Over the course of his drama-strewn ca­reer, the 1992 world cham­pion was never one for hold­ing back his opin­ions. And it seems very lit­tle has changed…


Mau­rice Hamil­ton en­joys a lively chat with the colourful and opin­ion­ated home favourite and win­ner of the 1992 ti­tle

Nigel Mansell leaves the im­mac­u­late Stoke Park golf course. It’s a per­fect spring morn­ing. Nigel is an hon­orary mem­ber here, us­ing the ho­tel and fa­cil­i­ties as a base for busi­ness trips when away from his home in Jersey. It’s al­most 20 years since he last raced a For­mula 1 car, but he is as busy as ever, specif­i­cally with his work for UK Youth, among other char­i­ties.

It’s al­most 33 years since the day we first met. Nigel may have gone on to win 31 grands prix and the cham­pi­onship in 1992 (fol­lowed by the IndyCar ti­tle two years later); his life may have moved on im­mea­sur­ably since that hum­ble be­gin­ning in the house he rented with his wife Rosanne in Birm­ing­ham’s Hall Green; yet in some ways he hasn’t changed at all. Be­fore mov­ing into the din­ing room, he re­quests the sim­ple plea­sure of a cup of tea. We’d both ad­mit to hav­ing had our dif­fer­ences over the years, but his firm hand­shake and civil at­ti­tude re­main just as they were three decades ago.

Mau­rice Hamil­ton: You prob­a­bly won’t re­mem­ber our first in­ter­view…

Nigel Mansell: Was it at Doveridge Road?

MH: Yes, it was – in 1981. You were into your first full sea­son with Lo­tus.

NM: Wow. That long ago? We’d sold ev­ery­thing and were rent­ing that house for £25 a week. It seems like sev­eral life­times away now. Things change so much. I mean, how many F1 driv­ers do you know who live in semi-de­tached houses now? We were there for a few years.

MH: That’s the point, isn’t it? You got into F1 with­out hav­ing to bring money – sim­ply be­cause you didn’t have any. The land­scape has changed im­mea­sur­ably since then.

NM: I feel very sorry for a lot of re­ally good – if not great – driv­ers caught in the log­jam of GP2 and var­i­ous other for­mu­lae; they’ll never get the op­por­tu­nity to make it into F1. I know ev­ery­one says their par­tic­u­lar time was the best but, when I look back at the in­cred­i­ble leg­ends – Enzo Fer­rari, Colin Chap­man and Ken Tyrrell – all people who ran their own teams and did their own thing, there’s noth­ing like that now.

MH: One of my mem­o­ries of the visit to Doveridge Road was your garage. You had con­verted it into a gym, and I re­mem­ber the big black and white pho­tos on the wall of the shunt you had in an F3 race at Oul­ton Park in 1979. The pic­tures showed An­drea de Ce­saris col­lid­ing with your March and send­ing it into a bar­rel roll. That put you in hospi­tal with a bro­ken back. Were those pho­tos on the wall for mo­ti­va­tion be­cause of what hap­pened af­ter­wards?

NM: That’s right, be­cause some­times you don’t get a sec­ond chance. Also, it was a re­minder that even when ev­ery­thing’s go­ing great, you shouldn’t re­lax. Keep fo­cused. That ac­ci­dent broke my lower back. I got re­leased from hospi­tal, but was ly­ing on a board at home, on painkillers and wear­ing a corset to im­mo­bilise me. I got a call from Colin Chap­man, who said he was hold­ing a test for five or six driv­ers at Paul Ri­card and he wanted me to have a go.

He said he’d heard I’d had a bit of an ac­ci­dent and wanted to know if I would be able to go be­cause the test was the fol­low­ing week. I told him I was ne – never felt bet­ter! I put the phone down, then called my specialist. I said: “I don’t want to hear what you’re go­ing to say, but I’m go­ing to drive a For­mula 1 car next week and I want the most pow­er­ful drugs you can give me to take the pain away”.

I got to Ri­card and there were Ed­die Cheever, Elio de An­ge­lis, Jan Lam­mers and a few oth­ers lined up to drive the Lo­tus. I was the last one to have a go, right at the end of the day. Peter Collins [Lo­tus team man­ager] was fan­tas­tic. He said: “Look, we know the car’s tired, the tyres are rooted and you’ll prob­a­bly find the gears are jump­ing out be­cause the dogs are all chewed up”.

