`Racer chicks' won't be left at starting line

F1 faithful set for new GP season tonight Don't confuse us with `track fluff,' fan says

NIKA ROLCZEWSKI SPECIAL TO THE STAR

The 2003 Formula 1 season starts tonight (that's tomorrow in Melbourne, Australia, site of the first race). The snacks are out, the beverages chilled. The shrine to my favourite team is dusted and displayed for my fellow Grand Prix friends.

This rite of spring will fill my house with boisterous race fans - ready for cheering and jeering the most exciting race of the year, the first one. There's just one difference for my gathering: It's an all-girl affair - specifically for us racer chicks.

Now, most of you think women and Formula 1 go together like a thong on a Rio beach. Such is the male visual consisting of what we like to call "brolly dollies," "pit biscuits" and "track fluff." Unlike our Spandex-covered counterparts, our group consists of professional women in comfortable clothing - our excitement level for F1 racing runs higher than for a sale at Holt's.

While maybe we don't know all the technical specifications, such as the evolution of aerodynamics, do not think our conversations are of the "pretty red car is faster than the blue one." We have come prepared knowing the drivers, teams and issues that face this new racing season. The latest rule changes will be debated in detail. Our Grand Prix views and ideas are certainly more entertaining banter then exchanging chicken recipes.

For us, Formula 1 racing is a balance of competition, glamour, excitement and elegance. While a few of us have shed a tear at Eddie Irvine's departure from Jaguar and none of us cares to admit we are old enough to remember the Alain Prost-Ayrton Senna rivalry, we watch with dedicated fervour. Our commenting on pit stop strategies, driver errors and eloquent passes, that is, if there are any, are debated, accepted and respected. Our emotions may run higher but our loyalties stay true.

We are familiar with names such as Maria-Teresa de Filippis, Lella Lombardi, Giovanna Amati and Desire Wilson - a small number of women who have tried their hand at F1 racing.

The February, 2000, Reuters interview with Bernie Ecclestone still lingers in our hearts because of his comment: "In all likelihood they (women) will never get the opportunity (to race F1) because no one will ever take women seriously, therefore they're never ever going to get into a competitive race car."

It leaves us patiently waiting for him to be proved wrong. Today our future hopes lie with Sarah Fisher an Indy Racing League driver with the talent to one day break into modern day F1. Her demonstration of a McLaren MP4/17 car at last year's U.S. Grand Prix was the first time a woman has driven a McLaren in that team's history.

All of us have been to at least one race and many of us have stood drenched in a rain-soaked parka peering over a too-high fence to get a nanosecond's view of a high-pitched F1 car. While secretly we, too, wished to be on that yacht in Monaco, many of us have left our bikini days behind us. We would be watching the race with more enthusiasm and less skin showing.

While I used to sneak away to the local Italian bar to catch the race, my peers would hover around their male family members who were not clandestine racing fanatics such as us. I would find my place in a quiet corner in the smoky St. Clair café to inhale the gusto of fellow prancing horse enthusiasts.

I knew I could never blend in with the old Italian men sipping their espressos or the boisterous fans decked out in vibrant red, but they were kind enough to politely ignore the lone female smiling at the big screen television. I adored my team in silence with a loyalty I thought could not be broken - one engine failure after another, during those struggling years.

When Jacques Villeneuve, son of my racing idol Gilles, entered Formula 1 for the "other" team, I felt my days of team monogamy had crumbled. My pride as a Canadian fought with my love all things Scuderia Ferrari. This was my adultery.

My Formula 1 celebrations evolved from finding other females with the same affliction - not an easy task. The initial time we gathered to watch a race we gained a freedom we never thought possible. Husbands and families were left home to fend for themselves while we enjoyed our Formula 1 clique. The relief we experience when all cars make the first corner is the same liberation felt for our small group finally able to worship our sport of choice.

So, again this year, I chill the Chardonnay, prepare the cheese and fruit platter and wait for my F1 "girls' night out" to begin. My fellow racer chicks and I will be celebrating yet another Formula 1 season starting the only way we know how: with a zeal for the sport and a passion for which driver looks best in Nomex.