While Britain has been jizzing over yet another safe drive to second from Lewis Hamilton in Europe’s most prestigious race, it will have escaped many people’s attention that a Brit has gone one step further and won America’s most prestigious race — the Indianapolis 500.

Scot Dario Franchitti is experienced enough in American open-wheel racing having spent a number of years in Champ Cars and IndyCars. Yesterday he caught the jewel in the crown, and took the most sought-after victory on the other side of the pond.

But is it meaningful? He certainly has his place in the motor racing history books, in between the 2006 and 2008 winners of the Indy 500. But American open-wheel racing has been in disarray since the IRL–Cart split.

And these days it is unthinkable that an IndyCar driver would be offered a seat in Formula 1. A few years ago it was fairly common, but drivers like Jacques Villeneuve, Juan Pablo Montoya, Cristiano da Matta and Antonio Pizzonia, proved to be ultimately underwhelming or sometimes even downright dangerous.

But does Dario Franchitti care? I’m sure he grew up dreaming of being a Formula 1 driver, but he can’t feel too unfortunate to be a top-running IndyCar driver. While it is tempting for us Europeans to think of Formula 1 as the global pinnacle of motor racing, Americans famously do not find F1 appealing.

Despite the attempts in recent years to unite F1 with Indianapolis, the self-styled “motor racing capital of the world”, US fans have snubbed Formula 1. Likewise, IndyCar and Cart are marginal sports here.

Take, for instance, the fact that Dan Wheldon — a Brit — was 2005 IndyCar champion. He must be one of the very few British sporting successes of recent years, yet how many people here have heard of him? Very few.

It might seem strange. After all, IRL and F1 are both kinds of motor racing, and they use similar kinds of cars. But in reality they are two different sports for two different audiences.

F1 Fanatic wrote a post in the run up to this weekend asking readers which they preferred between the Monaco Grand Prix and the Indianapolis 500. It’s got me thinking about American open-wheel racing, and why I don’t watch them.

The obvious reason is that I don’t have Sky, and Channel Five’s highlights packages are so poorly edited as to be rendered unwatchable. On Channel Five, it is not unusual to see several minutes of mundane, processional race footage which then cuts to several dozen laps later, with a change of leader and no explanation as to why there is a change of leader. Extremely frustrating to watch.

I suspect, though, that even if I was able to watch decent coverage of US open-wheel racing, I would still give it a miss. It is easy to revert to snobbery. I remember (I think) David Richards comparing F1 with American motor racing, saying it was like comparing caviar to a cheeseburger.

It is true that Americans like to be entertained by on-track fireworks rather than skill. I often get the impression that the bottom line for Americans is speed. For instance, grid orders are presented as a table of average lap speeds rather than lap times as they are in F1.

This might sound funny, but speed is not everything in motor racing. Not outright speed, at least. Americans scoff at the average speed of a Formula 1 lap, but this has something to do with the fact that Formula 1 circuits actually have corners and F1 drivers have to negotiate both left and right turns, a feat which is a chore to most racers in America.

Indianapolis Motor Speedway is an oval. The Circuit de Monaco looks like this:

While Americans may laugh at the relatively slow average speed of a Formula 1 car, there can be no doubt that F1 cars are technically superior. The ability to accelerate quickly, brake quickly and — most of all — corner quickly is what gives F1 cars the technical edge.

Most American races don’t have corners, so none of this applies to American race cars as much. So the most amazing aspects of F1 cars go straight over the heads of American onlookers, who have grown up in a completely different motor racing culture.

But I have to hold my hands up and say that I feel as though I might be missing something. There may be subtleties and nuances about oval racing that I simply do not understand because I have not sat down and watched enough oval races. But that is because it just looks boring.

Fans of American racing also bemoan the lack of overtaking in Formula 1. This is especially true of the Monaco Grand Prix, where it is near enough impossible to overtake.

While this is true to an extent, overtaking is special precisely because it is difficult to do. In America, meanwhile, overtaking manoeuvres are ten a penny. That just devalues them. There is no skill involved in overtaking. It just happens.

I like this comment over at F1 Fanatic by Robert McKay:

The one time I watched the Indy 500, two drivers slipstreamed each other with ease every single straight. Back and forth they went. Oval driving might require a different skill set to road racing, but passing was almost impossible NOT to acheive…

Sure there’s lots of overtaking, but very little of it actually EARNED like in road racing.

Having said all of that, I think IRL and Cart have two major plus points against F1.

Firstly, the cars get stunningly close to each other in IRL. It has to be said, those drivers have balls. When I see cars going two abreast on a banked oval, I want to shield my eyes. It must involve an incredible amount of trust in your competitors, because if the cars accidentally interlock, they’ll be hitting a concrete wall at high speed.

The second is that IndyCar racing in general seems to be genuinely open. Despite the fact that the circuits all seem to be an identical shape, different drivers and different cars win different races and different championships. None of this seven times champion or back-to-back champion pish.

In terms of spectacle, I think both the Indy 500 and the Monaco Grand Prix are dire. Quite funny that the two most prestigious and famous motor races are also two of the most boring.