I think I was six sec­onds a lap off the pace. It was the first time I’d ever driven an F1 car. Peter said not to worry; they would give me the first run the fol­low­ing morn­ing. But I re­mem­ber call­ing Rosanne – she re­minds me of­ten about this – and say­ing: “This isn’t for me. I can’t do it. I’m so far off the pace it’s not funny. I don’t have time to brake, don’t have time to turn in, don’t have time to change gear and it’s leap years away from what I’m used to.”

The fol­low­ing morn­ing, the car had been worked on, the gears were stay­ing in and I had a bet­ter set of tyres. On the sec­ond lap, go­ing down the main straight, it was like some­thing hit me. Sud­denly ev­ery­thing seemed to slow down. I had time to brake, time to think – and I was five sec­onds quicker. Im­me­di­ately. It was the most amaz­ing phe­nom­e­non. It just hap­pened.

MH: And, clearly, the painkillers worked. Your first Grand Prix [Aus­tria 1980] was just as dif­fi­cult in the phys­i­cal sense, wasn’t it? In those days they would top up with fuel on the grid, a pretty un­so­phis­ti­cated process, and some of the fuel went down the back of your over­alls.

NM: I could feel it get­ting warmer and warmer, then it started burn­ing. When Colin asked what I wanted to do, I said: “My first grand prix? I’m not get­ting out the car!” They poured wa­ter all over me and it was okay for the first cou­ple of laps. Then the burn­ing came back – and on top of that the bag tank had sprung a slow leak, which was also adding to the prob­lem. I did 40 laps be­fore the en­gine ex­pired. I was out of the race and by 2.30am I was in hospi­tal in Birm­ing­ham, be­ing treated for blis­ters and sec­ond-de­gree burns. I couldn’t sit down for weeks. The big­gest prob­lem was that it had shrunk my ham­strings. That still af­fects me to­day be­cause I can’t touch my toes or any­thing like that. No one would ever start a race in that state to­day. But it was enough for Colin to con­tinue his faith in me.

MH: I in­ter­viewed Mario An­dretti re­cently, and he said Colin could be quite fierce with some driv­ers. You had a ter­rific re­la­tion­ship with Chap­man. Did you ever ex­pe­ri­ence the sharp side of his tongue?

NM: Yeah, once. And it was an ab­so­lute shocker. It was when I was an en­gi­neer work­ing for Lo­tus. He wanted to meet me at 8.30am. I couldn’t af­ford to stay in a bed and break­fast and I didn’t want to sleep in the car, so I got up at about 3.30 in the morn­ing and drove from Doveridge Road to Nor­folk. Un­for­tu­nately there was fog, ice and a very se­ri­ous ac­ci­dent on the mo­tor­way, so I ar­rived just a few min­utes late. I walked into his of­fice, apol­o­gised – and he tore into me. “No­body keeps me wait­ing” – and on and on like that. Wow! I sup­pose it’s funny in hind­sight, but it was hor­ren­dous at the time. The next time he ar­ranged an early-morn­ing meet­ing, I slept overnight in the car at the fac­tory!

Say­ing that, Colin was usu­ally ab­so­lutely won­der­ful to me. When he gave me the drive, I had to pay all my own ex­penses: air fares, ho­tels, car hire and so on. I wasn’t com­plain­ing, of course, but it meant Rosanne was still work­ing be­cause it wasn’t enough to pay ev­ery­thing. So, we got to Monaco and I qualied third, which was quite some­thing for Lo­tus at the time. That evening, Colin could see I was thought­ful and not re­ally en­joy­ing the cel­e­bra­tions. When I said it was be­cause Rosanne wasn’t there to share the mo­ment with me – we’d been through a lot to­gether – he said: “Right. I’m go­ing to dou­ble your salary so Rosanne can come to the races.” Just like that. In many ways, he was like a fa­ther to me. MH: All the more rea­son, then, for it to have been such a ter­ri­ble shock for you when he passed away sud­denly in De­cem­ber 1982. NM: I still mourn the loss now. I’ve a lot to thank him for. Among other things, he made me a mil­lion­aire. He had given me a three-year ex­ten­sion on my two-year con­tract. Not only had we lost Colin, but the new man­age­ment at Lo­tus thought they were Colin – but they weren’t – and then my con­tract wasn’t hon­oured. It was cut by 50 per cent: take it or leave it. We took it for one year, then moved on. MH: To Wil­liams – and a tricky start with the Honda-pow­ered FW10 which was very dif­fi­cult to drive. But, say­ing that, you had a great race in ter­ri­ble con­di­tions in Por­tu­gal… NM: The en­gine was an on/off switch. It went from no horse­power to about six-hun­dredand-some­thing. On the way to the grid it was

