The Accordion Award
If asthma was an instrument, it would be the accordion. The squeezable trainwreck of wheezes is the musical lovechild of a raccoon and a bagpipe that gatecrashes every café in France with unhinged glee.
Oddly France adores this thing like its baguette-scented poetry. And what could be more French than a one-man Moulin Rouge riot—part virtuoso, part sentient whoopee cushion, and wholly why Grandma’s waltzing into the Seine while the neighbours elope to Provence.
This award goes to the rider that got France dancing:
Winner: Johann Zarco
What more can we say that’s not already been said? Never in the known history of the universe has there ever been a time when the planet wanted France to succeed more than on Sunday.
The bitter yellow army told us that MotoGP would die the day their hero left but no one told the wild wine-slugging 300,000 fans who turned up to have a great time. And boy did they.
It’s hard not to love Zarco. An odd emotional man successfully harbouring an accountant’s haircut – he’s everything a modern MotoGP rider shouldn’t be. But that’s his charm. Like garlic snails – you shouldn’t like them but oddly you do.
The French Military Award
It’s no surprise that the French military are taught to tilt their berets at the most efficient aerodynamic angle to retreat. The Dopploer shift of their tanks is always a lower tone at the first stinking whiff of conflict.
This award goes to the rider that went backwards in the action but then was all bullish after the event.
Winner: Luca Marini
It wasn’t an easy weekend being a none-Zarco Honda rider in France. But probably none more so than the noodle-armed Luca Marini.
The nepotastic Italian finished the race in 11th – and embarrassingly beaten by the token oriental stand-in Token Nakagami who was drafted in to replace Chantra and allow Marini not to be the last HRC finisher.
Bizarrely though after the race Marini bemoaned his pitstop choices claiming if he had remained out he had the pace to win. Did he? Let’s take a look:
Lap 8: (After Marini had left the pits on wet tyres)
Marini was 1’10.9 behind Zarco
Finish:
Marini was 1’32.5 behind Zarco
Analysis:
Poor Luca’s ‘race winning pace’ on new wet tyres was 21.4 seconds slower than Johann Zarco’s actual race winning pace on used wet tyres.
The Parisian Dog Shit Award
In Paris, the city of love, you’re just as likely to step into a romantic moment with a brooding local as you are a steaming pile of dog crap. The streets are playing a twisted game of hopscotch, with chic Parisians tiptoeing past these canine landmines while clutching their baguettes. Locals swear the poo is just “extra seasoning” for the city’s charm but the novelty soon wears off when you drop your croissant and pick up a pain au chocolat.
This award goes to the rider who was dog shit in France
Winner: Pecco Bagnaia
This was Pecco’s worst weekend since trying to ‘get the back end out’ on his hire car in Ibiza.
The Italian crashed in the sprint race before he’d even had time to blame the size of the fuel tank. And it wasn’t about to get any better.
In the main race (the one where riders try much harder) Baggers was skittled off by the once highly-rated Enea Bastianini who was desperate to make up his lack of ability into the first corner. Game over? Actually no…and this was Pecco’s biggest blunder.
The mixed weather and new rules turned the race into a complete casserole of nonsense. But given the Ducati rider was so far behind it was massively obvious to even someone with a comprehensive lack of understanding as David Croft that Pecco needed to stay out on the wet tyres. If it rained (like it did and was predicted to do) then he’d make up the time of two pitstops and two double long lap loop penalties that the riders that gambled on slicks had to take. It’s how Zarco won.
But not for Bagnaia who ended up finishing a lap down. Currently he can’t do anything correct as his spirit has been crushed to a singularity denser than an Australian village idiot. Even the Pecco’s ‘sister’ seems fed up with him.
Worse still the beard-shod Italian has no answers to why he can’t ride the GP25 yet Marc Marquez can. Well he does have an answer…he just doesn’t want to admit it.
The Mime Award
No one outside of France likes mime artists – black-and-white-striped ghouls lurking on French sidewalks, trapping themselves in invisible boxes like they’ve been cursed to haunt Montmartre by a vengeful crêpe.
It’s the stuff of absolute nightmares. Especially for children who, for unknown reasons, are often pushed to the front of the gathered crowd to get a closer look and begin their life of sleep paralysis.
Mime artists should be in a box. Not an invisible one but a brick one. Without ventilation.
This award goes to a rider who was a French nightmare.
Winner: Fabio Quartarararararo
If you’d had asked anyone before the weekend which French rider will win the race everyone would have pointed their crusty loaf towards Fabio. The Yamaha rider has been sensational this season and even had the soap-dodging crowd in ecstasy on Saturday by snatching Pole Position again on his road legal R1.
But on Sunday his soufflé drooped, as he crashed out on the greasy track.
And it got worse. The dejected but angry Quartarararararo decided to pick a fight with the track marshals who were instructing him to retreat over the barriers and to safety like he’d been taught in school. Fabio was fined and penalised by Dorna for this stupidity.
At least he could enjoy Zarco winning the race to the monumental cheers of the French crowd – we bet that really cheered him up.
The String of Onions Award
Nothing says “tour de chic” like a work-shy Pierre pedalling through Provence with a pungent garland slung around his neck. It’s not about practicality; it’s a vibe, screaming, “I’m rustic, I only watch black and white films, and I don’t care that my peloton smells like a beggars’ overflow valve.”
This award goes to something that made you weep
Winner: Zarco’s parents
Johann Zarco’s parents rolled into the MotoGP paddock looking like they’d just wandered off a Provençal vineyard with a rustic charm that screamed “we bottle our own olive oil.” They probably weren’t expecting any airtime, but their authentic old-school vibe was a hilarious breath of fresh air.
It was Johann’s mother’s first ever MotoGP race. She shouldn’t ever come to another as it will never, ever be better than that.
Meanwhile Zarco’s father had lost a tooth earlier in the week but had assured his son that ‘he wouldn’t smile’ so no one would notice. Mission failed. Thankfully.
We loved it.
