The fans have given me a great deal of spiritual support, but I have also been lucky enough to receive several prestigious awards which reflect wider public recognition and which are very important to me because I am intensely patriotic. I was voted BBC Sports Personality of the Year twice, received the OBE from the Queen and I was sent a personal letter of congratulation by the Prime Minister when I won the World Championship. These are mementos that I treasure and they mean as much to me as any of my racing trophies. They symbolise something which goes beyond success in a sporting competition; they say that I have done something for my country, something of which I and the people of my country should be proud.
As I climbed up the ladder in Formula 1, I became increasingly aware of support for me in other countries, like Japan, Australia and Italy. I canât begin to describe what it feels like when you realise that people from different nations are getting behind you and giving you their support. It is a strange feeling, but also a deeply moving one. It heightens your determination to succeed, but moves everything onto a much wider playing field. Where before you identified with your home crowd because of shared origins and shared culture, now you realise that you have a much greater responsibility to a much larger number of people.
When I signed to drive for Ferrari in 1988 I was given the nickname Il Leone (The Lion) by the Italian fans. It was the biggest compliment that I could imagine. The Ferrari fans, or tifosi as they are called in Italy, are one of the most powerful groups of supporters in all of motor racing. They have had several British drivers to cheer on over the years: in the fifties Peter Collins and Mike Hawthorn were both Grand Prix winners and favourites with the tifosi, Hawthorn becoming Britainâs first World Champion in 1958 while driving for Ferrari, and in 1964 former motorcycle racer John Surtees won the title for them.
Obviously when I joined Ferrari I was aware of all the history and I had deep respect for the seriousness with which the tifosi follow the team. I was touched when they gave me that nickname. It was obviously significant to these passionate and committed people, so as the object of that passion I knew that it should be significant to me. It was certainly a flattering label. The lion is a symbol of power, strength and aggression. It has, of course, a strong historical association with England, which has a lion in its national emblem. It was also an appropriate nickname as, having been born in August, my star sign is Leo.
It was an honour to be able to develop a relationship with fans in Italy, Japan, Australia and many more far flung countries in which Formula 1 racing and its star drivers are celebrated. When I went to the States in 1993 to take on the top American stars, I received a warm welcome from the fans. As the season wore on and I won four oval races I became aware of a wider fan base all around the country. The American fans took to me and I took to them because I am a straightforward person, who is at heart what they would call a âpedal-to-the-metal racerâ.
I am also a family man and when my children were on holiday Rosanne and I would bring them to races. IndyCar is much more family oriented than Formula 1 and I really enjoyed that. There was a lovely moment on the podium after I won on the oval at New Hampshire. I invited my three children, Chloe, Leo and Greg to join me as I held aloft the winners trophy. Emerson Fittipaldi, who finished second, brought his two daughters Juliana and Tatiana up on the podium as well. The American public appreciates moments like that.
For a professional sportsman in the television age, fame is something which comes with the turf, and being at the very top in Formula 1 means being famous all over the world. In terms of the size of its global audience, the sixteen-race Formula 1 World Championship lies behind only the Summer Olympics and Soccerâs World Cup and these events happen only every four years. In America, however, Formula 1 has only a cult following, while IndyCar and NASCAR racing rule the airwaves. Of course, when I moved to America I became more widely known, both through racing and through commercials and appearances on chat shows like David Lettermanâs.
But I remember one occasion not long after I moved my family to Clearwater in Florida which highlighted the differences in attitude to the sport across the Atlantic. I was at a childrenâs party with my son Leo and during the course of the festivities I broke my toe. Naturally, I went to have it X-rayed at the local hospital, where the doctor on duty said that he needed to ask me a few questions for hospital records. He produced a clipboard and began scribbling.
âName?â
âNigel Mansell,â I replied.
âOccupation?â
When I told him that I was a race car driver there was not a glimmer of recognition. Because I had spent most of my time in the past few years in countries where Formula 1 has a huge following, I had forgotten what it was like not to be recognised. It was nice in those early days in Florida to be able to take the children out for a hamburger without someone approaching me for an autograph or to have their photograph taken. I could spend time with my family and enjoy being completely normal. Alas, this didnât continue for long.
In the summer of 1994, I came back to England to look at Woodbury Park, the golf course I had bought near Exeter. I took the family down to Exmouth and in the evening we sat on the beach eating fish and chips. Several people walked past and I heard one of them say, âBlimey, that bloke looks just like Nigel Mansell,â thinking of course that it couldnât be me as I must be in America. I love moments like that.
Six months earlier, around Christmas time, I had come back to London to attend several awards dinners to celebrate my IndyCar title. I went out for a meal with my friends Mark and Iona Griffiths after which, as it was a lovely night, we decided to have a stroll around the centre of London. It was about two oâclock in the morning and cars were pulling over and complete strangers rushing up to congratulate me on my IndyCar Championship. Later, I came across four really drunk guys staggering down the street who, having obviously had a real Saturday night drinking session, didnât realise they were shouting rather than talking. They were pulling my leg and I was having a laugh with them â the cameraderie was just fantastic. I thought to myself: âYou couldnât do this at 2 am in America, Nigel.â
I am interested in people and I take the trouble to talk to them. Fame is something to be enjoyed at times and endured at others. As many young stars of sport and pop music have learned, fame can ruin your life and destroy your privacy. But it can also enhance your life, as I have found through my relationship with the fans. To get a feeling of warmth and respect from total strangers is a unique experience. But you must always be responsible and conduct yourself with dignity.
Being famous has its down sides too. If you make yourself accessible to the fans, there is always the threat of an attack, of the kind suffered by Monica Seles, the tennis star, who was stabbed in the back as she sat in her chair on court between games. Her fear of a repeat attack has kept her out of the game for a long time, but itâs good to see her making a comeback. The incident sent shock waves reverberating throughout the professional sporting world. We realised that when we are surrounded by hundreds of people jostling to get closer, we are vulnerable. It worries any athlete in any sport. I donât know what motivates someone to make an attack on a sports star. The public must appreciate that sportsmen are not politically motivated, they are simply dedicated to being the supreme athlete at their discipline. There is absolutely no justification for attacking someone who seeks perfection in their sport.
What happened to Seles was distressing to every sportsman and woman in the world. âIf a star can be attacked in such a way â¦,â we all thought to ourselves, âit could happen to me as wellâ and that was very worrying.
I always have people covering my back and I think that anyone who is reasonably famous takes precautions at times, because in this day and age itâs wise to do so. But