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I read with great attention and emotion the article by my friend and colleague Guenther Wiesinger of Speedweek in which he announced his retirement from active journalism. At least for now.
He told me this during the season and when Guenther says something, even before writing it, it is 100% true. Not 99%.
Wiesinger started following the world championship a couple of years before me, who did so in 1977, and from that moment on I considered him more than a colleague, my closest friend in the paddock.
He with his fluent English with a Teutonic accent, me with my broccolino style, we have exchanged news and gossip for 46 years. We discussed every sporting event, and I must say that I often envied his clarity and distance from the facts, while I was often conditioned by my Latin soul and the active passion for motorcycle racing that still haunts me.
His fortune is that his passion for two wheels never had an engine, but rather pedals: I don't know, over the years, exactly how many new bicycles he showed me and when we were younger, but above all before the time-consuming internet, it happened that we used to meet on the track, after work: him on the bike, me on foot, running. It was the period in which I did more than 100 km a week, and this mutual passion for the sport practiced, because of the effort, made him a brother to me. After all, at the time it was necessary to do sport: there were no press releases, there was nothing, so Guenther and I came to an agreement. At the end of the race, one started from one end of the pitlane and the other from the other to gather all the reasons for the retirements.
The cover photo shows us both, chasing Kenny Roberts, for a declaration. That was when the winner was still given a laurel wreath. A wonderful practice but it was interrupted because on the podium it covered the sponsors on the leathers!
In the early years of the Internet, when GPOne.com was still a hobby that, after working for the newspaper, stole my time and energy, I remember the discussions between us: forget it, he told me. It's a waste of time. I can say that it is the only wrong piece of information that he gave to me over all these years.
When you do something well, be it a job or a sport, it is always difficult to stop. As journalists we have witnessed the retirement of many champions and I personally remember Kevin Schwantz's tears at Mugello and Wayne Gardner's at Donington.
But there were also champions who left racing in silence, like Eddie Lawson whom I rashly told that I would retire when he did, so much did I like his way of racing and facing challenges.
I remember a conversation about Wayne Rainey in Australia, at Eastern Creek, after the Misano incident: I was returning to the hotel after an evening jog and I found him there, in a wheelchair. One of my heroes. I was embarrassed and confused because I was running and he couldn't do it anymore, not even with the motorbike. But Wayne taught me that evening that it is character that makes heroes and whoever was one, will always be one. And that's why my admiration for him grew even more.
You have no idea how many life lessons we, together with Guenther, have received by associating with top-level sportsmen over the course of our lives. Because sport, like art of any kind, is an all-encompassing passion, which must never be transformed into fanaticism.
Anyone who does sport knows this: it gives you back everything you put in in terms of time and effort. Sometimes even more.
In recent years, doing this work with credibility and conscience has become increasingly difficult. The great Luigi Brenni, former President of the Road Racing Commission, the president of the FIM that unfortunately we never had, nicknamed us "the scandal press", with affection.
Back then it was possible to write an indiscretion, even a spicy one, without stirring up the hornet's nest that is unleashed today with social media. This is why Skandalera, the nickname Barry Sheene affectionately gave me, no longer exists. I would never be able to reply to the many thousands of people who, without ever having frequented the paddock, without having any face-to-face and out-of-the-box relationships, feel they have the right to judge anyone's actions.
As always in these 46 years Guenther Wiesinger has shown me the path to follow, because we can and must have rivalries with colleagues, but they are the first to give us the best teachings.
In addition to him, I learned a lot from my brotherly friend Juan Porcar, a companion in adventures - including competitive ones - at the Paris-Dakar. From Carlo Canzano, rival and friend of the Gazzetta dello Sport, from Renato D'Ulisse and Dario Torromeo, of Corriere dello Sport with whom I shared the years of Formula 1.
It seems strange to look back and see how far we've come. How many Grands Prix? I've never counted them, nor do I have too many memorabilia in my studio. One Lawson helmet, one Biaggi.
I cannot retire as splendidly and irrevocably as Guenther did, GPOne.com has come of age but like all modern young people it still needs some suggestions, so I fear that the readers will have to put up with me for a while longer, but not as a constant presence.
I've already started to reduce my commitments, but not because I don't still viscerally love motorcycle racing: I need more time to go and do a few laps at Vallelunga, even if I need an hourglass to take my time. And then there is the commitment to returning to running at least a half marathon.
At the threshold of 70 I can't miss the satisfaction of being at the next tests in Malaysia, together with Matteo, to see the new bikes and Marquez on the Ducati, but then I won't go to Qatar. Tests are lust, Qatar would be work, and now, for some time, I've been doing another one at the same time: raising an entire generation of motorcycling journalists.
Anyone who has worked for GPOne will forever remain a #gponer. So, I prefer to mention just one who has remained in my heart and who I believe would have had an important role in the paddock today: Luca Semprini.
Dear Guenther, of course we will see each other again. It’s not only great champions who can interrupt their retirement, journalists can also do it too. Nothing lasts forever except the passion for sport. And now I will try to invent a title for what is not a farewell to a great journalist, but a goodbye.
