Nasir Hameed: Rest in Peace, Speedy. You are The GOAT!

Respectfully Yours,
Phil Pegler

With tears in my eyes, I had to take a deep breath. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Our dear friend Nasir Hameed was gone. But I had to instantly compartmentalize, push through the heartbreak, and focus on the task ahead. Since then, I’ve thought at length about him.

Many people assumed Nasir and I had known each other for years, but strangely, we hadn't. We first connected in mid-2023 when he reached out about his F1 Weekly podcast and an interview he had conducted. Our conversations began over email and soon moved to WhatsApp.

When he learned I was living in Berlin, he told me he was planning a trip—one of his pilgrimages to the shrines of motorsport, to the historic circuits that defined Formula 1. Berlin, of course, meant a visit to the legendary AVUS circuit, and his enthusiasm was infectious.

This was Nasir. His love for motorsport wasn’t passive—it was a journey, a pursuit, a lifelong passion that took him across continents. We quickly realised that our passion for the sport had been kindled at the same time, in 1973, and from that point on, we existed in two parallel universes, idolizing, studying, and dissecting everything Formula 1 had to offer.

We shared the same heroes—John Surtees, Jackie Ickx, Ronnie Peterson, Jochen Rindt, Jean Pierre Beltoise, Mario Andretti... to name too few. That connection formed the foundation of what became an unshakable brotherhood.

We spent countless hours on WhatsApp before his arrival in Berlin, discussing our love for the sport. And when we finally met at the airport, there he was—Nasir in the flesh. To be honest, he could have been fitter. I was slim and reasonably fast-moving, while he was a little slower.

But that became part of our dynamic. From the outset, he called me 'Salazar' at first, I objected and my nickname became ‘Amigo,’ never ‘Paul.’ I can still hear his voice saying it. And in return, with my boarding school upbringing, I nicknamed him ‘Speedy’—for obvious reasons.

We ventured to AVUS, or what remains of it. Today, it’s little more than an old highway interchange, with scattered remnants of grandstands as a faint reminder of its racing past. We could barely see anything through the fencing. But it didn’t matter. While we were there, we never stopped talking—about the sport, the history, the moments that shaped us as fans. A brotherhood had formed, and we promised to meet again.

And we did. In May 2024, we reunited at the Monaco Historic Grand Prix. He stayed with me near the train station, ensuring easy access to the circuit. Our driver for the weekend? None other than my old mate Antoine Chauvel, son of one of France’s greatest photojournalists Patrick Chauvel. The three of us made our way to Monaco daily, soaking in the history and the atmosphere for three memorable days.

I watched in admiration as Nasir navigated the paddock, always prepared, always knowing who would be there and when. He was fearless in approaching drivers, journalists, and motorsport personalities, having done his research meticulously. He caught up with Bruno Senna, among others, and was greeted by an astonishing number of familiar faces who knew his name. He had built a reputation, and it showed.

Despite his slower pace, he was relentless in his pursuit of an interview. I watched him stand in one spot for over an hour, waiting for a driver to arrive, only to return later in dismay, having just missed them. But he never gave up. His dedication was unmatched.

At GrandPrix247, we did what we could to help him fulfil his dream of being part of the Formula 1 paddock as accredited media. With the support of the FIA and Formula 1, we managed to get him the access he so desperately wanted. And he thrived.

Our last conversation, just a few days before he passed, was a long one. He was ecstatic, brimming with ideas and plans for the year ahead. He wanted to return to Berlin, then drive to Switzerland, where he was looking to rent an apartment for six months. He planned to attend five Grands Prix outside of the US, including Australia and Japan. His enthusiasm was boundless.

Yet, with all due respect, Nasir was not a journalist. He wasn’t media in the conventional sense. He was a fan—perhaps the most dedicated fan Formula 1 has ever known. While others chased autographs, Nasir chased voices. He sought to capture the words of the legends of our sport, interviewing thousands of figures from Formula 1 history.

From Max Verstappen’s karting days to the greats of the past. He has many of these including a chat with future star Kimi Antonelli. Nasir built an archive unlike any other.

One of our long-standing plans was to repurpose Nasir's vast collection of interviews—to transcribe them, edit them, and give them the exposure they deserved. His work should not be lost; it should be celebrated. He travelled the world, visiting team factories, circuits, and events, always with a microphone in hand, always chasing the next story.

And that’s when it dawned on me. Nasir was not a journalist. He was the greatest Formula 1 fan to ever live.

I say this having known many passionate fans, journalists, and industry insiders. But no one—no one—matched Nasir’s devotion and ballsiness. He is the greatest of all time. The GOAT.

The GOAT of Motorsport fans. And anyone who knew him would agree. Rest in Peace, Amigo. You will never be forgotten.