I had a brilliant idea. After the 24 Hours of Le Mans were finished, I’d have an hour or two to kill before Formula 1 would finish too and I’d be able to watch back the recording, so why not spend that in-between time writing a blog? I’d even picked out a topic: the magic of the finish of a 24 hours-race. It’s a solid topic, one that a lot of people would recognise themselves in. How could I possibly go wrong with a topic like that? Looking back, maybe I shouldn’t have asked myself that rhetorical question. After all, when man can’t provide answers, fate often feels tempted to step in and tie up the loose ends.
The reason I wanted to write about 24h-finishes, is that they are my favourite moment of an around-the-clock event. It’s the moment the whole intense journey comes to an end and at last you get to see the competitors’ relief of having defied all technical woes, as well as their joy of finally reaping their rewards. For a few minutes, you get to see exactly what they had been working for all those months. It’s generally such a raw, honest moment that it easily brings tears to my eyes. Even if I’m not at the track, it makes me happy just to be able to share in that moment through watching the TV footage.
However, 2016 is a season that’s cruel to the magic of 24 hours-finishes. Some weeks ago the spirit of the Nürburgring 24-finish was killed by a discussion of did-he-or-did-he-not-hear-the-team-order? And today the 24 Hours of Le Mans saw a finish shrouded in a similar funereal atmosphere. It has left me with very little finish-line magic to enjoy and right now I’m not even sure where to steer this blog post. I’ve spent most of my in-between time so far staring at an empty sheet of paper – that’s not something that often happens to me.
Even recounting the cold hard facts of the finish is almost too painful to do.
Three minutes before the end of the race, a technological gremlin killed the engine of the Toyota #5, costing the Japanese crew an overall victory that it has been seeking for over thirty years. The Toyota then hobbled into the final lap in second place – a bittersweet consolation prize by all means but a consolation prize nonetheless – only to take so long to complete the final lap that an archaic (and dare I say, stupid?) rule decided that they were no longer worthy of being qualified in the final results. By the time the Toyota made it back to its garage, the crew had literally nothing left to show for their 24 hours of hard work, other than a ceremonial P45.
So far Toyota has made only the shortest of short statements via twitter: “Heartbroken.” As far as I’m concerned that one word will do. It sums up their entire day; their entire race; the entire set of complicated feelings currently experienced by everyone involved in their Le Mans effort. It’s a word that expresses a very deep sadness, so profound that it might seem impossible to ever rise from it again. But maybe, just maybe, if we look that sadness directly in the eye, then maybe we might find some deep dark 24h-finish magic hiding at its core. After all, can a heartbreak like this ever occur without an equally profound love for the sport having preceded it? And if not, shouldn’t such love and dedication be celebrated, rather than mourned?
It’s not much to hold onto, but it might just be enough to save this finish.