/https%3A%2F%2Fcdn-tor.buminteractif.com%2Ffanf1%2F2026%2F03%2F18_2241421353_414aeb79880d-scaled.jpg)
With three drivers on the starting grid and a home Grand Prix back on the calendar, France is gaining visibility in Formula 1, even though many French personalities have long been part of this sport's exclusive circle. A few hours before the French Grand Prix at Paul Ricard, we met with journalist Lionel Froissart.
When the roar of engines first echoed across the peaceful fields of Normandy in 1968, Lionel Froissart, then a teenager, was already on his way to becoming the voice that would later commentate on the sport's most iconic moments. He remembers the day he and his grandfather took the bus to Les Essarts to watch Jo Schlesser's spectacular crash a few hundred yards away—an experience that turned a passing curiosity into a lifelong obsession with the speed, danger, and spectacle of motor racing.
Froissart's path to the press room was anything but conventional. In the early 1980s, he arrived at Auto Hebdo without an official resume, taking on everything from running errands to photo shoots, while feeding his passion for karting with freelance articles. “I annoyed the editor with my ‘iron',” he jokes, but his perseverance paid off: covering karting circuits gave him a front-row seat to witness the debuts of future F1 stars such as Ayrton Senna, Alain Prost, and Ivan Capelli. These early relationships forged a network of trust that would later open the doors to the premier class.
August 1985 marked a turning point when Froissart submitted an article on the first on-board camera at the Nürburgring Grand Prix, featuring François Hesnault's historic Renault live. The article caught the attention of Jean-Pierre Delacroix, sports editor at the daily newspaper Libération, who was planning to launch an independent radio station. Although the station never saw the light of day, this encounter led to Froissart landing a permanent position on Libération's sports desk, where he would cover Formula 1 full-time from 1986 to 2015.
Beyond the headlines, Froissart's daily routine during a race weekend resembles the checklist of a field reporter: early morning arrivals, endless discussions in the paddock, and searching for anecdotes that will make the next day's news. He always insists on standing at the edge of the track on Saturday, when the drivers push their machines to the limit, and watching the first laps from the first corner on Sunday, weather permitting. The combination of on-site observations and behind-the-scenes networking has allowed him to capture the human side of a sport often defined by speed. His dedication to Formula 1 does not stem from a family of car enthusiasts, but from that memorable day, filled with fire and noise, when the raw spectacle of the sport gave the impression of watching medieval knights facing death. Today, after nearly four decades of chronicling the sport's evolution, from the first live cameras to the digital age, Lionel Froissart remains a key figure in the paddock, demonstrating how insatiable curiosity and a willingness to perform any task, no matter how modest, can transform a humble childhood into a legendary journalism career.
The roar of the engines now rivals a constant stream of headlines, podcasts, and live broadcasts. In the past, a Formula 1 fan could count on three newspapers, a single television channel, and two radio stations to follow the sport. Today, dozens of journalists jostle to cover every corner of the paddock, and drivers, whose schedules are busier than ever, often have to turn down interview requests simply because they don't have time in their day. The proliferation of media is not a nostalgic loss, but a clear sign that the sport's appeal continues to grow. Among the countless stories that have unfolded in the spotlight, one moment remains etched in my memory. It was in 1988, in Japan, when Ayrton Senna won his first world championship. I walked into the press conference room and saw him gesture to a handful of television technicians, saying, ” Ah, this guy has been following me since karting.” The remark was directed at me, reminding me how long I had been following his rise. I congratulated him, aware of the significance of the event and the unique bond he had forged with Honda that season. That personal encounter, against the backdrop of a historic title, remains a vivid memory of a time when the sport felt intimate despite its global reach.
My own journey spans four decades of motorsport, from the raw intensity of karting to the glittering world of Formula 1. I have never seen anything more beautiful on four wheels than the fierce competition that characterizes these events. Those early karting battles left an indelible impression on me, shaping the passion that still drives me today.
