Never before can fifth place in a major sporting event have been greeted with such rapturous applause as that which enveloped Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos.

Never before can fifth place in a major sporting event have been greeted with such rapturous applause as that which enveloped Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos. One minute, his F1 championship campaign seemed to be lying in tatters and the sceptics were preparing their post-mortems; the next, almost in the blink of an eye, the 23-year-old Englishman was hurtling into the record books by becoming the youngest driver ever to claim a prize which is widely regarded as the pinnacle of international motor sport.

Certainly the spectacle which surrounded that frenetic denouement was the stuff of theatre. In the wider context, though, one couldn't help but feel that the manner of Hamilton's triumph re-ignited the whole debate of whether F1 is a genuine sport, because the bottom line is that his success was secured, not through the skill of the newly-crowned champion, but because the vehicle of Timo Glock spluttered sufficiently to allow the Briton to complete a remarkable transformation in his fortunes.

In the grand scheme of things, nobody can deny that the outcome was the correct one. Despite being penalised by amateurish officialdom, and oblivious to the rancid racism which has spewed forth from several Spanish-based websites during the past few weeks, Hamilton has proved the dominant personality in the 2008 campaign and his strengths are beyond question.

Whether excelling in the wet or transcending the petty politics which seem to be an inevitable feature in the empire of Bernie Ecclestone and Max Mosley, the McLaren competitor's Zen-like tranquillity and unblinking concentration behind the wheel stamp him out as a nonpareil in his domain. Indeed, I spoke last week to Steve Murray, the senior marshal at the West of Scotland Karting Club in Larkhall - an organisation which has nurtured and assisted in the development of everybody who is anybody in the British pantheon from David Coulthard and Jenson Button to Dario Franchitti and Allan McNish - and his words testified to the gifts which appear to have been a part of Hamilton's psyche from almost the same age as a tiny Tiger Woods began wowing his elders with a near-faultless blend of precociousness and precision.

"Lewis turned out here in 1996 and 1997 and there was one race in particular when he climbed up to a different standard from the rest of those around him," said Murray. "The weather was horrendous - and let's remember that he was only 13 - but the way in which he controlled things, despite the fact it was raining in bucketloads, was just masterful. You had to be there to appreciate it: the lad's poise, his calmness and sure-footedness under pressure meant that he was never going to lose that day.

"I recall saying to one of my colleagues at the track: That kid is going to be an absolute star in Formula One.' I have never been a racer myself, but you could see early on that he was very special."

Similar tributes were being lavished on Hamilton last evening from such luminaries as Sir Jackie Stewart, David Coulthard (whose pragmatic reaction to his ill-fated swansong in Brazil was typical of the fashion in which he has conducted himself within the F1 ranks) and Michael Schumacher, who has even gone so far as to declare that his unprecedented achievements will be surpassed by Hamilton in the future.

Yet, if one stepped back for an instant from the deluge of self-congratulatory hyperbole, it couldn't be forgotten that, rightly or wrongly, Felipe Massa would have been acclaimed as the champion in his own backyard, but for circumstances which were entirely outwith Hamilton's control.

And, had that scenario unfolded, what would we be saying about Master Lewis this morning? That he had been too cautious? Or that the recollection of the late collapse which dashed his hopes in 2007 was still preying on his mind?

On such small margins lies the divide between glory and ignominy, but events at Interlagos highlighted the argument that F1 should not be regarded in the same light as, for instance, athletics or tennis.

When Usain Bolt surged to the tape in the 100m and 200m in Beijing, he had no need to rely on what others were doing. Destiny lay in his own hands (and legs) and the ensuing majesty of his performance brooked no dispute that here was the best sprinter in the world.

Equally, when Andy Murray locked horns with Roger Federer at Flushing Meadows, he produced a myriad amount of quality, but was undone by the sheer brilliance of his rival. Those of us who watched from the periphery recognised that there was no disgrace for the losers in either case. They had served up their best, but on the day, when it counted, the winners reached a higher plane.

As for Hamilton, yes, his achievements are to be cherished and accorded due prominence. He has been a star in the firmament of karts, GP2 and now stands on the threshold of an honour-studded career. Ultimately, though, he didn't so much rise to the occasion in Brazil as capitalise on the mechanical problems of another driver.

Petrol-heads will doubtless respond that this happens all the time in their sphere, and they are correct, but Hamilton could so easily be waking up to a barrage of negative publicity and bottle-crashing accusations today.

That he isn't owes nothing to his abilities and everything to Glock's last-lap misery. It may be a fine distinction. But it does make a difference for those of us who contend that the Olympics are the greatest show on earth.