On May 8, 1982, in Zolder, Gilles Villeneuve left us. He was not among the most successful drivers in F1 history, devoid of the world titles he so richly deserved. Yet, 44 years later, his name evokes a magic that very few other champions manage to convey.
The reason is simple: Gilles didn’t race to manage a lead, and he knew nothing of tactics or calculation. He raced for the pure, irrational ecstasy of speed. Enzo Ferrari loved him like a son. In that slight Canadian, capable of taming the most unruly single-seaters, the Commendatore saw the romantic essence of racing from a bygone era.
The two indelible memories of Gilles Villeneuve
If I close my eyes and think of Gilles, my memory immediately goes to the 1979 French Grand Prix. I was present at the scene of the legendary battle with René Arnoux. The end of that race remains the most iconic battle in F1 history. Wheel-to-wheel, braking beyond the limits of physics with smoking tires, banging wheels, overtaking and counter-overtaking.
And all this not for the win, but for second place, driven by a foolish courage. I was at the track, but from my vantage point, I couldn’t see this battle. Only shortly after, once they got out of their cars, did the drivers tell us about the duel with a bit of awe.
Arnoux was suffering from turbo lag, while Gilles’s brakes were no longer working properly. Nevertheless, instead of lifting off the throttle, with immense courage they decided to continue the fight, which, to a large extent, was actually due to the very issues they were suffering from.
Another episode that remains etched in my memory is Holland 1979. Due to a puncture, the left rear tire of Gilles’s Ferrari exploded, and the suspension crumpled. Any other driver would have pulled over onto the grass and turned off the engine.
Not him. He drove almost an entire lap on three wheels, in opposite lock, keeping his foot planted while the rear of his car dragged on the asphalt, throwing up a trail of sparks.
He brought that wreck back to the pits with the crazy hope that the mechanics could somehow fix it. For Gilles, simply put, giving up was not an option his mind contemplated. Villeneuve taught us that numbers and statistics ultimately pale in comparison to emotions.
And then there’s the chapter on loyalty, the one that bound him to Jody Scheckter. In 1979, at the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza, Gilles still had the mathematical possibility of fighting for the world championship. Yet, he chose to transform himself into the perfect wingman: he escorted his teammate’s Ferrari for the entire race to the finish line, watching his back without ever attempting an attack.
He gave up his championship dream to allow Jody to become World Champion in front of the red ocean of the Italian crowd. He was a man of his word, driven by a disarming honesty. Scheckter never forgot that gesture and the deep bond that united them.
Villeneuve: that cursed May 8th
On the day of Gilles’s funeral, with a broken voice, Jody spoke words that are worth more than a thousand victories and that capture the very essence of Villeneuve: “I will miss him for two reasons. First, he was the fastest driver in the history of motor racing. Second, he was the most genuine man I have ever known.”
This great relationship disproves a historical assumption in Formula 1: teammates are often the first, and most ruthless, enemies. For them, however, it was quite the opposite.
On the day of his passing, Gilles was in a difficult psychological state, as he had not at all digested Didier Pironi’s actions at Imola the previous week. Unfortunately, the accident also stems from this…
