Opinion: How a Disbeliever Saw GT3 Conquer the World
Gary Watkins reflects on the key moments of the GT3 platform, which celebrates the 20th anniversary of its first race today...
Most mobile phone calls from Monaco to Woking are no doubt made from the Formula 1 pits down near the harbor to the McLaren Technology Centre in the London commuter belt sometime towards the end of May. This one went from up at Casino Square to the terraces of Woking Football Club in early December.
The caller was Stephane Ratel and the recipient my good self on a rare weekend off indulging in his other passion of watching lower-league soccer. Stephane was on his cell to rave about the lineup of machines laid out in front of him, all developed for a new category called GT3. I was pretty nonplussed to be honest and wanted to get back to the football.
That was in December 2005 on the day - a Saturday, hence why I was watching 22 men kick a ball around - of the official launch of GT3 in Monaco. Fast forward five months to the first race for the new breed of car, and I changed my tune. At least to some extent.
I was present for the debut of the category with the inaugural round of the FIA GT3 European Championship at Silverstone in May 2006, and I couldn’t fail to be impressed.
A grid of more than 40 cars, split between eight types, was certainly an impressive kick-off. But my thought, as an occasional hobby racer, was that I should save my pennies, give up booze and possibly sell a kidney to get myself out in one of the cars. I fancied a race or two in the Chevrolet Corvette, the Z06R GT3 developed by Callaway Competition and Carsport Holland.
What I couldn’t have imagined was how quickly GT3 would grow out of my price range, let alone what it would become. But then nor could Ratel. GT3 was conceived as a budget category for the amateur, with an emphasis on sprint racing. So it wasn’t really my focus as a journalist.
As GT3 celebrates its 20th birthday this week, it is the predominant form of GT racing worldwide. I witnessed it quickly progress from merely a home of the forty-something gentleman driver contesting a couple of one-hour dashes with a mate, to something much, much more than that.