. After a very busy off-season, when I’d had the foot operated on and also fulfilled the hundreds of obligations that a Formula 1 world champion enjoys, I was fit and ready to start my racing life in the USA. As I mentioned earlier, I’d been told it took drivers several seasons to get used to oval racing – by contrast, I had decided I wanted to win the title in my first year. That way I felt I was ‘defending’ my world title.

  In pre-season testing we were very fast. That first test in Phoenix was a bit of a culture shock, very different to the Formula 1 races I was used to. The skill levels of the pit crew were as good; I clearly had an exceptionally talented and well-drilled team. The car felt good, well balanced – which in the ovals is paramount – and I really felt like we had a great chance of making an impact. By the time we flew to Australia for the season opener, I was extremely excited.

  At that first race, I put the car on pole position and, despite a stop-go penalty for running under yellow flags, pitting for a suspected puncture as well as running on fumes for the last few laps, I won my first ever race in IndyCar. The car ran out of fuel within 100 yards of passing the finishing line – talk about fine margins! I was the first rookie to win an IndyCar race from pole and the first driver to win on his debut since the amazing Graham Hill in 1966. I know it was a long way off, but I really felt like I could go and win the title. You would be forgiven for thinking that this whole IndyCar lark was easy . . . Well, after what happened at the very next race, a gaping hole in my back that has since made medical history will tell you different.

  To get off to a flyer in Australia was amazing and I returned to America for the next race at Phoenix full of optimism. However, in Saturday practice I suffered my biggest ever accident – a smash that could so easily have proved fatal.

  I honestly don’t remember a lot about the worst accident of my career. In Saturday’s practice session I was flying along, setting fastest times and really belting out there. Then I flew into turn one at 187mph, probably marginally quicker than I had gone before, and the car just instantly swapped ends on me, which is the single most dangerous thing that can happen on a high-speed oval. There had been some aerodynamic changes to the car and there was heat build-up in the tyres too. Also, I did go very slightly higher than on previous laps, so it was a combination of factors perhaps that caused the crash. What I do know is that I paid the highest price possible when the car backed into a concrete wall at that massive speed. There was no chance of trying to catch it – I was gone, just a passenger. The impact was catastrophic and knocked me out immediately. When I hit the wall, my speed was so great that it smashed the gearbox into the back of the car and my spine was next in line for the shock wave.

  I blacked out and the rescue teams rushed over. It was a colossal accident. Where the car had hit the wall there was a three-foot hole punctured through the concrete, the first time in IndyCar history that this had happened. I was rushed to the medical centre and the experts started surveying the damage to my body. The monumental force of the impact had opened up a cavity in my back. The doctors were very concerned and I certainly knew I had caused a lot of damage when they explained to me that they’d never seen this type of injury on a patient that was still alive. Apparently pathologists had only seen this on corpses from plane crashes. The shearing force of the impact had been so great that it had replicated a degree of damage that only occurs at several hundred miles an hour. Massive and constant fluid build-up was a major problem, which meant I had to be repeatedly spiked with tubes and pipes to have my back drained.

  There was only one thing to do: bounce back! Would you be surprised if I told you that, less than two weeks after the accident, I was qualifying and pulling 5G at Long Beach? People told me there was no way I could race that day – instead, with the help of a lot of ice packs, medical care and commitment, I put the car on pole and eventually came third. To be fair, the doubters were almost right; there’s no way I should’ve carried on racing in 1993, le
t alone achieve what I was about to do, but I did. That was through total determination to win on my part, but also through having great experts around me.

  The doctors in America were fantastic and there are four I want to mention in this book: Dr Terry Trammell and Dr Steve Olvey (the IndyCar medical officers), Dr George Morris and Dr Mike Piazza, who all put me back together – each one of them had a hand either at the racetracks or in surgery. In America they got you back out on the track pretty quick! I owe a debt of gratitude and a huge thank you to those people and everyone else who cared for me. Without their expertise I wouldn’t have been racing at all and I certainly wouldn’t have won the championship, so I can’t thank them enough for their friendship and professionalism.

  After the big smash, that next race in Long Beach was the funniest and hardest race I contested on the way to winning the championship. Why? Because they had to draw blood off my back so that I could even get in the car. This had been happening frequently at the local hospital during my recovery, but the fluids were still building up on the race weekend. My good friend, the golfer Greg Norman, was there and saw it. They drew all this fluid out of me and then they pumped me through with neat anaesthetic, after which I drove half of the race not feeling my feet because they were numb. Trying to drive a race car at 200mph on a notoriously bumpy circuit while not feeling your legs and feet is not something I would recommend!

  I was off the pace a little bit at first, but after about an hour the feeling in my lower legs started to come back. I had a bit of a scrape with Al Unser Jr, which put him out of the race, and also lost second gear. However, I was gradually getting quicker and quicker, so that by the end of the race I came third and got on the podium . . . and those points got me across the finish line at the end of the year. That’s commitment.