Author: bang7

In the high-stakes, driven world of Formula 1, numbers are usually treated as gospel. If the telemetry says the car is fine, the car is fine. If the graphs show the tires are cold, the tires are cold. But on a sweltering Friday evening at the Lusail International Circuit, November 28, 2025, the numbers lied. And it took the raw, unquantifiable sensitivity of a seven-time world champion to catch them in the act.

The narrative following the Sprint Qualifying session should have been one of disappointment for Lewis Hamilton. Eliminated in SQ1, languishing in a humiliating 18th place while his teammate Charles Leclerc cruised into the top ten with the exact same machinery—it was the kind of result that fuels critics and demoralizes teams. The initial diagnosis from the pit wall was clinical and standard: poor tire preparation. The soft compounds, they argued, simply hadn’t hit the thermal window. It was a logical explanation for a sport ruled by physics. But Hamilton wasn’t buying it.

What unfolded in the hours after that session was not just a technical debrief; it was a battle between human intuition and artificial intelligence, a clash that would ultimately save the SF25 project from a catastrophic design blind spot.

The “Phantom” Sensation

As soon as Hamilton stepped out of the cockpit, his body language screamed “technical anger” rather than sporting defeat. He wasn’t frustrated with a missed apex or a locked wheel; he was furious with a machine that was gaslighting him. Inside the garage, the conversation was tense. The engineers pointed to the screens—pressures were optimal, aero loads were consistent, suspension travel was within parameters. By all digital accounts, the car was healthy.

But Hamilton described a sensation that didn’t exist in their columns of code. He spoke of a “floating” feeling, a subtle, terrifying disconnection between the aerodynamic platform and the rear suspension. It wasn’t constant. It appeared only in the most violent sections of the track, specifically when high lateral loads from fast cornering combined with the longitudinal forces of braking. For a split second, the rear of the car would simply… let go.

“The rear axle isn’t responding with the usual stiffness,” Hamilton reportedly told the team, insisting that the car felt like it was mechanically detaching from the track. To the engineers, staring at flat lines on a graph, it sounded like a driver making excuses. But Hamilton, leveraging two decades of experience, refused to accept the “driver error” verdict. He demanded they dig deeper.

Forensic Engineering

This is where the story shifts from a sports report to a techno-thriller. Hamilton didn’t just complain; he directed the investigation. He asked the data analysts to perform a specific, unconventional cross-reference: overlay the micro-displacements of the floor edge against the compression rates of the rear pull-rod suspension, specifically at the moments of peak lateral load.

He was speaking the language of an engineer, not a pilot. Reluctantly, the team crunched the numbers again, zooming in on milliseconds that are usually filtered out as noise.

What they found was chilling.

Buried deep in the data was a “millimeter disconnection.” It was a structural micro-collapse. Under extreme G-forces, the floor of the SF25 was interacting with the suspension in a way that caused a sudden, momentary loss of downforce. It wasn’t a gradual slide; it was an aerodynamic vacuum. The suction sticking the car to the road would vanish for a fraction of a second, causing the rear to snap, before instantly re-sealing.

Because the event lasted only milliseconds, the standard real-time monitoring systems smoothed it out, reading it as a minor bump or a gust of wind. The sensors saw a blip; Hamilton felt a crisis.

The Man vs. The Machine

The discovery of this “Phantom Failure” is a watershed moment for Ferrari. Had Hamilton accepted the initial analysis, the team would have continued developing the SF25 with a fatal flaw baked into its DNA. They would have chased setup changes and tire strategies, blind to the fact that their aerodynamic philosophy was fundamentally fighting their mechanical grip in high-load scenarios.

Instead, they uncovered a vulnerability that threatened their entire campaign. The issue wasn’t the tires; it was a complex interaction between the aero-elasticity of the floor and the suspension geometry. It was a “hidden behavioral pattern” that no simulator had predicted because simulators operate on programmed logic, and this was an unprogrammed physical anomaly.

This revelation has reportedly sent shockwaves through Maranello. It has sparked internal reviews of validation processes and telemetry interpretation protocols. How could a billion-dollar operation miss something so critical? The answer is uncomfortable: Technology has limits. Sensors interpret physical variables into digital language, but that translation can lose nuance.

A Strategic Asset

The implications for Hamilton’s standing within Ferrari are profound. Before Qatar, he was the superstar driver adjusting to a new team. After Qatar, he is viewed as a strategic technical asset. He bridged the gap between what the car was supposed to do and what it actually did.

Reports suggest that the power dynamic in the briefing room has shifted. Hamilton is no longer just receiving a car to drive; he is now actively involved in suspension development planning, a domain usually reserved for the technical chiefs. He proved that even in an era of AI and predictive algorithms, the human sensor—the “seat of the pants” feel—remains the ultimate diagnostic tool.

