BraamPeens1
“Time”, claimed David Bowie, “[is] one of the most complex expressions. Memory made manifest. It’s something that straddles past and future without ever quite being present, or rather, it at first seems indifferent to the present … You’re aware of a deeper existence, maybe a temporary reassurance that indeed there is no beginning and no end.”
On 28 May 1983, Stefan Bellof made time stand still. Just 827 days later, his debt with the devil fell due.
The greatest tragedy surrounding Bellof is perhaps not the Faustian nature of his relationship with fate that personified his Icarus-like character. In hindsight, it is that proper guidance from his peers could have saved him from his daring self when indicators of his impending demise were flashing with deafening urgency.
Glory, though, shouted the loudest.
At a sodden Monaco in 1984, the BBC’s James Hunt exclaimed: “I think we are watching the arrival of Ayrton Senna. A truly outstanding talent in Grand Prix racing.”
Yet there was one