pour­ing with rain. I had an ac­ci­dent. I turned in to a cor­ner, put my foot down… and noth­ing hap­pened. I put my foot down again. There was a proper turbo lag of be­tween one and two sec­onds. So, the power came in just when I didn’t want it in those con­di­tions. I clat­tered the bar­rier, took off a front wheel and wish­bone. I limped back to the pits and I could see Patrick Head was hit­ting the roof.

The guys changed what they could. I didn’t say a thing; just went to the back of the garage, think­ing this was the worst thing that could have hap­pened. It was only my sec­ond race with Wil­liams. Peter Collins [now team man­ager at Wil­liams] told me to re­lax. He said I would be start­ing from the pit­lane, so just to calm down and let the race come to me.

Keke Ros­berg was very quick and a fan­tas­tic team-mate to have – and guess what hap­pened to him in the race. Same cor­ner, same thing in fifth gear; off he goes. Keke didn’t mince his words – and he hurt him­self, too. He gave the

“Colin said: ‘I’m go­ing to dou­ble your salary so Rosanne can come to races.’ He was like a fa­ther to me”

team heaps. Hav­ing had my ac­ci­dent I was ready for it but, say­ing that, the turbo lag made it a guess­ing game. I came through the field and fin­ished fifth. It was Ayr­ton Senna’s first win. But I had a fan­tas­tic race, too, on a day when ev­ery­one was spin­ning off. MH: Ex­actly. Fin­ish­ing that race must have been a ma­jor achieve­ment in those con­di­tions. Just what you needed. NM: Keke and I had com­plained about the en­gine and the fact that we couldn’t get any

trac­tion. Be­cause of all that power sud­denly chim­ing in, we used to get wheel­spin. We had a long chat with Patrick and he changed the rear sus­pen­sion. We went to Brands Hatch for a test and found a sec­ond a lap – just like that. MH: And you win your first grand prix at Brands Hatch. A big mo­ment for you. Then, a cou­ple of weeks later, you win in South Africa. You’re re­ally on a roll now. I was amazed to see, when check­ing back, that you were do­ing 206mph in that Wil­liams on the run to Crowthorne cor­ner at Kyalami. That’s bloody quick by any stretch!

NM: Awe­some. You had the G-forces, too, through the fast sweep af­ter Crowthorne. From be­ing a dif­fi­cult car it had turned into a great one. Patrick is such an out­stand­ing en­gi­neer.

MH: This is a good point to men­tion that in in­ter­views I’ve done with him and Adrian Newey, nei­ther will hear a word said against you. They’re very sup­port­ive of you and ev­ery­thing you did in the car. Did you know Adrian is a huge fan?

NM: I didn’t know, but I al­ways knew I had their sup­port and I ap­pre­ci­ated that. The thing is, I know I should have done a bet­ter job with the press. I was too hon­est for my own good. I never re­alised how clever my com­peti­tors were, driv­ers such as Alain Prost, Ayr­ton Senna and Nel­son Pi­quet – es­pe­cially Nel­son. I wasn’t po­lit­i­cal. I was just an en­gi­neer and a thor­ough­bred racer who wanted to get the best out of the car.

Be­ing an en­gi­neer, if I was asked about how to im­prove the car, then it be­came an en­gi­neer­ing dis­cus­sion. But any­one who didn’t un­der­stand that and over­heard the con­ver­sa­tion thought I was com­plain­ing about the car. Then, when some­body la­bels you as a whinger or a com­plainer, it be­comes a good story for the press. I was just try­ing to be a per­fec­tion­ist and get the best out of car. MH: You had a good re­la­tion­ship with Keke, didn’t you? NM: People for­get that I was never the out­right num­ber one driver; I was team-mate to three world cham­pi­ons. Say­ing that, Keke out­shone the oth­ers by a mile be­cause he ap­pre­ci­ated that if I did some­thing, it was be­cause I was ac­tu­ally quite good. He saw how I drove in the car and ac­tu­ally com­pli­mented me and said: “Shit, you’ve got big balls to do that.” So, yes, we got on very well. Af­ter I joined Wil­liams, he came up to me within a mat­ter of weeks and said he wanted to apol­o­gise be­cause the things he had been told about me were not true. I thought that was fan­tas­tic of him to do that.