The Verdict

The Qatar Sprint Qualifying of 2025 will likely be remembered not for the result, but for the rescue. Lewis Hamilton didn’t just drive that Friday; he diagnosed a ghost. He proved that while data can tell you what happened, it sometimes takes a human to understand why.

In a sport that increasingly tries to remove the human variable in favor of cold, hard calculation, Hamilton’s intervention serves as a powerful reminder. You can measure downforce, you can calculate tire slip, and you can simulate lap times. But you cannot measure the intuition of a master who knows, with absolute certainty, when the machine is lying.

As the paddock moves forward, the question isn’t whether Ferrari fixed the car—they did, thanks to Lewis. The question is: what other “invisible” flaws are hiding in the grid, waiting for a driver brave enough to trust their gut over the graph?

The lights of the Lusail International Circuit have always had a way of exposing the truth, stripping away the PR polish to reveal the raw machinery of Formula 1. But on this particular evening in Qatar, beneath the deceptive tranquility of the desert night, they illuminated something far more volatile than a simple qualifying session. They revealed a fracture. A deep, seismic crack in the foundation of McLaren that has been silently widening for months, finally bursting open in a span of one minute and twenty seconds.

The 2025 Qatar Grand Prix Sprint Qualifying was supposed to be another chapter in McLaren’s resurgence—a united front against the might of Red Bull and Ferrari. Instead, it became the stage for a ruthless internal coup. Oscar Piastri, the young Australian prodigy, didn’t just qualify on pole; he delivered a statement so definitive, so surgically precise, that it left his teammate, Lando Norris, staring into an abyss of uncertainty.

The Lap That Changed Everything

To understand the magnitude of what happened, you have to look beyond the timing screens. The conditions were treacherous. The track was “green,” slippery with desert sand, and buffeted by unpredictable gusts of wind that made the cars dance nervously on the edge of adhesion. It was a session that demanded survival instincts as much as raw speed. Most drivers were fighting their machines, wrestling with oversteer and praying for grip.

Then came Oscar Piastri.

While others struggled, Piastri seemed to operate in a different dimension. The transcript of the session describes his performance as “almost inhuman coolness.” He didn’t fight the MCL39; he coerced it. He read the circuit like a native language, placing his car with millimeter-perfect accuracy that baffled even his own engineers. When he crossed the line to stop the clock at 1:20.055, the paddock fell silent. It wasn’t just a track record; it was a humiliation of the laws of physics applicable to everyone else that night.

It was a lap that didn’t just say, “I am fast.” It said, “I am leading.” For Andrea Stella, watching from the pit wall, the implication was instant and terrifying. Piastri was no longer the apprentice learning the ropes from the established veteran. He had arrived, fully formed, as a predator in Norris’s backyard.

The Mistake That Haunts Norris

If Piastri’s lap was a masterpiece of control, Lando Norris’s response was a tragedy of desperation. The data tells a painful story. For most of the lap, Norris was right there—arguably faster in the first sector, matching the pulse of his teammate in the second. He had the rhythm. He had the car. But he also had the pressure.

Approaching the final corner, the weight of the moment seemingly crushed down on the British driver. It was a split-second decision—a “little excess of optimism,” as analysts called it. He carried too much speed, desperate to claw back milliseconds he didn’t even need. The front tires washed out in understeer, forcing an abrupt correction that killed his momentum and, with it, his pole position.

But the error was more than just a loss of traction; it was a psychological slip. It happened on the very day Piastri ascended to a new level. Lando Norris has spent years building his identity as McLaren’s golden boy, the charismatic leader around whom the team’s future was built. In that one clumsy corner, that identity was challenged.

His reaction post-session was telling. Gone were the jokes, the self-deprecating humor, and the infectious smile that fans adore. In the media pen, Norris was short, distant, and visibly shaken. His body language screamed of an internal crisis. He wasn’t just mourning a lost pole; he was grappling with the terrifying realization that his status as the “number one” is no longer undisputed. He is fighting a ghost in his own garage, a fear that he is being usurped not by a rival team, but by the man sitting in the debrief next to him.

Andrea Stella’s Nightmare

For Andrea Stella, the Team Principal renowned for his calm and rational engineering mindset, this is a scenario that no simulation could predict. Managing a fast car is physics; managing two alpha drivers fighting for the same piece of tarmac is politics. And politics can destroy a team faster than a blown engine.

The atmosphere in the McLaren garage described by witnesses was thick with tension. On one side of the garage, Piastri’s mechanics celebrated with restrained smiles, wary of upsetting the balance. On the other, silence reigned. The tacit hierarchy that allowed McLaren to operate so efficiently over the last two years—Norris as the leader, Piastri as the learner—has evaporated.

Stella now faces an impossible dilemma. The “manual” for Team Principals doesn’t explain how to handle two drivers separated by nothing but ego and a few thousandths of a second. If he imposes team orders, he risks alienating one driver and destroying the competitive spirit. If he lets them race, he risks an on-track collision that could hand the championship to their rivals.

