The first qualifying session, on Friday morning, was very wet and rainy; streams of water were flowing in every curve, and for some minutes the only one venturing out was, ironical to Lauda, fellow Austrian Otto Stuppacher, in his old, privateer Tyrrell 007. Only a few other drivers dared venturing so early in a session which didn't promise to be decisive.

"They have finished in reverse ratio to their IQs…", commented Teddy Mayer, McLaren and thus James Hunt's team manager, while the session was finishing in a complete stalemate, barely anyone having set a time.

The afternoon then came, the track still wet despite rain having stopped pouring down: while Hunt was the quickest, he seemed like having rivals; not in Lauda, but in the Tyrrells – Certainly not Stuppacher in his 007, eventually the only driver finishing outside the Top-26 and as such failing to qualify, instead it was Jody Scheckter and Patrick Depailler in the oddball 6-wheel P34s which were challenging him for the pole; he must keep his guard high, because these cars, for how much laughed about for their appearance, were quick enough to have even won a race, the Swedish Grand Prix, in a 1-2 in front of Lauda: then, they stole some points to his rival; now, they might have evened the score by stealing back some point from Hunt himself.

It didn't seem Lauda was having a great time, but judging from his typically very calculating, almost scientifical style, everyone knew it might just have been strategy: "Es ist so bescheuert… Nur einer total Narr werde der volle Drosselklappe geben in solch einer Wetter, mit keine Punkte auf dem Spiel…" ("That's so stupid… Only a total fool would give full throttle in such a weather, with no points at stake…"), he was thinking, waiting in his pit box while waiting for the track to improve – He partly always has been prudent; but since his nearly fatal crash, happened in rainy conditions, this side of him got even more prominent, and he actually had to fight a twofold fear: that of racing in the rain, and the one this fear might actually have the best of him.

But at least in waiting before leaving the pitlane, he was right: it was only fifteen minutes since the start of the session the track was starting drying up enough drivers could switch to slicks, and Lauda himself was finally hitting the track, carefully navigating himself through the curves to avoid the dreaded streams of water waiting for those drivers daring to venture just outside the optimal trajectory.

While the Austrian was sparing himself to try squeeze the most out of his still severely wounded body and mind on Sunday, race day, and as such getting as much precious points as possible, this wasn't something his flamboyant rival was actually being worried about: he was dicing the fastest time between him and the Tyrrells, the three rivals constantly following each other close on the circuit, when all of a sudden the air compressor in Hunt's car detached, hitting Depailler's on the nose, breaking its foremost front wheel pairs and the steering box.

With Depailler out of the contention, Scheckter having grown prudent because of his teammates' incident, Lauda apparently having given up to concentrate on the race and heavy rain forecasted for the next day, Hunt had by now the pole in his hands. Rob Walker, former team manager and now journalist, went to interview the temporary polesitter, standing at a large, heavy air bottle: "Was that the one you threw at Depailler?"

"No, we are keeping that one for Niki on Sunday!"

Everyone was left speechless.

"It just was a joke" – Went on Hunt – "Maybe, I now might celebrate the good day in the office by Hunt-ing" – Said while smirking – "for some booze and… having the occasion, picking up some chicks."

"You just joked about me, which is barely alive after having burnt alive just two months ago, and you now think you can get by just by claiming it was a joke?", asked Lauda.

"Come on, Nick, you have to get a life… Come with me, I might teach you one or two things about it!"

"Sorry, but I prefer to think about that unsignificant thing which is a Formula 1 race taking place tomorrow… I think I'll go to bed early and get ready for it while you go out getting drunk and paying boozes to… questionable companies."

"Oh, you're afraid you might burn your precious brain? Let's make a bet: the Championship will be either win by my heavy foot, or by your precious brain. Agree?"

"Agree."

The two rivals shook their hands: it was more than something between two drivers, or their respective teams; it was a clash between two different ways to live the sport, and they were about to have their final reckoning in the two final races of the season.

As it was anticipated, heavy rain poured down all day on Saturday, making impossible for everyone to improve their times: Hunt was as such on pole, with Tyrrell's Jody Scheckter and the two March 761s of Ronnie Peterson and Vittorio Brambilla separating him from his rival Lauda, fifth on the grid in his Ferrari. A unusual cold spell meant even some snow fell during the night, with the prospect of race being cancelled.

The feelings of the two rivals were in both cases ambivalent: on one side, Hunt felt confident he could have easily won the race and gain some further points in his quest for the coveted World Title he still never had won; but, even if he loathed admitting him, he couldn't but agree with Lauda such conditions were making racing too dangerous even for these hardened, tough drivers. On the other one, Lauda himself would also never had admitted he actually wanted to go toe-to-toe with Hunt until the very last inch of tarmac and thousandth of a second; but he also felt at heart that twofold feeling of not showing to the rest of the world as brave enough to conquer his fears, but also the need to self-preserve also for his recently-wed wife, Marlene Knaus, which yet had risked losing him just a few weeks before.

The 100,000 paying fans expected to attend the race, then the largest crowd to have ever paid a ticket for the "Glen", meant the show must go on, whether the case: the merciless laws of business meant even if it'd have to snow on race day, still some subterfuge should have been found to go ahead with some form of racing, so to create a loophole in order not having to refund all of those unsatisfied consumers.