Whatever disasters - if any - may befall the organisers of the Mexican Grand Prix this weekend, they will be nothing on what's gone before. The sense of novelty that comes with the welcome addition of this race to the current calendar should not hide the fact that Mexico created massive and relevant history during its two previous short spans totalling 15 races.
The championship was settled here in 1964 (under controversial circumstances when one driver ran into another - not much changes, does it?) and more than once in subsequent years. We might have added 1986 had Nigel Mansell found first gear on the grid - but that's yet another story.
Mansell pulled off one of the great overtaking moves of all time a couple of years later when he ran round the outside of Gerhard Berger (still gobsmacked to this day) on the super-fast Peraltda. The banked 180-degree turn has, through safety necessity, been chopped on this latest iteration but the memory of Mansell's moment endures in the minds of those who saw it.
Other recall of that incredible corner is not so positive. The track was built in Magdelena Mixhuca, a municipal park in the suburbs of the city, thanks to Mexico's president and his enthusiasm for motor sport. This coincided with the rise of Ricardo and Pedro Rodriguez, two enormously talented brothers who, as teenagers, lapped the entire field during the track's first major event in 1961.
The following year, 20-year-old Ricardo joined Ferrari, a move that, just as quickly, led to a non-championship Mexican Grand Prix. This was 1962 BE (Before Ecclestone) and entries could never be guaranteed from one race to the next. Ferrari were in a deeply uncompetitive period and decided not to come - much to Mexico's horror.
Not to be outdone, Rodriguez accepted a drive in a privately entered Lotus as he pitted himself against Jim Clark, Jack Brabham, John Surtees and Bruce McLaren. Even allowing for a more relaxed acceptance of risk, these drivers found Peraltada excessively bumpy and dangerous; Brabham - never a man to shirk a challenge - saying there was no way it could be taken flat.
Rodriguez had other ideas. In a last-minute attempt to wrest pole from Clark, the local hero lost control on the banking, hit the guardrail at the top and was thrown from his car. He died of his injuries in front of his brother, parents and an equally adoring public.
Desperate to shore up the moral of his fellow-countrymen, the Mexican President arrived on race day. He would witness one of the most chaotic starts imaginable. I came across the incredible detail recently while researching a *book.
I will not attempt to paraphrase a brilliant report written in the defunct magazine 'Motor Racing' by Dr. Frank Falkner, an eminent physician and motor sport fan who worked with Cooper and later the Tyrrell team as well as mentoring Danny Sullivan. These are the Professor's words as no less than three gentlemen attempt to start the race and are confronted by Clark's stalled Lotus.
"Eventually the Lotus goes after two push starts. Are we all ready now? No, indeed, for Surtees' car is on fire - gently, but on fire. So is [Walt] Hansgen's Lotus - and not so gently! Fire extinguishers, mechanics and officials everywhere, and the three starting gentlemen are bouncing hard. One is standing on Clark's wheels and signalling the grid to be ready. The second one signals to all that there are 30 seconds to go. The third one, who has the flag, immediately drops it and the motor race is on.
"Messrs Brabham and Clark shoot off. The starter using Jim as a platform leaps into the air, bounces of the front end of the Lotus and is missed by a hair by [Roger] Penske. Brabham nearly clouts the second "assistant" and only the starter with the flag is safe."
The start of the Grand Prix in 1970 would have infinitely more serious undertones. Pedro Rodriguez had been elevated to the deity a few months previously thanks to his win (the second of his career) for BRM at Spa. The track (now named after his brother) simply could not cope when an estimated 200,000 fans turned up, made light work of the spectator fencing and parked themselves on the edge of the track, many of them wandering across it at will.
When Jackie Stewart (the reigning world champion) and Rodriguez toured the circuit and made impassioned pleas, they were greeted with beaming faces and warm applause. There was little the officials could do. The police officers present were equipped with nothing more powerful than whistles, their best efforts to move the crowd back being greeted with laughter and a hail of bottles. Now the track was covered with broken glass.
The drivers did not want to race in the face of the organisers' only reassurance being that if a spectator was killed there was adequate insurance and the driver would be covered. "Anyway," the perverse logic continued, "if you don't race, there will be a riot." To compound this absurdity, it was actually suggested that the drivers should race at reduced speed. The teams reluctantly accepted they had no alternative but to perform at great risk to all concerned.
With over-excited spectators no more than a couple of metres from cars travelling at 170 mph, it was sheer good fortune that no one was killed. The only casualty was a large dog that had sprung from the crowd and run in front of Stewart's Tyrrell. It surprised no one that Mexico was immediately struck from the calendar.
A $10 million improvement plan and heart-felt reassurances saw the race return in 1986 to Autodromo Hermanos Rodriguez (renamed after Pedro had been killed in a sportscar race). And now the Mexican Grand Prix is back once more, keenly anticipating a revived future but not forgetting an exceptionally colourful and occasionally scary past.
* 'Grand Prix Circuits' (Collins)