This is no longer just a sporting rivalry; it is a battle for the soul of the team. McLaren is a team divided, losing “tenths” not to aerodynamics, but to psychological instability. In the cutthroat world of Formula 1, a divided house cannot stand against the united fronts of Mercedes or Ferrari.

A New Era or a Civil War?

As the dust settles over Lusail, the question hanging over the paddock is simple: What happens next?

The 2025 Qatar Grand Prix will likely be remembered as the turning point. It was the moment Oscar Piastri ceased to be a promise and became a threat. It was the moment Lando Norris realized that loyalty and legacy offer no protection against raw speed.

We are witnessing the potential start of a “civil war” in papaya. It is fascinating, chaotic, and dangerous. The synergy is gone, replaced by a cold, silent competition where every technical meeting is a battlefield and every configuration change is a state secret.

Andrea Stella must now perform his own surgical procedure—balancing the egos of two superstars without killing the patient. If he fails, this internal war could devour McLaren’s title hopes from the inside out. But if he succeeds? We might just be looking at the most dominant, albeit explosive, driver pairing of the decade.

For now, one thing is certain: The “happy family” era at McLaren is over. The gloves are off, and the real race has only just begun.

In the high-octane, cutthroat world of Formula 1, silence often speaks louder than words. But occasionally, a driver says just enough to shatter the facade of corporate PR, revealing the raw, human stakes behind the visor. This weekend, ahead of the season-ending Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Yuki Tsunoda delivered one of those moments.

In a candid and arguably somber interview that has since set social media ablaze, the Japanese driver appeared to confirm what has been an “open secret” in the paddock for weeks: his time as a Red Bull Racing driver—and perhaps as a Formula 1 driver entirely—is coming to an end.

The Admission: “Most People Know It”

The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage has been charged with tension as the 2025 season draws to a close. With Max Verstappen fighting tooth and nail for his fifth World Championship against the surging McLarens, the question of who will partner him in 2026 has been the elephant in the room.

When asked directly if the decision regarding the 2026 lineup was weighing on his mind, Tsunoda’s response was a masterclass in resigned honesty.

“No, not really,” Tsunoda began, his voice devoid of the fiery defiance that once defined his career. “I think I know something that I can’t share obviously with you guys, but probably most of people knows it. So actually, I’m [of a] similar understanding with you guys.”

The statement struck a chord immediately. By suggesting that “most people know it,” Tsunoda seemed to validate the swirling rumors that Red Bull management has decided to look elsewhere for 2026, likely pivoting to their rookie sensation, Isack Hadjar, who has dazzled in the sister Racing Bulls team this year. For Tsunoda, who was promoted to the main Red Bull seat only earlier this season in a high-stakes swap with Sergio Perez, this admission feels like a concession of defeat.

“No Plan B”: The High-Wire Act

Perhaps the most alarming part of the interview came when the interviewer pressed Tsunoda on his safety net. In a sport where contracts are often signed years in advance, driving without a backup plan is career suicide. Yet, when asked if he had a “Plan B” for his future, Tsunoda was blunt.

“No, not really,” he confessed. “I’m only thinking about this race… It’s not made yet and [it’s] still in my hands.”

This contradiction—claiming the decision is “still in his hands” while simultaneously admitting “everyone knows” the outcome—paints a picture of a driver trying to keep his focus amidst a crumbling reality. With Honda set to sever ties with the Red Bull family to power Aston Martin in 2026, and Aston Martin’s seats firmly occupied, the door to a “Honda lifeboat” appears shut. If Red Bull drops him, Yuki Tsunoda could be facing a future outside of Formula 1 entirely.

A Season of Struggle and “What Ifs”

To understand the weight of Tsunoda’s words, one must look at the context of his 2025 campaign. It was supposed to be his dream season. After years of paying his dues at AlphaTauri (now Racing Bulls), Tsunoda finally got the call-up to the senior team after Sergio Perez’s performance collapsed early in the year.

However, the dream quickly turned into a relentless challenge. While the RB21 is a championship-contending car in Verstappen’s hands, Tsunoda has struggled to extract consistent performance from it, managing only a handful of top-ten finishes since his mid-season promotion. Sitting 17th in the driver standings is simply not enough for a Red Bull driver, regardless of the circumstances.

Critics have pointed out that while his raw speed is undeniable, the consistency required to support a title fight has been lacking. The rise of Isack Hadjar, who has arguably outperformed expectations in the inferior Racing Bulls machinery, has only accelerated the narrative that Red Bull is ready to usher in the next generation.

The Max Factor: Bromance Amidst the Business

Despite the gloomy career outlook, the interview offered a glimpse of the genuine bond that remains between Tsunoda and his teammate, Max Verstappen. In a moment that has already gone viral, Verstappen interrupts the heavy interview with a burst of chaotic energy, demanding, “Max, come over here! Do a flip!”

