Formula 1 and other stuff

The danger of being perceived to be super-rich is that it becomes increasingly difficult to pick up a bargain. This must be very galling for Bernie Ecclestone, who like any entrepreneur likes to buy low and sell high. In the case of his offer to take the moribund Saab off GM’s hands, in partnership with Genii Capital, it appears that GM has been holding out for something to “sweeten” the deal.

In other words: “You’ve got plenty of money – so divvy up some more, old chap.”

Although the Telegraph has quoted new GM Europe CEO Nick Reilly (a GM career man) as saying that the company could change hands for a nominal sum, the figure mentioned in the story – $1 – does not actually appear in any reported quotes, so it may be an invention of the writer. A representative of the prospective purchasers told Reuters that GM is seeking assurance that Ecclestone and Genii have the wherewithal to ensure Saab’s future.

The explicit Ecclestone-Genii alliance has been of great interest to F1 insiders, many of whom have been speculating that Genii’s investment in the Renault F1 team was lubricated with funds from Bernie’s capacious vaults – as was the case, they say, with the succession of new names above the door of Eddie Jordan’s former equipe.

Still, I’m a trifle baffled by the Saab business – in every sense of the phrase. Is it a bargain? I doubt if even David Dickinson would describe it as “a bobby dazzler”. What brand capital Saab once had as a maker of solid but distinctive and quirky mid-size cars is long gone to all but a tiny cabal of ageing loyalists.

Saab’s antediluvian model range needs urgent investment, and developing new cars isn’t a cheap process. The devaluation of the brand began in the mid-1980s, before GM’s takeover, with the 9000 model, the product of a misbegotten platform-sharing agreement with the Fiat group.

GM took a 50 per cent stake in 1989, and even though it quickly became clear that the automotive giant had no clear strategy for Saab, it completed the takeover in 2000. The ‘new’ 900 model of 1993, relaunched five years later as the 9-3, was a pastiche of old hat Saab design cues riding on an Opel/Vauxhall Vectra chassis. It was safe enough if you were to run headlong into a moose, but otherwise its dynamics were too poor to commend it to the discerning driver.

Mid-way through presiding over a two-decade spell of ennui and underinvestment, GM decided to make Saab a ‘premium’ brand. I went on the launch of the all-new 9-3 in 2003, during which it was explained that all the Saab dealers would have to subscribe to new standards of presentation in order to keep their franchises. At this point Saab’s model range consisted of a reheated Opel Vectra and a glorified Fiat Croma, although behind the scenes it was developing model for the US market based on the Subaru Impreza – a dog of a car that principally appealed to boy racers and rally geeks (there’s an overlap; I could draw you a Venn diagram).

I paired up with fellow iconoclast Iain Robertson for the drive, and we concurred that while the car wasn’t bad, it had too much from the GM parts bin for it to compete with BMW and Mercedes. Still, one of the other veteran motoring hacks saw some cause for optimism.

“Have you seen the sort of people buying BMWs nowadays,” he hissed rhetorically after dinner, tremulous fingers clutching a glass of port. “Forgive me, my lad – who are you, anyway?”

Ultimately, branding is about product. Making the showrooms posh didn’t transform Saab into the premium brand it wanted to be, and buyers steered clear of its ageing and underwhelming model line. The absence of bespoke multi-cylinder engines didn’t help; there was a GM V6, but other than that Saab stuck with small-capacity turbocharged fours at a time when premium customers wanted silky, pukka V6s and V8s. Tumbleweed blew across the polished tiles of the lately refitted dealerships.

So if Bernie and has buddies do get hold of Saab, they have a hell of a lot of investment and product-planning to do. Sticking a Saab badge on the nose of an F1 car (if that is one of their aims) won’t bring this brand back from the dead.

To wails of angst in many quarters, Flavio Briatore yesterday succeeded in overturning the lifetime exclusion from motorsport imposed on him and Pat Symonds by the FIA World Motor Sport Council. The judgement seems to me to be fair and proper.

Let me clarify. I have no great sympathy for Briatore and have little liking for what he represents: a vacuous ethical continuum inhabited by overly wealthy and out-of-touch old men. He is the epitome of the grasping plutocrat who seeks success and personal enrichment above all else, and it was this mindset that led him to a dark place in September 2008.

Some people will tell you that the end justifies the means. And yet, even if the goal in question is winning a grand prix, no reasonable person could sanction a means by which a driver is permitted or compelled to recklessly endanger their own life as well as those of the marshals and spectators. From this angle the matter of whether Nelson Piquet was the originator of the stratagem, or whether Briatore and Symonds coerced him, is irrelevant.

To my mind the original punishment fitted the crime. What the Tribunal de Grande Instance in Paris found yesterday was that the FIA had no power to impose that punishment on Briatore and Symonds because they were not FIA license holders. This was the argument Briatore had put forward before the WMSC hearing, and was so confident in that he did not turn up for the hearing itself.

The WMSC’s verdict was, at best, a fudge – and one that was motivated by political expediency. Under Article 123 of the International Sporting Code, Renault F1 was responsible for the actions of its employees. It escaped punishment because it took rapid and severe action in mitigation; but one doesn’t have to be too cynical to observe that the last thing the sport needed at that time was to lose another manufacturer. Thus the verdict, which in its legalistic agility and its attention to detail bears the stamp of the outgoing FIA president, Max Mosley:

As regards Mr Briatore, the World Motor Sport Council declares that, for an unlimited period, the FIA does not intend to sanction any International Event, Championship, Cup, Trophy, Challenge or Series involving Mr Briatore in any capacity whatsoever, or grant any license to any Team or other entity engaging Mr Briatore in any capacity whatsoever. It also hereby instructs all officials present at FIA-sanctioned events not to permit Mr Briatore access to any areas under the FIA’s jurisdiction.

It is therefore not a ban, as such, but an edict to all involved in motorsport to send Messrs Briatore and Symonds to Coventry. Even so, it is what it is: a clever piece of linguistic legerdemain, but ultimately a fudge.

I know I’m slightly unfashionable in my belief that Max Mosley did much to improve motorsport during his tenure. But he frequently demonstrated an unpleasantly patrician and autocratic mindset – one that drove him to deploy his considerable intellect with a steamrollering flourish.

No person or body should have the power to impose a punishment that is not properly enshrined in law. This is a fundamental principle of justice. The FIA must take the opportunity to provide itself with the mechanisms to punish miscreants fairly and transparently. In its statement yesterday, it suggested that something may be on the cards:

The FIA intends to consider appropriate actions to ensure that no persons who would engage, or who have engaged, in such dangerous activities or acts of intentional cheating will be allowed to participate in Formula One in the future.

Amen to that. The more transparent and straightforward the legal process, the less likely it is that those such as Briatore can attempt to shift the terms of debate. Throughout this case he has ignored the ethical dimension of his conduct and concentrated solely on protesting that Mosley is pursuing a vendetta against him. This is what statisticians and philosophers call the Motivational Fallacy: failing to engage with another person’s argument by calling into question their opponent’s motivation. Slippery politicians do it all the time.

If there is anything less edifying than an ageing plutocrat, it is the sight of one publicly handbagging another. The learned fellows of the Tribunal de Grande Instance clearly believed this, too, and awarded Briatore a pitiful fraction of the €2million he was claiming in damages.