Boisson was visiting his parents for the holidays in
France and stopped by Switzerland on the boss’s orders.
Boisson painted a picture of what racing in the U.S.
looked like.
IndyCar had more parity, he told the driver; the gap
between cars wasn’t as defined as it was in F1—IndyCar
purposely tries to maintain tight regulations to emphasize
the importance of the driver. That meant that Grosjean
could make up places in a race with less diff iculty if he’d
had a bad qualifying, especially in looser cars.
It all sounded appealing to Grosjean, except for one
sticking point: ovals. Where NASCAR (or IndyCar races
like the Indy 500) places a premium on f lat-out speed,
F1 is more about precision. And after the year he’d had,
the unfamiliarity with the track and the dangers present
with high-speed crashes on an oval, Grosjean decided
he wouldn’t drive them his first season.
It was a compromise the team could allow. Still, a
question remained: Could he win with Dale Coyne? It
was hard to say, Boisson told him, but they’d have a
better shot than Grosjean did with Haas. It took only
three races to prove true.
Grosjean dominated the Grand Prix of Indianapolis—a
road race held just before the Indy 500—qualifying on
the pole and losing only as a result of a pit strategy
error. In a previous life, he’d have been furious finish-
ing second after starting at the front. But something
changed, he says. When he removed his helmet and
stepped to the podium for the first time since 2015, he
was all smiles. His landing in IndyCar seemed like a
match made in heaven, and one that happened, in part,
thanks to Drive to Survive.
“All of these new fans that Formula One is finding in
the States, they know who Romain is. They know his
story,” Buxton says. “They know the difficulties that
he’s gone through. They saw what happened to him in
Bahrain. And then, all of a sudden, pow. He’s racing here.”
Over the rest of the season, he reached the podium two
more times and ended his rookie campaign in 15th place,
despite facing new tracks each week and sitting out the
three races—of 16 total—that were run on ovals. His suc-
cess didn’t go unnoticed. In September, he announced
his move to a new team, Andretti Autosport, where he’ll
race a complete season in 2022. He didn’t just come to
the U.S. to fade in his f inal years. He came to win. And
while Netf lix might’ve helped him find a seat, it’s not
the reason he’s kept it.
“Jimmie Johnson, the greatest NASCAR driver of all
time, transitioned to Indy Car and was nowhere,” Buxton
says. “If Romain had been nowhere, he wouldn’t be doing
as well as he is. He wouldn’t have gotten the Andretti
seat. He wouldn’t have the fan base that he does. That
comes from results, and Romain is showing week in
and week out that he’s still the racing driver he was.”
In the year since his accident, Grosjean says he’s had
only a handful of f lashbacks. A few in December, a few
weeks after the crash, and then again during an IndyCar
race in Detroit where his brakes caught fire, the smell
of the burning carbon sent him back to Bahrain, and he
f lung himself up from the car and sprinted to find an
extinguisher. But since then, he’s moved on.
There’s a feeling of relief, he says, being back in a com-
petitive car. Occasionally, people will ask him whether
he wants to return to F1. He still has the talent for it,
Steiner says. But Grosjean looks at the field and doesn’t
see a future there. There are only 20 seats, and, now 35,
his options are limited.
“Maybe if I get a phone call from Mercedes, Red Bull,
or Ferrari or McLaren, but that’s not gonna happen,”
Grosjean says. “I’d just be one of the guys filling up the
grid, and I don’t want that at all.”
F1 is in his past. For the first time in his senior career,
Grosjean will race in a quick car and for a team with
the resources to put him in contention to win. Winning
a title this late would take the pace he’s had all his life
and breaks he’s rarely had on the track. It would be an
anomaly. Then again, maybe luck is finally on his side.
He’s the man who walked out from the fire.MARIA TAYLOR–
RACHEL NICHOLS
Shortly before the NBA Finals began
(and Taylor’s contract was to expire),
The New York Times reported that
Nichols had been taped in a hotel room
without her knowledge a year earlier. In
that conversation Nichols, who is white,
said that ESPN was making up for its
“crappy longtime record on diversity” by
giving the Finals hosting job to Taylor,
who is Black, instead of her. After that
became public, ESPN sidelined Nichols
for the final year of her contract and
Taylor left for NBC. —Jimmy TrainaSports Media
Controversy
Of the YearSPORTS ILLUSTRATED Q SI.COM 82THE YEAR IN MEDIA