La flèche brisée

After all, he was that guy.

oh my god that is so cute! also compliments to your mom, it came out pefectly!

But if no one comes, he can pass the time reading the huge amount of letters he receives, some of which are simply addressed to "Didier Pironi, F1 driver, Paris, France" and they still reached him! The magazine also gives the correct address to write him a letter, which is of course surreal to think about it, reminding us what kind of a time capsule these magazines are: a little piece of time travel.

Today I bring you an interview to Didier from Rombo magazine, from june '87. Given the date it has that "photos taken 5 minutes before disaster" feel, and it is a very interesting read, because it is very empathetic towards Didier (and I might translate it fully in the future). The traumatized journalist tells us that Didier drives his powerboat like a taxi driver in London going 40 km/h, with his elbow on the edge and calm movements, except they're going speeding up on the sea and the poor journalist is fearing for his life and that of his camera. There is also an anecdote about Brigitte Bardot being annoyed by Didier's offshore racing which apparently disturbed the fishes next to Saint-Tropez. Didier compares offshore driving to endurance racing, giving us hints on how impactful it must have been on his poor legs, and says that offshore feels more genuine compared to F1. "I never stopped thinking about F1, since my accident. My heart is still there", he says. To me the most heartbreaking line is when he says "I'm not old, I'm 35." In two months, he will be no more.

While you still consider the idea of Didier having a magician as friend, please enjoy the caricature of his own wedding with Gilles as flower boy and Forghieri holding Didier's tail coat.

Anyway there's also a "war chronicles" page about the other San Marino thing, with funny caricatures because of course why not.

Oh, and the didier centerfold which for some reason I can't scan in a way that it looks paired nicely, I'm afraid you're going to have to rely on your imagination. But hey, Didier centerfold!

(There's also a small story about Ken Tyrrell refusing to pay for the paddock toilets and resulting in someone tripping him and making him fall next to the toilets. what a time to be alive).

How was the rose that Didi presented? Was it red or pale pink? Did he create this new variety just for Gilles? I'm inclined to think he didn't have the time for that, but he was there to remember him, and 30 years later, another rose was made for him, and isn't it sweet?

"Despite what someone might believe, after Gilles' death Didier Pironi was never the same. Someone might think that the frenchman was now cinically calm and happy, since he had gotten rid of his sworn enemy, and could now win the world championship easily. But no. No, no, no! He didn't talk to me, but I was still his chief mechanic and I could see and understand things better than anyone. After Zolder's disgrace, Didier was never the same. He suffered, he was depressed, and I'm sure of what I am saying, he was deeply saddened with how things had ended with Gilles, in such a terrible and definitive way. Yeah, I think Didier was feeling guilty, because he behaved in a very strange, peculiar, excessive way, as if he wanted to think about something else, as if he wanted to drown his troubles, forget about all the horror that had happened. No one knows that Zandvoort 1982 is a victory without smiles. Didier wins, but does not smile, does not laugh, because something inside him has broken, maybe forever. He had a new mistress, it was like he didn't want to think, he didn’t even seem enthusiastic about the championship victory that was coming. Yes, the Holland GP is a good thing... but only for you. For those who secretly see what's happening in Ferrari, it shows a specific state of mind of Didier: cold, sad, melancholic. So I think these things should be known now, because they will end in a dramatic epilogue at Hockenheim, which is an event that is like a child of Zandvoort. The day of the crash in Germany, Didier arrives at the circuit half an hour late. Something serious, unacceptable. He has a long, scruffy beard, a distant look. He comes in company of two girls with whom no one thinks he had been discussing the weather forecasts with... so, Forghieri understandably is upset with him. It rains, it's not even worth going on track, but the situation is such that Mauro wants Didier to wake up and go back on track, because it seems that his mind is somewhere else. The rest is history."

Didier Pironi was first and foremost a young man to be envied, envied ferociously we could say. Destiny had seen fit to beat his character to a pulp, crushing it under the weight of many misfortunes, torturing it endlessly. Quite the evil thing, which causes great suffering in the feelings of those who had been able to appreciate, in this boy from a very good family and social standing, the real man that had wanted and managed to do better than his lucky beginnings. Pironi was born in a rich family, from a father from Friuli who had a good business in the field of construction and commerce. Pironi lived in Saint-Tropez, and had been driving powerful speedboats and fast cars since he was young. He decided to become a grand prix driver, and that was easy from the start, or at least easier, and he could make a job out of it. Young, handsome, apparently happy. As happy as he should be, one might say, considering what life had been giving him: fame, which is the best sauce to pour on richness, due to the glory reached in what is possibly the most exalting setting of them all, Formula 1. And the call from Ferrari, in which he had managed to cut himself a space next to the already mythical Villeneuve. Didier was handsome, blonde, almost blessed. He got married, and of course it was a gorgeous woman (who would have later felt the call to “fly free” in the jet set, a normal occurrence in certain settings for some people). He won races. But he was so pleasant that no one dared felt envy towards him. He looked as if he was constantly busy repaying the debt he had by being born in a certain place, in a certain family. He was kind, humble even. When a young french doctor arrived in Formula 1 and asked for a guinea pig for his experiments on heartbeats during races, Didier Pironi was the first in line to get his chest covered in electrodes while almost all other drivers refused this small obligation. He lived and endured a deep rivalry with Villeneuve, a great driver already pampered by the myth that he was and the attention he received at Ferrari. He hurt himself, Pironi, and severely too, three months after Villeneuve’s death. Someone said he had risked a lot to show something. An important member of the tribe of those who feel the wind on their face, of those who have a great fire inside them, Didier had decided to become world champion in something. While the doctors debated on his leg to be rebuilt, he went on the water. Maybe someone will say that he was looking for death. But for us, he was looking for life, that special life that destiny had first assigned him and then taken away from him, and that he wanted to take back, even in small pieces.