That April 30, 1994 the second qualifying session of the San Marino Grand Prix was broadcast for Italy by Raitre and it began with Ezio Zermiani’s interview from the pits with Rubens Barrichello, who had escaped a bad accident at the Variante Bassa just twenty-four hours earlier.
A few minutes later the director, who was following Damon Hill’s lap, suddenly cut to a seriously damaged car. The voice of Mario Poltronieri – the narrator of that Formula 1 – immediately fell silent at the sight of the helmet Roland Ratzenberger helpless in the cockpit of the Simtek Ford. As a former pilot, the Rai commentator immediately understood the tragedy of the moment: “Ouch, another violent blow. Also this time. There was another accident. Pretty serious. To Ratzenberger”.
The track marshals and the CEA men crowded around the car, which had hit hard against the external wall of the Villeneuve Curve at over 300 km/h. The red flag arrived. The replays arrived, the TV helicopter filmed the desperate rescue. Raw images, cardiac massage, ambulance ride, helicopter. No positive signs.
Thirty years ago the drivers were not all well-known and not all superstars. There was no Internet, Wikipedia and social media didn’t exist, many of us turned on the television and discovered – even from one race to another – new participants in the Formula 1 world championship. And so Poltronieri drew a quick profile of Ratzenberger: “Austrian driver, in his second race in F1″.
Roland died.
There was a boy with a dream. But his dream was broken, at the age of 33, in Imola. His career was discovered only after that April 30th. He was far from an inexperienced pilot, had raced in the 24 Hours of Le Mans five times and in 1993 achieved fifth place overall and first in the C2 class in the legendary endurance race. In order to fulfill his desire to race in F1, he accepted Simtek Ford, a penniless rookie team sponsored by MTV. He did not qualify in Brazil, he came 11th in Aida. Then Imola arrived.
That weekend there was another guy – a 9 year old boy – who was watching what was happening on TV. The undersigned. On the morning of May 1st I folded a football pools slip in half and began to write on the back what would be the first article of my life, which I still have and which began like this: “Formula 1 is in mourning. Roland Ratzenberger, Austrian driver of the Simtek Ford number 32, died yesterday.. The naivety of my tender age underwent a real shock in those hours. Perceptible from the details reported in succession in the story: I lingered on the frame of Ratzenberger’s helmet surrendering to the impact, on the blood, on the death that brutally mowed down F1 after 8 years (by Elio De Angelis in the Paul Ricard tests, 1986).
And I still didn’t know what would happen on the afternoon of May 1st.
Since then I stopped crashing the BBurago F1 cars on the toy track built with Lego. From then on I learned – in the cruelest way – that behind the wheel of those cars there were men who were anything but invincible and indestructible. Who defied death for a passion, seeking the essence of their existence in the adrenaline of speed. And they deserved and deserve respect, from the strongest to the last on the starting grid. Always. They should not be made fun of, they should not be insulted. This is what Roland Ratzenberger taught me, who was lapping 6 seconds from pole and who had a contract for just five races. The respect and admiration for those kids and their dream.
I found out later the cynicism of the world and of businesswith another slap: just ten minutes passed from the take-off towards the Bologna hospital of the helicopter carrying Ratzenberger to the resumption of qualifying.
