Jack Nicholls has been the commentator for the FIA Formula E Championship since the first ever race, as well as covering F1 for BBC Sport.

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Maths has never been my strength. In fact, I became a commentator after I messed up my maths A-Level, leading to a year on the checkouts at Sainsbury’s and getting involved marshalling at my local race track.

But mental maths is a surprisingly large part of covering a race, whether it’s how far a driver is from pole position in qualifying, where in the pack someone will emerge after a pitstop, or how a certain overtake will affect the championship points. It then becomes quite stressful when that maths is relied upon to crown the first Formula E champion live on ITV1…

Jack (centre) with his presenting colleagues Georgie Barrat and ex-racer Dario Franchitti Jack (centre) with his presenting colleagues Georgie Barrat and ex-racer Dario Franchitti

I’ve crowned the wrong champion before. Well, not exactly the wrong champion, just not at quite the right time. It was a double header GT race in 2014 on the streets of Baku, and Laurens Vanthoor looked set to win the Blancpain GT Series title. When he won the Saturday race, I happily declared him the champion. Unfortunately, for me and him, he wasn’t. I don’t remember the exact miscalculation – or the excuse I gave my boss – but ultimately it didn’t matter too much as Vanthoor won the race the next day and sealed the title in emphatic style.

Seven months later, in June 2015, the first ever season of Formula E was about to reach its climax around Battersea Park in London. A three-way title fight between Lucas Di Grassi, Sébastien Buemi and Nelson Piquet Jr was the headline act going into the final race. With it being the first street race in London since 1974, ITV1 were broadcasting it live to millions of viewers in the UK in the middle of the afternoon. This was easily the biggest gig of my career to date, and in fact it still might be. I had started doing a few commentaries on Formula 1 for BBC Radio by that point, but I had never had my commentary broadcast on a scale like this before.

The race was going well. Stéphane Sarrazin was leading from pole position, and there had been a crash between ex-F1 titans Jarno Trulli and Sakon Yamamoto. I was all over the championship standings. Even when Sebastien Buemi spun, throwing away his championship lead, I was still confident I knew what was going on. With five laps to go it was clear that if Buemi didn’t overtake Bruno Senna in front of him, Nelson Piquet would win the championship by one point.

That all changed with three corners to go, when race leader Sarrazin ran out of energy.

In Formula E, if you run out of ‘useable’ energy your car doesn’t stop. There’s still some energy left, but you’ve used more than you’re allowed. It’s like when the petrol light comes on in your car, there’s still fuel and you can keep driving to get to a petrol station, but you’ve run out. Suddenly – in the space of 15 seconds – the race winner looked set to be disqualified and Sam Bird was going to win his home race.

Sam Bird celebrates his win Sam Bird celebrates his win

While commentating on all of this happening, my mind starts racing. Buemi will get promoted one position which will give him the championship! But surely Piquet gains a place too, so... actually he still wins the championship? Unless they don’t disqualify Sarrazin... what if the stewards give him a time penalty, which could put him in between Buemi and Piquet in the results, giving Buemi the title?

Things are not helped when I declare on air that, as it stands, Piquet has won the championship as he crosses the line, and to my relief his team appear to be celebrating too. That's surely confirmation that he has done enough to wrap it up. That was until I realised they were listening to my commentary. I was sure they’d won it because they were celebrating, but they were celebrating because I had said they’d won it.

Piquet, probably on the line with Jack Piquet, probably on the line with Jack

The next thing I know, I’m being told that I’m live on Nelson’s in-car radio as he's driving back to the pits. I tried to keep my greeting generic, thinking surely he, of all people, would know that he was the champion, and would be able to finally confirm it for me.

"Congratulations," I said, '"it looked a tough race out there!"

His reply: "Errr, have I won the championship?"

Right. So Nelson doesn’t know, the team doesn’t know, the timekeepers are doing their calculations as we speak so they haven’t got an answer yet. I’ve got to say something.

"By our calculations, you have mate," is the reply I go for. I never say ‘mate’. But for some reason I thought this word would soften the blow of being wrongly told you were the champion of a brand new series in front of millions of people.

Piquet celebrates Piquet celebrates

Nelson is overcome with emotion, he’s starting to laugh then he’s starting to sob and goodness me I hope I’m right.

Fortunately, for me and him, I was. Despite a time penalty for Sarrazin, Piquet won the championship by that single point, a great redemption story for a man who has been through so much sporting and personal turmoil in the past.

I learned a lesson that day as well. It’s a pretty obvious one, but you really have to be covered for every single eventuality when commentating. Being ‘mostly across’ a scenario isn’t enough, because ultimately when everyone at home is watching, when all the teams are listening, I was the one who had to say something. And it was pretty stressful, particularly because I knew that maths had never been my strength.