There were three Kimi Raikkonens. First there was the
young kid bursting with talent and in-car effervescence
that just drove the wheels off the Sauber in 2001 and
early into his McLaren career. That Kimi would jump kerbs,
flick and catch the car and be visibly full-attack everywhere.
Then there was the mid-to-late McLaren Raikkonen,
when he started getting a fuller understanding of the
many facets behind race-winning performances, where
his sublime talent was less in your face, but still very
much there. He became laser-target precise without giving
up anything in corner-entry attack. He would commit to
using every last millimetre of track and was able to do
so because of his wonderfully natural feel for a racecar.
He was never a thrusting guy behind the scenes, never
one to work too hard, but at McLaren there was a system
in place that could use Kimi, squeeze out what was
needed from him and then let him do his stuff.
When Ferrari employed him we got the third Raikkonen.
This was the guy who could still be devastatingly fast, but
not every time, who failed to ignite a team waiting to be led,
who could not establish clear leadership over Felipe Massa.
He liked the easier-going surface of the team, but the
team in turn was waiting for direction. The 2009 car was
evolving ever further away from his driving preferences
– strong front end, quick and precise direction change –
and more towards Massa’s. He told them – but only once.
Then Felipe had his accident and Kimi – the driver
Ferrari was paying off a year early – became the sole focus
for the last few races. “What do you need from the car?”
they implored. He told them, and it worked and for those
last few races he was consistently superb. “Why didn’t
you tell us before?” they asked. “I did,” he shrugged