The ensuing interaction, playful and brotherly, stands in stark contrast to the brutal business decisions happening behind closed doors. It serves as a reminder that while they are competitors, they are also peers who have shared the trenches of a grueling 24-race season.

Tsunoda’s strategy for his potential final races is simple: be the ultimate team player. “I’ll try to support Max as possible,” Tsunoda stated. “If I [am] able to achieve that, that will naturally be positive… for my future.”

It is a selfless approach. Knowing his own seat is likely lost, Tsunoda is dedicating his remaining energy to ensuring Verstappen secures the Drivers’ Championship. It is a mature, dignified stance from a driver often criticized in the past for his emotional outbursts.

The “Open Secret” Revealed?

So, what is the “open secret” Tsunoda referred to? Most paddock insiders believe the decision has already been signed: Isack Hadjar to Red Bull Racing alongside Verstappen for 2026, with Liam Lawson potentially anchoring the Racing Bulls lineup.

For Tsunoda, the path forward is murky. Could a reserve role keep him in the paddock? Would a move to the World Endurance Championship (WEC) with a Japanese manufacturer beckon? Or is there a shock twist left in the driver market?

The Final Lap

As the sun sets on the 2025 season in Abu Dhabi, Yuki Tsunoda cuts a sympathetic figure. He achieved what few drivers ever do—a seat in a championship-winning car—but found the summit to be more treacherous than the climb.

His “low-key admission” is a rare moment of vulnerability in a sport built on ego and bravado. If this is indeed the end of Yuki Tsunoda’s Red Bull journey, he is leaving with his head held high, his humor intact, and a loyalty to his team that persists even as the door closes.

For the fans, the “Plan B” question remains the most haunting. We watch these gladiators risk everything on Sunday, often forgetting that on Monday, they are simply employees fighting for their livelihoods. Yuki Tsunoda just reminded us all of the human cost of life in the fast lane.

On the evening of November 28, 2025, the Formula 1 circus descended upon the Lusail International Circuit for what was supposed to be a redemption arc. The desert air was thick, suffocatingly hot with track temperatures soaring above 40°C, and the wind whipped across the flat landscape, turning high-speed corners into treacherous lotteries of grip and courage. But as the engines roared and the lights of the Sprint Qualifying session illuminated the night, a darker shadow fell over the Ferrari garage. What unfolded wasn’t just a sporting defeat; it was a psychological dismantling of one of the sport’s greatest narratives.

Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion whose move to Ferrari was heralded as the romantic final chapter of a legendary career, found himself eliminated in SQ1. P18. A result that, on paper, looks like a bad day at the office. But in the high-stakes, hyper-analyzed world of Formula 1, the numbers on the timing tower were secondary to the devastating story told over the radio waves.

The Anatomy of a Disaster

From the moment the SF25 touched the scorching asphalt, it looked like a beast refusing to be tamed. The conditions were brutal—a narrow operating window made even tighter by the gusting winds. For a car to work here, it needed balance, compliance, and trust. Hamilton had none of these.

Telemetry data leaked in the aftermath painted a grim picture. The car was plagued by erratic behavior, particularly in the low-speed sectors. Turn 6 became a monument to frustration; lap after lap, the front end of Hamilton’s Ferrari washed out, forcing him into desperate corrections where he should have been powering through. The car was lazy on traction and unpredictable under braking—the two worst traits a driver can face on a technical circuit like Lusail.

Yet, across the garage, the story was confusingly different. Charles Leclerc, wrestling the exact same machinery, managed to coax a performance out of the SF25 that was, if not championship-winning, at least respectable. He qualified 9th, safely through to SQ3. The data showed a car that wasn’t perfect, but one that could be driven. This disparity opened a deep, jagged crack in the team’s internal narrative. Two identical cars, two radically different outcomes. And for Hamilton, the realization seemed to be instant and crushing: it wasn’t just the setup. It was structural.

The Radio Message That Stopped the Paddock

It was the end of the session that delivered the true shock. Hamilton had aborted his second flying lap after encountering traffic, but even his clean attempts were woefully off the pace. In the final sector alone, he was bleeding over three-tenths of a second to his teammate.

Usually, in moments like this, the radio waves explode. We are used to the Lewis Hamilton who demands perfection—the driver who questions tire pressures, critiques strategy, and demands to know where the time is being lost. We expect the fire.

Instead, we got ice.

As he crossed the line, sealing his elimination, the radio crackled to life. There was no shouting. No heavy breathing of a driver who had wrestled a car to its limit and failed. There was just a flat, monotone delivery:

“Man, the car won’t go any faster.”

On the surface, it’s a simple observation. But in the lexicon of an elite athlete, it was a tombstone. It was an existential statement. It wasn’t a technical complaint about understeer or oversteer; it was a total declaration of defeat. He was saying that he, Lewis Hamilton, the man with the most pole positions in history, had reached the absolute limit of the machinery, and it was simply not good enough. The barrier wasn’t mental, strategic, or tire-related. It was the car itself.

