Celia Walden

Vain men aren’t real men

Apoignant revelation from Michael Schumacher’s former boss at Ferrari yesterday. Luca Cordero di Montezemolo revealed that when he convinced the F1 champion to come back to racing in 2009, after a bad motorcycle accident had left him with skull fractures, Schumacher was “full of enthusiasm, like a kid” – before being told by his doctor that he wasn’t yet well enough.

I saw that enthusiasm first hand when I spent the afternoon in Schumacher’s passenger seat in preparation for his annual Race of Champions in 2007, and I remember his childlike quality: something only real sporting geniuses manage to retain throughout their careers.

“They didn’t tell me you’d be so tall,” he’d murmured as I crammed myself into his yellow Solution F Touring Cup Prototype.

“You ready to take a spin?” What followed is a bit of a blur. I vaguely recall the speedometer hitting 150kph and watching my own entrails fly past me out the window. But not wanting to give Schumacher the satisfaction of scaring me, I bleated: “This as fast as you can go, then?”

Big mistake. Huge. Four minutes later, the rictus grin I had donned during the first lap had acquired a surgical permanency.

“You need to work on your speed and some day you’ll be a fine driver,” I told him as I slithered out of the car.

A gentle creasing at the corners of his eyes and the hint of a chin wobble – but nothing more. Racing was no laughing matter.