Exactly thirty years ago, on April 29, 1994, Formula 1 began to lose its innocence. We who were there couldn’t even remotely imagine it. That day, a Friday, we were in Imola for a big popular festival. But suddenly a terrible crash put the Brazilian pilot’s life in danger Rubens Barrichello. He got away with it, Rubinho. And we were all moved by seeing the great one Ayrton Senna rush to the bedside of the young compatriot. It was he who told us, leaving the circuit infirmary, that the worst had been averted.
No, however. On Saturday, the God of speed demanded the sacrifice of Roland Ratzenberger. The Unknown Soldier of the Four-Wheel Circus. Virtually no one had heard of him. But Senna did: he was the only one, Ayrton, to go to the site of the tragedy. To try to understand what was incomprehensible. And so, after three decades, imagine if I understood why Destiny chose to attack the most beloved idol. On a special man, not a saint, fragile like each of us. But unique. And those who, by beatifying him, hide his defects, do him a disservice. Ayrton was Ayrton because he struggled internally with his imperfections.
Ayrton, yes. On Senna’s death, on May 1, 1994, everything and the opposite of everything was told. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that there was no mercy on the track, there in Imola. The helmet gave a vague twitch, finally absolute immobility. Not a wave of the hand, not an attempt to leap out of the cockpit. The other cars, which Williams number 2 had distanced themselves, they were still passing by the Tamburello wall. And whoever wanted to understand had already understood. Ayrton was dead. Not for official certificates. But logically yes.
Everything was clear immediately, yes. Who bustled around a body abandoned by the spirithe found himself faced with a terrifying scene. There was blood everywhere, there was brain matter scattered everywhere. Formula 1 had just killed its Messiah. The rest instantly became annoying, useless background noise.
Silence suits death. Yet, who can remain silent in the face of the event that breaks the life of the most beloved champion? And in fact, thirty years later, we are still talking about it. For motoring, but actually not just for motoring. Ayrton’s tragedy had the same weight and meaning as the Kennedy assassination had on the history of the United States. What we had removed on Saturday, almost ignoring Roland Ratzenberger’s corpse, came to split our thoughts, resetting them, forcing us to accept the darkest reality.
It happens, when a Hero is kidnapped into the sky too soon. It was like this for the footballers of Great Turin, destroyed by a plane crash. It was like that for Fausto Coppi, the cycling champion.
Ps. The editor of this newspaper, Andrea Riffeser Monti, sensed that no one would forget the anguishingly enormous emotion of that day, of those days: he wanted an extraordinary edition, even if there is no work on May Day. But no one backed out. Nobody. Because with Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna, the Unknown Soldier and the Absolute Idol, a piece of our innocence was gone.