Even more disturbing than the message was the response. Or rather, the lack of one. The Ferrari pit wall, usually a hive of communication and reassurance, went silent. No engineer jumped in with a “Copy, Lewis, we’ll look at the data.” No strategist offered a glimmer of hope for the Sprint race. The phrase fell into the ether like a stone into a deep, dark well. That silence spoke louder than any argument could. It signaled a disconnect that goes far beyond a bad setup. It hinted at a team that didn’t know what to say to its star driver because they knew he was right.

A Disturbing Disconnection

The drama didn’t end on the track. In the media pen, the area where drivers are expected to dissect their performance for the hungry press, Hamilton’s demeanor shifted from resigned to completely detached.

When asked the standard questions about what went wrong, he didn’t offer the usual technical paragraphs about tire graining or wind direction. He barely offered a sentence.

“Same as always,” he muttered, his eyes avoiding the cameras, gazing into a middle distance that seemed a thousand miles away from Qatar.

When a reporter, sensing the tension, tried to pivot with a softer question about how he was feeling, Hamilton delivered a line that was cutting in its banality: “The weather’s nice.”

For a driver who understands media responsibility better than anyone, this was a calculated protest. It was a wall of indifference. He wasn’t angry; he was checked out. In a sport where the symbiotic relationship between driver and engineer is the engine of success, Hamilton’s body language—lowered head, slow gestures, glazed eyes—was a siren blaring in the night. He looked like a man who had realized the promise of the “Prancing Horse” was a mirage.

The Dangerous Dichotomy

The contrast with Charles Leclerc frames the crisis in stark relief. While Hamilton was retreating into a shell of silence, Leclerc was in the engineering room, dissecting data, talking about high-temperature responses, and looking for solutions. Leclerc’s tone was one of work; Hamilton’s was one of surrender.

This is where the story becomes dangerous for Ferrari. When a team has two drivers on such emotionally divergent paths—one fighting resistance, the other succumbing to resignation—the internal fabric begins to tear. The engineers feel it. The mechanics see it. The belief evaporates.

The Ferrari project was built on the idea of a renaissance, a new era spearheaded by Hamilton’s winning DNA. But what happens when that DNA rejects the host? What happens when the star driver stops believing the car can be improved?

The End of Belief

“Man, the car won’t go any faster.”

Those nine words might be looked back upon as the turning point of the 2025 season, and perhaps the Hamilton-Ferrari partnership as a whole. It was the sound of a balloon popping. The air didn’t rush out with a bang; it hissed out slowly, leaving behind a limp, deflated reality.

Hamilton wasn’t asking for help. He was stating a fact. And in Formula 1, when a driver accepts a lack of speed as an unchangeable fact, they stop being a driver and start being a passenger.

The Lusail circuit has revealed a brutal truth that Ferrari must now confront. They don’t just need to fix the downforce on the SF25 or adjust the ride height for the bumps. They need to fix a broken heart. They need to find a way to make Lewis Hamilton believe again. Because right now, looking at the slumped shoulders of the man in the red suit, it looks like the belief has left the building, leaving only the scorching desert wind and a terrifying silence in its wake.

The Boiling Point: Formula 1 Drivers vs. The FIA

In the high-octane world of Formula 1, where technology is cutting-edge and budgets run into the hundreds of millions, a glaring anachronism has become the center of a heated controversy: the officiating. For years, the tension between the drivers and the sport’s governing body, the FIA, has been simmering beneath the surface. Now, it appears to have boiled over. Leading voices in the paddock, including Mercedes’ George Russell and Ferrari’s Carlos Sainz, are issuing public demands for a modernization of the sport’s refereeing system, calling out the absurdity of a multi-billion dollar industry relying on unpaid volunteers to make championship-deciding calls.

The “Volunteer” Problem in a Billion-Dollar Era

At the heart of the drivers’ grievance is the fundamental structure of F1 stewarding. While drivers pay up to a million dollars annually for their super licenses, and teams invest fortunes to shave milliseconds off their lap times, the people adjudicating the races are often volunteers. This disparity has become a primary point of pain for the grid.

George Russell, a director of the Grand Prix Drivers’ Association (GPDA), has not minced words regarding the situation. In a recent statement, Russell argued that the sport has outgrown its amateur officiating roots. “Somebody’s got to stick their hands in their pocket to pay the stewards the correct amount,” Russell asserted, highlighting the need for professional consistency over a grueling 24-race calendar.

Russell’s argument is rooted in simple economics and professionalism. “It’s a multi-billion dollar sport,” he noted. “We shouldn’t be having volunteers having such great power in certain roles.” The Mercedes driver went so far as to suggest that the only reason the FIA has not transitioned to a professional, paid stewarding model is “sheer greed.” He pointed out that by relying on the goodwill and generosity of motorsport enthusiasts willing to do the job for free, the FIA is failing to invest in the quality and training that the sport deserves.

