Following the engine failure that cost him victory at the Malaysian Grand Prix, an understandably frustrated Lewis Hamilton suggested that “somebody, or someone, doesn’t want me to win this year”.
Quite who he was alluding to was unclear, so in the interests of team harmony he later clarified his remarks by confirming he was referring to a “higher power”.
Following his antics at two subsequent press conferences in Japan, it is hardly outrageous to surmise that this unnamed higher power might not be alone in hoping the Englishman is unsuccessful in this year’s title tilt.
A quick recap: at Thursday’s pre?race press conference for Sunday’s Japanese Grand Prix, Hamilton whiled away the time uploading videos of himself and fellow driver Carlos Sainz on Snapchat, embellishing them with cartoon ears, noses and whiskers. The Mercedes driver was seen to be crying with laughter while doing so and in the accompanying caption wrote “this shit is killing me” before wiping tears of mirth from his cheek with his sleeve. Lewis Hamilton is 31 years old.
At a subsequent press conference, the loud clanging of his brass balls almost drowned out his accusation that some sections of the media were disrespectful towards him before he walked out without answering any questions.
He is not the first sporting figure to have abandoned a press conference in a fit of pique and almost certainly won’t be the last, but few can have or will ever do so with less elan. His petulance called to mind an occasion a few years ago, when a couple of disgruntled Sunderland fans prompted much amusement by announcing in a vox pop conducted outside the Stadium of Light that the sole reason they continued to turn up for games was so that they could show their dissatisfaction by walking out shortly after kick-off.
Hamilton’s behaviour at Saturday’s press conference was almost identical. That he chose to act with such rudeness in a country where such a high premium is placed on good manners seems to have gone largely unremarked upon but within the cloistered bubble of the travelling Formula One circus one tedious media engagement is probably much the same as another.
It shouldn’t be like this. Hamilton is a young, fit, handsome multimillionaire who races fast cars for a living. He is very good at it and has been doing so for long enough to earn himself a place in the pantheon of national treasures in a nation he has chosen not to live in.
With his increasingly lesser-spotted winning smile, pristine white racing suit and on-again, off-again, which-one-is-she-again girlfriends he has all the trappings of a much-loved sporting hero but seems to remain resolutely unadmired outside the coterie of petrolheads and media types he praised for being so “super-supportive” before excusing himself from Saturday’s media duties.
Of course we all have bad days and Hamilton has endured plenty of them in a season dogged by what appears to be far more than his fair share of rotten luck. Arguably Britain’s most successful sportsman, it really shouldn’t be difficult to like him but huge numbers of his compatriots appear, at best, indifferent and, at worst, openly hostile to his incredible achievements in a sport where death or serious injury is a constant threat.