There is something unique about Monza. It’s not the octane-laden atmosphere, no matter how fantastic, or the sight of tens of thousands of fans creating a flowing sea of colour (admittedly, mostly red) on grandstands and grass alike.
It’s not the track, no matter how many thrilling, joyous or tragic pages of the history of our sport have been written on its kilometres of tarmac. It’s not the slightly melancholic feeling of the final European race of the season, of leaving behind your hospitality, home away from home, until the cold mornings of pre-season testing in Barcelona.
No, there’s something unique about Monza, and that’s the nature of this circuit itself. It’s what this track embodies, in the history of motorsport, in the collective imagination of everyone connected with racing, in the very centre of the Italian psyche.
Monza is racing. It is racing at its purest, it is human and machine versus the laws of physics. It is banking so steep it’s dizzying, corners that have no numbers but names, crumbling tarmac on forgotten parts of the track where you can hear echoes of Farina, Fangio, Rindt, Clark, Senna and Schumacher, heroes through the eras.
Monza has been synonymous with racing since September 1922 – 100 years ago. This wedding of two concepts, now indissoluble, has been threatened, left for dead, considered a relic of the past, only to return with more passion, more determination, more of a central role in our imagination. It’s been here for 100 years and we hope it’ll be here for 100 more.
So happy birthday, Monza. We’re here to honour you in the way you most desire, by racing our hearts out on your hallowed ground.
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