The history of Formula 1 has seen some dark moments, and May 1, 1994, is one of them. I was on air for Canal Horizon, the French-speaking African branch of Canal+, when Ayrton Senna's accident happened. The car stopped, his head moved a millimeter, and I knew immediately that it was over. I can't explain why, but something told me it was fatal. I was standing near the Brazilian commentators' booth, where his brother Leonardo was trying to get information. While they were talking about a broken arm, I was convinced that the situation was much more serious. It was an unforgettable and heartbreaking moment. When I was asked how my friendship with Senna began, I remembered meeting him at his first European race, during the World Karting Championship at Le Mans. I gave him some photos to take to his sponsors in Brazil, then I saw him again at the Formula Ford Festival at Brands Hatch, just before he decided to return to Brazil. My first full season in F1 was in 1984, the same year Senna made his debut. Since then, I have not found any driver who matches Senna's approach, style, or emotional intensity. I admire Lewis Hamilton, not because he resembles Senna, but because the two cannot be compared. When Hamilton was racing in GP2, I gave him some old photos of Senna karting; he was delighted, hung them in his room, and it created a small personal connection, even though it had nothing to do with Senna's legacy. Hamilton is the driver who has excited me the most since Senna, thanks to his commitment and his aggressive and determined racing style. He shows a sensitive side beneath a tough exterior, but he also has obvious weaknesses. I never liked the Michael Schumacher era. I'm not a Ferrari fan, and Schumacher seemed to race for himself, isolated. When he faced an opponent of the same caliber, he didn't always win. He was a great driver, but his lack of emotion made him difficult to appreciate. I liked drivers who broke that monotony, such as Juan Pablo Montoya, Mika Häkkinen, and Fernando Alonso, who posed a real challenge to Schumacher. Jacques Villeneuve, on the other hand, never conveyed much emotion, especially compared to his father; it seemed a little artificial.
I'm excited about the new generation: Max Verstappen, Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, Charles Leclerc… They're all very talented. I'm often criticized for not liking French drivers, but it's personality that counts, not nationality. A driver can come from anywhere, even Mars, if he brings that extra charisma. I'm not a fan of Romain Grosjean; he knows I find him uninspiring, even though I recognize his speed. He has his flaws, but his raw pace is undeniable. When people ask me if I'm more passionate about drivers than cars and mechanics, I admit that I'm indifferent to the machines themselves. As long as a car isn't moving, I'm not interested in it. My fascination lies with the drivers and the competition, because they are the ones who write the history of racing. How does a journalist gain a driver's trust? It's not so much about seeking it as it is about being reliable. Writing for a magazine gives you the freedom to be accurate, keep confidences, and avoid betraying your source. Trust also comes from a genuine passion for the sport. Today, I don't have close friendships with drivers, only professional relationships, most of which are good, especially with French drivers, with the exception of the one I mentioned, who is Swiss. In the past, we would meet up outside the circuits, play tennis with Alain Prost, or play cards. Today, interactions are largely limited to the professional context. I am also passionate about boxing. Covering motor racing, the 24 Hours of Le Mans, skiing, and boxing for Libération, I see one thing in common: danger. Whether it's a boxer in the ring or a driver on the track, they are all risking their lives. It's not a morbid attraction, it's the thrill of direct confrontation with danger. Even Mike Tyson, at his peak, felt this fear and accepted the risk, just like the drivers.
Formula 1 is returning to Paul Ricard, a circuit that brings back many memories for me. I went there for the first time in 1975, hitchhiking, sleeping in the scrubland and waking up at eight in the morning on a billboard overlooking the S-bends of La Verrerie. A journalist I met by chance, Charles-Bernard Adreani, gave me a badge for the paddock—things were much simpler back then. I watched a Lotus, either Ickx's or Peterson's, leave the pits for the warm-up, feeling the wind blow. Later that evening, still hitchhiking, an R16 TX stopped for me. The driver was Lella Lombardi, fresh from the Grand Prix, and the experience was unforgettable.
