BERNIE Ecclestone has confessed that Formula One is bollocks and he’s sick of looking at it.
The world’s longest midlife crisis has spent the last 30 years somehow managing to convince people to gawp at a 200mph rollerskate that weighs less than your dinner and costs more than your house.
The deception has made him one of the world’s richest men under four foot tall and has been described by financial experts as ‘a sporting ponzi scheme with lots of big-titted blonde women milling around for no apparent reason’.
Now Ecclestone has finally admitted that Formula One is not so much a spectacle as it is an unremitting procession of eye-clawing dreariness enjoyed by people who need to have a right good fucking word with themselves.
He said: “Even if we make it rain spacehips onto the track every five minutes and tune the engines to sound like Kylie Minogue reaching a spectacular climax it’s still going to be like staring at a stretch of the M25 but with an even higher concentration of tedious men with too much money sitting in pointlessly expensive cars.
“You can carry on watching in the hope of a really good pile-up but you may as well watch Eastenders in the hope that Arthur comes out of his allotment shed with Dirty Den’s head on a stick.”
Earlier this year Ecclestone drew up a series of ideas to make the sport more exciting, including the use of agent provocateurs to provoke a revolution in Bahrain and then attempting to stage grand prix right in the middle of it.
But the plan was abandoned when a feasibility study showed motor racing was better at quelling unrest than a job-lot of tranquilser darts.
Ecclestone now hopes to spice up this year’s British grand prix by stopping it halfway through for a poetry reading by Sir Ian McKellen.
