How Jeremy Clarkson Got Himself Fired, and What Happens Next

Weeks ago, car fans and casual BBC watchers alike got the bad news we’d all been bracing for: Top Gearhost Jeremy Clarkson will no longer appear on the show. It’s an ignoble, unfortunate end for the man who was instrumental in making Top Gear the show that it is today. But how did we get here? And what happens next?

The “fracas” that led to the BBC not renewing Clarkson’s Top Gear contract first came to light on March 10, but by that point Clarkson was already skating on some very thin ice. In January of this year, show producer Andy Wilman looked back on 2014 as “an annus horribilis” for the show, thanks to three separate large-scale controversies that all had Clarkson at the center.

A recap of Top Gear’s rough year: In March 2014, Clarkson was accused of making an anti-Asian racist “joke” on the show’s Burma special, triggering a lawsuit against the BBC. Two months later, unaired rehearsal footage leaked that appeared to show Clarkson uttering the N-word. Clarkson offered an uncharacteristically sincere apology but admitted—presciently, now that we’ve got the benefit of hindsight—that another screw-up would likely cost him his job.

And then there was the October 2014 riot that chased the Top Gear crew out of Argentina. Locals claimed that the license plate on Clarkson’s Porsche 928 made a veiled jab at that country’s defeat by the British in the 1982 Falklands War, still a very sore subject among Argentinians. Though producer Wilman insisted the plate was an unintentional coincidence, the international incident it sparked caused major rancor for the BBC.

2014’s controversies were hardly Clarkson’s first. Over at Jalopnik, our friend Patrick George tabulated an extensive list of Clarkson’s many hot-water moments since Top Gear’s relaunch in 2002. They run the gamut from silly stir-ups—like when Alabama hillbillies threw rocks at the crew for having “Hillary for President,” “Man-love rules OK,” and “NASCAR sucks” painted on their cars—to truly stupid instances of Clarkson knowingly courting controversy by running his mouth. Read the full list here.

So when, as the BBC’s internal investigation reports, Clarkson unloaded a 30-minute fanatical tirade onTop Gear producer Oisin Tymon, followed by a 30-second physical altercation that left the producer with a busted lip—all because Tymon told Clarkson that the hotel kitchen was closed and he couldn’t get a hot meal—the BBC had an untenable situation on its hands.

Forget about the one million e-signatures from Top Gear fans, symbolically delivered to BBC headquarters by a half-assed knockoff Stig in a rented tank. The BBC had no choice but to can Clarkson. If he was any other, lesser BBC employee, Clarkson’s firing would have been amazingly swift and entirely unquestioned. You and I can’t get away with throwing hissy fits and decking our co-workers and hope to keep our jobs.

But since Clarkson is the most popular man on the BBC, and since Top Gear is that organization’s most profitable product, and especially since Clarkson’s boorishness had his job prospects hanging by a thread already, we got the drawn-out, tabloid-fueled circus that we’re all, frankly, a little sick of hearing about.

And just because Clarkson has been dismissed, that doesn’t mean the ugliness is over. Idiots on the internet have taken it upon themselves to fling harassment, blame, and death threats at Oisin Tymon, the producer that Clarkson attacked, as well as at BBC general director Tony Hall. Never mind that it was Clarkson himself, not Tymon, who reported the incident to BBC leaders. Never mind that Tymon has stated publicly that he will not pursue any kind of criminal charges against Clarkson. Never mind that Clarkson’s manbaby tirade was so long, loud, and expletive-ridden that it could be heard by numerous other hotel guests just trying to enjoy a quiet night. The head of the BBC is now under police protection following said internet threats.

Clarkson’s the one who flew off the handle. Clarkson’s the one who made his superiors aware of what happened—though he also took the opportunity to hurl insults at his employer while his career hung in limbo. And oddly enough, of all the people whose careers were put in flux by his unhinged outburst, Clarkson has got the least to worry about when it comes to future employment.

Because despite the man’s penchant for cramming his own foot into his mouth, and despite an unraveling personal life that Clarkson admits is wearing him down, Jezza is still a highly desired personality. He left the BBC no choice but to fire him—and thus he becomes the most eligible free agent in the TV business.

There’s talk of Clarkson going to Netflix, where he would be given “full control” of an automotive program—and, importantly, where he wouldn’t have to worry about pissing off advertisers, a crucial freedom that working for the BBC allowed him and that essentially exists nowhere else in broadcast TV. It’s also not hard to imagine Clarkson ending up at a premium network that doesn’t have to abide by broadcast’s rules of decency and political correctness, the way Bill Maher found a home at HBO after going too nuclear for network TV. Or, frankly, Clarkson could just cool his heels for a bit, wait for this storm to blow over, and return to broadcast as largely the same guy he always was, like Don Imus did.

The BBC has committed to continuing Top Gear without Clarkson. It won’t be the same. At best, it will be a shell of itself, a Hammond-and-May collaboration that comes across like a plate of side dishes missing its steak. Or it might return with a whole new cast of hosts—Hammond’s and May’s contracts are up for renewal this year, and the thought of snapping up all three Top Gear alums in one swoop must make network executives go all drooly.

If Top Gear gets a clean sweep, coming back for its twenty-third season with a whole new trio, there’s a slim chance it will succeed. With the right combination of talent and the clear-eyed realization that they’re starting from scratch, a successful Top Gear relaunch isn’t entirely impossible.

The sadder, more likely outcome is another halfhearted Top Gear spinoff, a British version of the American version of the deceased British icon that started the whole cavalcade of export showsmodeled after Clarkson, Hammond, and May.

As our pal John Krewson over at Road & Track so eloquently put it, Clarkson made Top Gear what it is today, then ruined it. His brash, overblown personality was responsible both for the show’s rise to success and its eventual undoing. Whatever we get in the aftermath, it won’t be Top Gear. And that’s a shame. Because while Clarkson’s increasingly outlandish and eye-roll-inducing antics did nothing but hasten the demise of his Top Gear career, when Jezza was at his best, he spoke to the enthusiast in every one of us.

Ref:caranddriver

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