The implications of these “volunteer” decisions are massive. A single penalty can shift the outcome of a race, dictate the flow of tens of millions of dollars in prize money, and ultimately decide who takes home the World Championship. Russell insists that the responsibility carried by these officials warrants an actual wage, which would, in turn, allow for dedicated training, rigorous review processes, and a higher standard of officiating across the board.

Carlos Sainz: The “Expert” Solution

While Russell focused on the structural and financial failings of the current system, Carlos Sainz offered a more specific, personnel-based solution. The Ferrari driver believes that the current reliance on complex, subjective “driving guidelines” is creating more problems than it solves. Instead of trying to codify every possible on-track scenario into a rulebook for laypeople to interpret, Sainz wants experts in the room.

Sainz’s proposal is straightforward: bring in recent ex-Formula 1 drivers to serve as stewards. He argues that former drivers possess an intuitive understanding of racing dynamics that no amount of volunteer training can replicate. To bolster his point, Sainz referenced the high-quality analysis provided by broadcasters. He specifically named Sky Sports analysts Karun Chandhok and Anthony Davidson, as well as F1 TV’s Jolyon Palmer, as examples of individuals who consistently get it right.

“I’m quite impressed at the job that some of the broadcasts do after a race with this in-depth analysis,” Sainz stated. He estimated that he agrees with their assessments “90% of the time,” a stark contrast to the frequent disagreements drivers have with current steward rulings.

Sainz’s “future ideal” involves scraping the controversial driving guidelines entirely. In their place, a panel of ex-drivers would judge incidents on a case-by-case basis, using their professional experience to determine blame. The logic is that an expert panel could assess the nuance of a racing incident—the specific grip levels, the visibility, the closing speeds—in a way that a rigid set of written rules simply cannot. By moving away from a “box-ticking” exercise and toward expert judgment, Sainz believes F1 would see a drastic improvement in the fairness and consistency of penalties.

McLaren’s Technical Battle: The Fight for Proportionality

The discontent with the FIA isn’t limited to sporting regulations; it has also spilled over into the technical side of the garage. McLaren Team Principal Andrea Stella has recently confirmed that the FIA is investigating potential changes to how technical infringements are penalized, following a painful double disqualification for the team in Las Vegas.

Both Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri were stripped of their results in Vegas after their cars’ skid blocks were found to be excessively worn. Under current regulations, technical rules are binary: a car is either legal, or it is not. There is no gray area. However, Stella is arguing for a system of “proportionality,” similar to how sporting or financial penalties are handled.

Stella revealed that the wear on the McLaren cars was relatively minor—0.12 mm for Norris and 0.26 mm for Piastri—and occurred in only one specific location on the plank. He emphasized that the infringement was not intentional and offered “minimal or no performance benefits.” McLaren argues that punishing a minor, accidental wear issue with the same severity as a deliberate cheat is unjust.

According to Stella, the FIA has admitted that this lack of proportionality “should be addressed in the future.” The goal would be to ensure that accidental technical infringements that don’t result in a competitive advantage don’t lead to “disproportionate consequences” like disqualification.

The Counterpoint: The Danger of “Blurring the Lines”

While McLaren’s frustration is understandable, the push for leniency in technical regulations opens a Pandora’s box. The video report highlights a critical counter-argument: Formula 1 is, by definition, a “Formula” series. The technical regulations define the exact boundaries within which teams must build their cars.

Currently, the system is praised for being “black and white.” Your rear wing gap is allowed to be X centimeters; your plank can be worn X millimeters. If you cross that line, you are out. It is a harsh, but undeniable, standard. Critics of Stella’s proposal argue that introducing “proportionality” or leniency into technical rules would invite chaos.

If the hard line is removed, teams—who are wired to push every boundary to the absolute limit—will inevitably try to exploit the “gray area.” If a 0.12 mm wear is forgiven, will a 0.20 mm wear be next? By turning a hard stop into a blur, the FIA would effectively be moving the goalposts, leading to endless debates about what constitutes a “minor” breach versus a “major” one. In a sport already riddled with subjective controversy in racing incidents, the technical regulations have remained the one area of absolute clarity. Diluting that could destabilize the very foundation of the competition.

A Sport at a Crossroads

As the season heads toward its conclusion and teams prepare for a new era, the message from the paddock is clear: the status quo is no longer acceptable. Whether it is George Russell demanding a professional wage for officials, Carlos Sainz calling for ex-drivers to take the helm of judgment, or McLaren seeking a revamp of technical penalties, the pressure on the FIA is mounting.

The drivers and teams are demanding that the governing body’s infrastructure catch up with the sport’s explosive commercial growth. F1 has evolved into a global entertainment juggernaut; its participants now expect its refereeing to be just as elite. As the winter break approaches, the ball is firmly in the FIA’s court to decide whether they will stick to tradition or finally pay the price for progress.