“People thought I was com­plain­ing about the car. If some­one la­bels you a whinger, it’s a good story for the press”

MH: Get­ting back to Patrick and Adrian: when we were talk­ing about the Wil­liams FW14B in your ti­tle year [1992], they were say­ing that when you turned in to a cor­ner, you had to be­lieve the back end would stick. You were bril­liant at that.

NM: It was a bril­liant car. But the com­mit­ment was such that, if it didn’t stick, there would be a big ac­ci­dent. You had to be­lieve that it would.

MH: You could do that but Ric­cardo Pa­trese found it more dif­fi­cult. Did that come down sim­ply to self-be­lief?

NM: No, it came down to hav­ing fewer brain cells than Ric­cardo! I had a great re­la­tion­ship and great trust in ev­ery­thing Adrian and Patrick said be­cause I was an en­gi­neer and be­cause of the train­ing I had with Colin.

Okay, I was a fa­tal­ist; if it was go­ing to break, then you were go­ing to get hurt. There was no power steer­ing and a lot of it was down to strength and the set of the car. You had to hang on to it. If you had to al­ter it half­way through the cor­ner, you al­most didn’t have enough strength

to catch it. It was ter­ri­fy­ing. But if you got it right, it was sat­is­fy­ing – and it was quick. I was prob­a­bly in the mid­dle some­where. Ric­cardo was very sen­si­ble be­cause he knew he had found his limit and if he went over that, there would be a mas­sive ac­ci­dent. With me, I just had a love af­fair with the car and I was on a high be­cause I had lost weight, I was the strong­est and the most com­mit­ted I’d ever been be­cause I had spent my whole life wait­ing for this. I knew it would prob­a­bly be my last chance. And I wasn’t wrong. MH: Be­fore your sec­ond stint at Wil­liams, you were with Fer­rari. Was that a dif­fi­cult pe­riod?

NM: No, Fer­rari was the most fun. A crazy, bril­liant, fairy-tale time of my life. How do you win first time out [Brazil 1989] with a car that could hardly com­plete a lap in prac­tice? I was wait­ing for it to stop in the race. I was get­ting an­gry with it be­cause I wanted it to break down sooner rather than later be­cause other­wise I was go­ing to miss my flight! Ger­hard Berger had al­ready parked in the sec­ond Fer­rari and mine kept go­ing, kept go­ing, kept go­ing. Then the steer­ing wheel started to come off in my hands. So we came in and changed five wheels and four tyres – and ended up win­ning the race. It took an­other eight or nine races be­fore Ger­hard or I even fin­ished a race again. It was just a mir­a­cle.

Say­ing that, I was prob­a­bly there dur­ing one of the most po­lit­i­cal pe­ri­ods of Fer­rari’s his­tory – people be­ing hired and fired. I was out­right num­ber one when they brought in Alain Prost for 1990. When they said he was go­ing to be num­ber one, I said they couldn’t do that be­cause it was in my con­tract that I was num­ber one and we’d end up in court. I said: “Make it sim­ple. Pay me x mil­lion more, give me a Fer­rari car [the win­ning car from Hun­gary] and you ef­fec­tively buy that num­ber one clause out of my con­tract. I’m not happy, but I’ll make it work.” Hon­ourably, they did it. I’ve got no prob­lems with Fer­rari; they were fan­tas­tic.

There were ob­vi­ous chal­lenges be­cause Alain could never make up his mind which car he wanted from one race to the next, whether

it was my qual­i­fy­ing car, or my race car. At the Bri­tish GP, I got into what should have been my qual­i­fy­ing car – all the badges were the same and so on – but it didn’t fit me prop­erly. What the hell was go­ing on? They said Alain wanted my qual­i­fy­ing car. So I went out in what should have been his qual­i­fy­ing car and got pole. You just sur­vive these things, keep your head down and get on with it. No one can ar­gue with the re­sults.

MH: Apart from that win in Brazil, the Fer­rari vic­tory I re­mem­ber most was Hun­gary in the same year when you pulled off that great move and boxed in Senna be­hind a back­marker to snatch the lead. You must have en­joyed that. It was a typ­i­cally com­mit­ted move from you.

