The Grand Prize
As a kid, Sunday afternoons were all about the Grand Prix. Formula 1 had everything: fast cars and fast crashes, the exquisite mixture of danger and sporting excellence, the exciting combination of pure speed and tactical nous. The sport had character and characters - the battles were personal, the storylines of every season were more captivating than any TV drama.
Having Brits leading the way helped too.
In recent years, F1 has been a massive disappointment. The death of Ayrton Senna ruined the sport*, as tracks became safer, the performance of cars was artificially capped, and the opportunities afforded to drivers to manoeuvre and overtake drastically reduced. Years ago, if you missed the first two minutes of a race, you'd have missed the inevitable first-corner crash: now, you'd probably catch the Safety Car carefully guiding a procession of cars around a few splinters of carbon fibre.
Which is why it was fantastic to see a genuinely exciting race on Sunday. The weather played its part by restoring the element of unpredictability so sorely lacking in the past few years. And of course, it was great to see a British driver take home the championship again. Sadly, despite the return of coverage to the BBC from next season, I don't think the glory days of F1 will return. Which is a shame, because the new world champion deserves to be proud of his own sport.
*I mean no disrespect by this, but we'll never see a truly "exciting" track again thanks to Health & Safety concerns.