In the high-octane world of Formula 1, where split-second decisions define legacies and hesitation can cost millions, the McLaren garage has become the epicenter of a sporting earthquake. With just two races remaining in the 2025 season and the championship pressure reaching a boiling point, Oscar Piastri has dropped a truth bomb that has stunned the paddock: there will be no team orders.

As the frantic circus arrives in Qatar, the tension is palpable. Lando Norris, the fan-favorite Briton who has spent years knocking on the door of greatness, currently sits 24 points ahead of four-time defending champion Max Verstappen. It is a precarious lead, one that was slashed significantly after a nightmare scenario at the Las Vegas Grand Prix. But lurking in the shadows of this duel is a third combatant—Norris’s own teammate, Oscar Piastri. The young Australian is tied on points with Verstappen, making this effectively a three-way shootout for the most coveted prize in motorsport.

The “Brief” Discussion That Changed Everything

Many expected McLaren to arrive in Qatar with a ruthless strategy: enforce strict hierarchy, order Piastri to support Norris, and secure the Drivers’ Championship at all costs. It is the pragmatic, if unpopular, move that Mercedes or Red Bull might have made in a heartbeat. Instead, McLaren has chosen the path of honor—or, as some critics fear, the path of self-destruction.

In a shocking statement to the media on Thursday, Piastri revealed the inner workings of the team’s strategy meeting. “We’ve had a very brief discussion and the answer is no,” Piastri stated with his trademark cool demeanor. “I’m still equal on points with Max and got a decent shot of still winning it if things go my way. That’s how we play it.”

The brevity of the discussion is almost as telling as the decision itself. There was no agonizing debate, no late-night arguments—just a swift commitment to the philosophy of free racing. While noble, this decision leaves the door wide open for Max Verstappen. The Dutchman, who has been on a tear since the summer break, knows that if Piastri and Norris take points off each other, his path to a fifth consecutive title becomes significantly smoother.

The Ghost of 2007 Returns

For long-time fans of the sport, this scenario invokes a chilling sense of déjà vu. The specter of 2007 hangs heavy over the Woking-based team. That year, a bitter internal feud between McLaren teammates Lewis Hamilton and Fernando Alonso allowed Ferrari’s Kimi Räikkönen to snatch the championship by a single point at the final race. It remains one of the most painful chapters in McLaren’s history, a textbook example of how two roosters in one henhouse can lead to starvation.

Now, nearly two decades later, history threatens to repeat itself. If McLaren messes this up—if they split their strategies and dilute their points haul while Verstappen capitalizes on every mistake—the echoes of 2007 will turn into a roar of criticism. The nightmare scenario is already vivid: Piastri wins in Qatar, Norris finishes third behind Verstappen, and the title fight goes to Abu Dhabi with the momentum firmly in the Red Bull camp.

The Vegas Nightmare and Technical Heartbreak

The context of this decision cannot be overstated. The pressure cooker intensified tenfold after the catastrophic events of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. On track, it looked like a solid damage-limitation weekend: Piastri finished fourth, and Norris took a brilliant second place. But hours after the champagne had dried, disaster struck. Both McLarens were disqualified due to a technical rule breach—their skid blocks had worn down beyond the legal limit.

“A tiny detail, but in F1, tiny is everything,” noted one insider. The disqualification wiped their results from the board. Verstappen, who won the race, took maximum points. In the blink of an eye, a comfortable buffer for Norris evaporated, transforming a safe march to the title into a desperate scramble for survival. Had that disqualification not occurred, Norris would likely be over 50 points clear, perhaps even champion-elect. Instead, the gap is 24, and the wolves are circling.

Verstappen Stirs the Pot

Never one to miss an opportunity for psychological warfare, Max Verstappen was quick to weigh in on McLaren’s “honorable” approach. When asked about McLaren’s refusal to issue team orders, the Red Bull ace didn’t just agree; he weaponized the situation.

“No, it is perfect,” Verstappen beamed, his confidence radiating through the paddock. “You can’t do a better job than allowing them to race. Because why would you suddenly now say that Oscar wouldn’t be allowed anymore to race?”

Then came the line that sent shockwaves through the media center. Verstappen, placing himself in Piastri’s shoes, added, “If that was said to me, I would not have rocked up. I would have told them to f*** off. If you’re a real winner and a racer, then you go for it.”

It was a masterstroke of mind games. By praising Piastri’s independence and framing compliance as a weakness (“label yourself as a number two driver”), Verstappen is subtly encouraging the Australian to fight harder, to race more aggressively, and potentially to disrupt Norris’s campaign. He knows that a chaotic McLaren is a vulnerable McLaren.