NM: The funny story there was that I was 12th on the grid and ended up hav­ing a stand-up, toe-to-toe dis­cus­sion with tech­ni­cal di­rec­tor John Barnard, who was telling me I had to take the flaps off my front wings be­cause they “look ter­ri­ble”. My en­gi­neer and I had de­cided to put them on and were 1.5 sec­onds quicker in warmup than we had been in qual­i­fy­ing. I said to John: “If you want to do that, then on your head be it, be­cause if you take them off the car, I’m not driv­ing it.” We had a right set-to. They stayed on and we went from 12th to fifth on the first lap and ended up win­ning the race.

MH: Do you still have that car?

NM: I do. It’s in the mu­seum in Jersey.

MH: So, ev­ery­thing you had on dis­play in Devon has been trans­ferred to Jersey?

NM: It has. And it’s dis­played in a much bet­ter way; it’s fan­tas­tic.

MH: So, you’re happy there?

NM: We love it; it’s bril­liant. The Mansell Collection in Jersey went from 65th to sec­ondbest tourist at­trac­tion on the is­land. ( www.the­mansell­col­lec­ We work with them and do what­ever we can. The is­land is fan­tas­tic.

MH: How do you spend your time these days? I know you’re in­volved heav­ily with UK Youth.

NM: I spend a lot of time with UK Youth. It was the or­gan­i­sa­tion’s cen­te­nary three years ago. We have 46,000 vol­un­teers and we’ve al­most dou­bled the num­bers. We have around a mil­lion chil­dren we reach in any one year – one mil­lion! The last four years have been phenom­e­nal, but like ev­ery­one, we have tough times ahead. We have in­creased by over a quar­ter of a mil­lion chil­dren, aged from three to 25. There are be­tween a 1-2mil­lion chil­dren out of em­ploy­ment or ed­u­ca­tion in this coun­try. UK Youth turns no one away. If we can’t sort out their dif­fi­cul­ties, we have re­la­tion­ships with many other char­i­ties that can. There is a lot of cross-fer­til­i­sa­tion. The fun­da­men­tal pur­pose is to raise their as­pi­ra­tions, try to make their dreams come true and show them that there is a bet­ter way than do­ing some of the re­ally bad things – drugs, crime and so on – that chil­dren can get caught up in. MH: There’s an in­ter­est­ing par­al­lel here with Ayr­ton and the Senna Foun­da­tion in Brazil, which his fam­ily set up to help dis­ad­van­taged chil­dren in 1994.

NM: Yes – ex­cept ours has been go­ing for 104 years! Our char­ity has been sup­ported by the royal fam­ily since its in­fancy. I took over the pres­i­dency from the Duke of West­min­ster; I’m the first non-blue-blood pres­i­dent and I’ve been do­ing the job for 15 years. We’ve done some big cy­cle rides. I rode from John O’Groats to Lands End 18 months ago. Our team was in­cred­i­bly suc­cess­ful last year fly­ing the flag for UK Youth.

MH: You look in good shape. How do you keep fit? Do you cy­cle a lot?

NM: Not so much now. I can’t af­ford to be hit on the head any more; I’ve had a few… shall we say ‘prob­lems’. I broke my shoul­der ten days be­fore the epic ride – I snapped my col­lar­bone, but I still man­aged to com­plete it. MH: You don’t change. NM: I have re­grets! I have what they call a nonunion. When a frac­ture is mov­ing all the time, it doesn’t heal. When it’s too close to the shoul­der, they can’t op­er­ate. So, I’m a lit­tle bit creaky. And then you for­get how old you are. But it’s been a very in­ter­est­ing few years with so much go­ing on. MH: Do you en­joy be­ing a stew­ard at F1 races?

NM: Yes, that’s okay. I also rep­re­sent the MSA (Mo­tor Sports As­so­ci­a­tion) on the FIA coun­cil.

MH: What do you think of the stan­dard of driv­ing in F1 these days?

