There’s something I can’t stop thinking about: why does Nelson Piquet keep talking about Ayrton Senna, even thirty years after his death, even when no one brings him up? Why, in spontaneous interviews, does he keep making insinuations about Senna’s sexuality, his private life, his image? Why does that name —Senna— keep showing up in his jokes, his provocations, his memories?
Signing a contract with the name “Ayrton Senna” —as Piquet once did with Bernie Ecclestone, jokingly— isn’t just a funny anecdote. It’s a symbolic gesture. He could’ve written any name, but he chose that one. The name of the compatriot who outshined him, who ignored him, who didn’t choose him as an emotional rival.
And when asked which driver he’d want as a teammate, he answered without hesitation: “Senna, because I’d drive him crazy.” Again, spontaneous. Again, unprovoked. Again, Senna as an emotional reference point.
I don’t think it’s just malice. I don’t think it’s just arrogance. I think Senna occupied an active place in Piquet’s mind, starting from their years on the track —and that place was never resolved. Never named. Never healed.
Piquet met Senna when he was just a teenager. He watched him grow, watched him shine, watched him become the symbol Piquet never wanted to be. And even though they shared nationality, circuits, and a generation, Senna never chose him as his emotional rival. That role belonged to Alain Prost. And for someone like Piquet —a three-time champion, a provocateur, a competitor— that might have hurt more than any defeat on the track.
From a psychological perspective, this could be read as a form of unresolved grief. When someone matters to us —even through rivalry, tension, or the desire to be seen— and they don’t reciprocate, the bond can turn into obsession, fixation, constant provocation. Piquet can't stop naming Senna. He do that to discredit him, yes. But maybe also to avoid letting him go.
And here’s the paradox: by continuing to talk about Senna, by casting himself as the jester, the antagonist, the provocateur, Piquet ends up protecting Ayrton’s myth. He becomes the character the public can hate, the one who says what no one wants to hear, the one who makes Senna shine brighter by contrast. And that, even if unintentional, can be read as a twisted form of affection, an unconscious act of protection.
Because the jester, in classic storytelling, isn’t just the one who disrupts. He’s also the one who holds the narrative together, the one who allows the hero to exist. And Piquet, by continuing to speak of Senna, by continuing to provoke, becomes the unwitting guardian of his legend.
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