Mazda's stunning Le Mans '91 win: The scream that got the Cat

“Basically the car is just too heavy,” he shrugs, “too heavy to handle and too heavy to pull out of the slow corners. Getting through the Dunlop Chicane is a real struggle. Every time I do it I’m surprised to come out the other side. We chose the right set-up, but need more speed.”

It’s not just down to the opposition’s problems, as Mazda’s preparation has also been superb. The signs were there last year, when designer Nigel Stroud upgraded to a composite tub, and a punchy four-rotor engine was introduced. The team also backed up its regular squad of drivers with three single-seater hotshots, who were under orders to thrash the thing to bits.

Herbert, Bertrand Gachot and Volker Weidler did exactly that, and 12 months on, Mazda has made improvements, adding carbon brakes to the package. The same three drivers returned, and their charging style has made the difference between winning and losing.

Ohashi is congratulated by Tom Walkinshaw. The Scot has a lot of respect for his Japanese colleague; a few years ago, TWR made its first steps in sportscar racing in partnership with Mazdaspeed, and both have come a long way.

Weidler and Gachot are pushed by the mob down to the new podium, part of the ultra modern pit complex. There’s no sign of Johnny, and word comes through that he is having medical treatment. Celebrations continue without him, the Mazda pair flanked by two sets of bemused Jaguar drivers.

It’s a sweet moment for the winners. Gachot’s career is on the up; he’s just scored points for the new Jordan team at the Canadian GP. He didn’t enjoy Le Mans last year, but as this race has progressed, his motivation has increased.

Few notice, unless they’ve studied lap times, but Weidler has been the anchorman. A disastrous year in F1 trying to pre-qualify the Rial appeared to finish him off, but he’s fighting back in Japanese F3000. Mazda’s top brass enjoy their podium moment, and finally the national anthems and champagne spraying are over. The winning drivers enter the 24 press room for a light-hearted Q&A with the media, but there’s still no sign of Johnny. When proceedings break up, I doorstep Gachot. Was he surprised to win?

Johnny is still zonked, and after the speeches he’s taken to a quiet, dark room for some further rest. The effort of the previous day and night has really caught up with him, but I take my chance and grab him. His voice is hoarse, his words slow.

“No one was pushing us, and the Jags were probably hoping we were going to breakdown. Driving was not a problem, but I’d been feeling a little bit funny in the stomach. It was just when I got out of the car that I felt bad.”

It’s yet to sink in that this is the greatest moment of his career to date. It comes just a few weeks after his return from exile in Japan to a seat with Lotus‘ F1 team.

“I don’t normally get excited anyway. But I’m happy just from the point of view of my feet; I’m really happy they went the whole way through and I just had no problem whatsoever. I’m sure people are still going to say things, but I’ve got that for the rest of my life. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s all behind me now.” In four days he will be in the F1 car in testing at Silverstone, and he’ll win another personal battle — he’ll be quicker than team-mate Mika Hakkinen.

How Mazda played the weighting game

Mazda’s quirky engine design was the entire raison D’etre of their competition programme, and ensured the cars always ran in a weird IMSA category or some such. A Mazda engine was run in a private Chevron B16 at Le Mans as early as 1970, and from ’79 the company began to take the race seriously, initially with an RX-7 IMSA car. A string of class victories was secured, but nobody really noticed. And nobody paid attention in the winter of 1990-91, when FISA ratified the World Sportscar Championship rules.

We were in limbo between the old Group C days of lumbering turbos and fuel consumption, and a new era of 3.5-litre aimos. Jaguar, Mercedes and Peugeot backed the F1-car-with-doors formula, but to fill grids, the Group C machines were given a stay of execution. Porsche 962s made up the field in the WSC sprint races, while a reluctant Mazda had to enter its GIP car in the full series in order to be eligible for Le Mans.

No-one expected the 3.5s to survive the 24 Hours; Jag and Merc revived their mothballed V12 and V8 turbos respectively.

The penalty was a 1000kg weight limit, at Peugeot’s insistence.

The limit for the IMSA class, populated solely by Mazda, was originally set at 880kgs. Takayoshi Ohashi politely informed RSA this was not acceptable. With Nissan and Toyota waiting on the sidelines, both the governing body and the Automobile Club de l’Quest were keen to keep Mazda and thus a token Japanese presence, so the limit was dropped back to 830kgs, the figure the cars ran at in sprint races. The opposition didn’t complain, and Ohashi’s softly-softly approach paid off.