NM: Pretty aw­ful, if I’m hon­est. MH: In­ter­est­ing to hear you say so. I’ve asked other for­mer driv­ers for their view on things like driv­ers veer­ing across the track and al­most hav­ing each other off the road. That would never have hap­pened when you were rac­ing, surely? NM: If we did that, there was nowhere to go. If you shoved some­one off, they would hit the bar­rier and hurt them­selves – and pos­si­bly be killed. Ev­ery­one seems to think they are bul­let­proof these days. The cars and the tracks

“Driv­ers can get away with all sorts now and just walk away. As a stew­ard, I’m pretty firm about all this”

are so fan­tas­tic. They can do all sorts of things and just walk away. In­cred­i­ble.

It’s the old thing; ig­no­rance is bliss. It’s okay un­til some­one touches you and there is an in­jury or a fa­tal­ity and that’s when you re­alise this game is pretty dan­ger­ous. When I’m stew­ard, I’m pretty firm about all of this and I don’t think too many people like that. We gen­er­ally have a trou­ble-free weekend be­cause the driv­ers know if they step out of line they’ll be up be­fore the stew­ards and they won’t get an easy time.

MH: You are strict about all four wheels cross­ing the white line on the edge of the track…

NM: I find it ir­ri­tat­ing – and I think the pub­lic does too – when a driver puts four wheels over the line. He’s cross­ing the boundary of the cir­cuit! If he does it more than a cou­ple of times, there should be a penalty. If you did that when I was rac­ing, you got grit on your tyres and lost a cou­ple of sec­onds a lap and one or two places as a re­sult. Now they go off and come back on and don’t lose places.

MH: You were re­fer­ring ear­lier to hav­ing been an en­gi­neer. Would you en­joy F1 as it is now with the teleme­try and the amount of feed­back the driver re­ceives?

NM: Some of it. But when you can change the set­tings on the cars to a point where the driver never has to drive around a prob­lem; when a prob­lem is solved be­fore the driver knows it ex­ists – that may be progress but it re­moves skills a driver ought to have. I would rather have ev­ery car fixed at the start of the race to be the best it could be, but then it has to stay un­changed. So, if a driver has a han­dling prob­lem in the race, he has to man­age it rather than al­ter­ing things. That shows the talent of the driver. But I guess that’s just me be­ing a pure racer – which I am.

MH: Do you think the au­di­ence finds this lat­est raft of tech­nol­ogy con­fus­ing?

NM: I’m not go­ing to pass any com­ment other than the fact that I re­ceive a lot of feed­back in the street and, from that, I’d say you’re quite right. With things such as DRS, people say to me: “When you’ve got an ex­tra 12mph all of a sud­den, where’s the skill in that?” I try to de­fend it, but, if I’m hon­est, I re­ally don’t know what to say. I’m al­most speech­less.

MH: Thank­fully, that doesn’t hap­pen too of­ten, Nigel. It’s been great hav­ing our catch-up. Thanks for your time.

NM: Thank you for lunch.

MH: No prob­lem. Would you like a cof­fee?

NM: Just a tea, please; English Break­fast.

MH: Of course! I should have guessed.

Mansell’s de­but at Aus­tria in 1980 was no­table for a re­fu­elling mishap that left him with sec­ond-de­gree burns to the but­tocks. He re­tired with an en­gine fail­ure af­ter 40 laps

Mansell en­joyed a good re­la­tion­ship with mer­cu­rial Lo­tus team boss Colin Chap­man, for whom he worked first as an en­gi­neer and later as a rac­ing driver

Mansell wins his first race at Brands Hatch in 1985. He’d strug­gled with the Wil­liams FW10, but when Patrick Head tweaked its sus­pen­sion, he man­aged to find an­other sec­ond per lap

Mansell rated F1 con­tem­po­raries Senna, Prost and Pi­quet as “po­lit­i­cally more in­tel­li­gent” than him­self

Red 5: Mansell in his cham­pi­onship-win­ning Wil­liams

FW14B at Spa in 1992

With Wil­liams tech­ni­cal di­rec­tor Patrick Head at Spa in 1987: “Patrick is such an out­stand­ing en­gi­neer”

Nigel Mansell steals the win from McLaren’s Ayr­ton Senna, fol­low­ing an im­pres­sive block­ing ma­noeu­vre in his

Fer­rari at the 1989 Hun­gar­ian GP

Fer­rari’s ‘num­ber two driver’ Nigel Mansell, sec­ond on the podium to Alain Prost at Jerez in 1990

Mansell dis­likes speed-boost­ing tech­nol­ogy that re­quires no skill: “I try to de­fend DRS, but I re­ally don’t know what to say”

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