It was a typical Sunday morning. I was either 8 or 9 years old. My dad had woken me up so I could join him in our black leather couch. In front was the tv on channel 10. Another race of the F1 Championship was about to start, a sport my dad had taught me to appreciate from an early age.
I probably started watching F1 when I was 5, circa 1990. Obviously I did not have the capacity to have an informed opinion of the sport just yet. What was clear, even to my young eyes, was that there were two pilots battling for the championships every season. Back in the late 80s and early 90s you could either be a fan of Alain Prost or Ayrton Senna, there were no others. The first was the cool, calculated champion. The most disciplined guy in the sport. The second was the exciting, unpredictable and incredibly talented Ayrton Senna. It was a rivalry that exceeded the track. Prost and Senna did not like each other. They had been teammates and bad ones at that and the two never reconciled. My dad was a Prost fan, and I immediately had a liking for Senna.