You know it makes sense.

You know you want to.

It's Another True Story!

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This week, good buddies of mine, I'd like to help you out with a salutary warning about the dangers of having commentary in sports video games.

The following is a true and accurate transcription of real events, which really happened, for real. (While playing Formula 1 97, that is)

Hereafter, these events shall be encompassed by the title of this story, which is this:

"Bad Day At Monte Carlo Raceway".

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After a disastrous day of qualifying, Jean Alesi was downcast. His Benetton Renault was stuck right at the back of the starting grid, with 23 other cars separating him from pole position.

The legendary Murray Walker, however, seemed oblivious to Jean's pain.

MW:"This is picturesque Monte Carlo, the jewel in the Formula One crown, though often the narrow, twisty course and lack of overtaking opportunities can make the race itself a bit of a foregone conclusion."

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"Oh yeah?", thought Jean, "We'll see about that."

"The lights are beginning to turn red... and they're off! This is the critical time!"

With a deafening roar, the cars raced away, but within seconds a shunt halfway down the field caused havoc on the narrow track. Traffic slowed to a crawl. Except, that is, for Jean Alesi.

"That's exactly the start he would have wanted! He's hit Ralf Schumacer!"

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Howling recklessly past the stricken cars, Jean realised that the younger German's nosecone blocked his path, and allowed no evasive course. Smashing through it at full speed, he continued towards the first big left-hander.

"They just touched, I think, there doesn't seem to be any damage."

Already seven places up, Alesi rounded the corner and approached Casino Square. The other cars were slowing down for the tight 90-degree curve. This was going to be tricky.

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"These sorts of conditions may be extremely difficult, but they do bring out the best in the drivers."

Jean Alesi's visor was already clouded with the fine rain that had started just before the race. He pulled off his plastic strip for a clearer view. But there was no way through the melee of cars to the narrow exit point.

Lateral thinking was required. But wait, Alesi thought - Casino Square is actually a big roundabout! Maybe he didn't need to find a way through...

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"It's Alesi! He's going the wrong way!"

Hugging the inside tightly, Jean slammed the protesting car into a full right-hand lock. The G-forces pushed him up against the cockpit wall as the car went all the way round the traffic island. His heartbeat quickened suddenly to a military tattoo as he turned, not right into the heavy traffic, but left into the open road.

Meanwhile, back at the starting line, the cars from the first shunt had finally started moving again.

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"Look at this! LOOK! AT! THIS!"

Murray Walker's voice reached a frenzied crescendo as Alesi floored his accelerator and headed off back down the track towards the starting line.

"I cannot believe this - he's actually driving the wrong way around the circuit! He's hit Johnny Herbert!"

This race was going from bad to worse, thought Herbert, as his Sauber Ferrari crunched backwards into the trackside wall. Alesi, though, was in the clear.

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"He probably just lost concentration for a moment and that was all it took."

The veteran commentator's tone softened in relief as Alesi swung into the pit lane. The terrible mistake had wreaked relatively little havoc. The race could continue. Everything was all right.

"Driving a motor car to the limits like this is normally a job of the head not the heart, but out there today we're seeing some passionate performances."

Jean gunned his throttle.

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"Alesi! What IS he doing? In all my years of commentating on Formula One I've never seen anything like it!"

The bemused pit crew leapt out of the way as the Benetton Renault accelerated past them and headed for the pit exit (which was, of course, rather more commonly used as the pit entrance.)

The blood rushed through his body as Jean guided the protesting car through the Sainte Devote corner and onto the long 175mph straight. Elsewhere, the leaders approached the hotel tunnel.

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"He's smashed into the barriers, there must be damage to the car!"

The various impacts had begun to take their toll on Jean's steering, and the hairpin turns at La Racasse and Tabac were too much for even the talented Frenchman's skills, far more so at the wildly excessive speeds with which he was tackling them.

A high-pitched drone could be heard in the distance, but closing fast. Jean Alesi knew he needed to concentrate hard... what did he have to do?

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His head was reeling and pounding. He felt sick. He needed medicine. But wait! Monaco is a city course! There was bound to be a chemist nearby!

Jean stopped the car and looked around. But he couldn't move his head round enough for a good look, so he edged the car backwards and forwards until he was facing the buildings.

The Benetton Renault was now parked at right angles across the track, taking up almost the entire width of the narrow Nouvelle Chicane.

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"Alesi! Looks as though the engine's stalled!"

The other cars approached 150mph as they raced through the tunnel, preparing for the upcoming chicane. Gerhard Berger led the pack as they burst howling into the daylight.

"This is unbelievable! The two cars have smashed into each other! I don't know whose fault it was, but well, that was a nasty crash."

"You're right there, Murray."

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Jean's mind was in turmoil. Berger has hit him square-on at high speed, and the chasing pack had ploughed into the back of Berger in a 14-car pile-up. The track was completely blocked.

"THIS! IS! TERRIBLE! They must both be out of the race now!"

Alesi was more concerned for his friend and team-mate's health than the race. He knew he had to get him safely back to the pits, but Berger's car was motionless. How could he get him back to safety through this carnage?

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Edging his car forward until it was nose-to-nose with Berger's matching Renault, Jean revved up to full power and began to shove Berger's car backwards through the melee.

As they were barged out of the way, the other cars started to limp off round the track in the proper direction. But Jean continued doggedly on, pushing Berger back into the tunnel. It was at this point that the last-placed Ukyo Katayama hove into view.

The tunnel was dark and full of smoke.

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"OH! MY! WORD! Alesi! He just lost it completely! He's just hit Katayama!"

The Japanese driver saw Berger at the last moment and swerved desperately, but had no chance of avoiding Alesi's protruding tail.

"That was a sickening crunch! It looks like the car behind just smashed straight into his rear!"

Dazedly, the Frenchman moved off, picking his way around the wreckage littering the tunnel.

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"That was almost certainly a collision."

"You're right there, Murray."

The marshals were flagging wildly all over the track. The race was to be cut short. The wreckage of Berger and Katayama's cars was too tangled to be cleared, and in any case the fire engines which had cut the shell-shocked drivers out of their vehicles blocked any further passage.

Mika Hakkinen limped home in first.

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One by one, the mangled racing cars crossed the finishing line, where they were recieved rapturously by the cheering crowds. Truly, this had been what they'd really paid to see.

Finally, pouring smoke and strewing oil and engine parts across the track, the Benetton Renault of Jean Alesi wobbled through the chequered flag.

"22^nd place. He'll be disappointed with that, Martin."

"You're right there, Murray."

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There are two morals to this story, dear viewers.

Moral 1: You probably had to be there.

Moral 2: Always, always switch off the commentary in sports games. Otherwise, if you try this, you'll never be able to play the game properly again as long as you live without being bored out of your mind. Just ask Martin Brundle.

"You're right there, Murray."