Management’s High-Stakes Gamble

McLaren Team Principal Andrea Stella and CEO Zak Brown are standing firm, presenting a united front that prioritizes sporting integrity over tactical ruthlessness. Stella, who witnessed the corrosive effects of team orders during his time at Ferrari (most notably the infamous “Fernando is faster than you” radio message to Felipe Massa), is adamant about protecting his drivers’ psyches.

“We have always said that as long as the maths does not say otherwise, we would leave it up to the two drivers to fight,” Stella explained. “Episodes like [the Vegas DQ] make you grow… there is no blame, only learning.”

Zak Brown echoed this sentiment, framing their strategy as aggressive rather than passive. “We’re playing offense, we’re not playing defense,” Brown asserted. “I’d rather go ‘we did the best we can… and the other guy beat us by one’ than the alternative.”

It is a romantic view of racing—one that purists adore. But Formula 1 is rarely a fairy tale. It is a brutal business where history is written by the victors, not the morally superior runners-up. There is no trophy for “Most Honorable Team” and no Wikipedia entry for “Moral Victories.”

The Final Countdown

As the lights prepare to go out in Qatar, the narrative is set. We have three drivers, two races, one title, and absolutely zero safety net. Lando Norris must fight off the greatest driver of this generation while simultaneously checking his mirrors for his own teammate. Oscar Piastri has the chance to prove he is a future world champion, but doing so might destroy his team’s current dreams. And Max Verstappen? He just has to drive fast and wait for the implosion.

If Norris loses this title because Piastri took points away from him, the inquest will be eternal. But if they pull it off—if they can beat Verstappen fair and square, without manipulating the results—it will be a victory for the ages.

McLaren has rolled the dice. The world is watching. And for Lando Norris, the road to glory has never looked so lonely.

In the adrenaline-soaked world of Formula 1, speed is the currency of success. But in the 2025 season, a new dynamic has emerged that goes beyond simple lap times or horsepower. It is a palpable sense of dread that permeates the paddock, a psychological weight that sits heavy on the shoulders of every driver lining up on the grid. At the center of this storm is Max Verstappen, a driver who has evolved from a prodigiously talented aggressive challenger into a figure of near-mythical inevitability. He isn’t just winning races; he is methodically dismantling the hopes of his opposition, earning him a title far more intimidating than World Champion: the most feared driver in the sport.

The Evolution of Fear

To understand the fear Verstappen instills today, one must look at his trajectory. He arrived in Formula 1 not as a tentative rookie, but as a disruptor. His early years were defined by a raw, unpolished aggression that forced established veterans to check their mirrors nervously. He was the shark in the water—unpredictable and dangerous. However, the Max Verstappen of 2025 is a different beast entirely. The youthful impetuousness has hardened into a cold, calculated precision. The aggression hasn’t disappeared; it has been refined into a weapon.

By the midpoint of the 2025 season, Verstappen had already accumulated seven pole positions and 13 podiums across 22 races. These aren’t just statistics; they are statements of intent. While other teams grapple with strategy errors or mechanical inconsistencies, Verstappen operates with a robotic efficiency that makes his rivals ask a demoralizing question: “Why bother?” It is this consistency, this refusal to have an “off day,” that keeps the rest of the grid awake at night. When your opponent seemingly never makes a mistake, the pressure to be perfect becomes suffocating, often leading rivals to force errors of their own.

The “Hope Killer” Effect

Perhaps the most terrifying aspect of Verstappen’s current form is his ability to shatter hope. In sports psychology, the belief that you can win is crucial. Verstappen attacks this belief directly. He has mastered the art of the “late heartbreak.”

Take the 2025 Italian Grand Prix at the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza as a prime example. The Tifosi were out in force, and rival teams felt the glimmer of opportunity. Then came qualifying. Verstappen didn’t just take pole; he obliterated the competition with a lap record of 1 minute 18.792 seconds. It was a lap so fast, so precise, that it sent a collective shiver through the pit walls of Ferrari, McLaren, and Mercedes. It wasn’t just a fast time; it was a declaration that the record books belong to him.

This phenomenon was mirrored at Suzuka in Japan. On a narrow, punishing track under tricky conditions, he was hunted by two McLarens. In previous eras, this might have been a moment of vulnerability. Instead, Verstappen held his nerve, managing the gap with a surgical calmness that left Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri with no strategic options. When a driver proves they can win from the front, win from the back, and win while being hunted, they strip their opponents of the luxury of optimism. He makes them feel like spectators in their own race.

Technical Mastery: Dancing on the Razor’s Edge

Beyond the psychological warfare, there is a profound technical reason for Verstappen’s dominance—one that his rivals literally cannot replicate. It comes down to car setup and driving style. Modern F1 cars are beasts of downforce, and most drivers prefer a “planted” rear end. They want stability; they want to know that if they push the throttle, the back of the car won’t snap around and send them into the barriers.

Verstappen, however, craves the opposite. He prefers a “pointy” front end—a car that turns in aggressively at the slightest input. The trade-off for this responsiveness is a rear end that is loose, unstable, and prone to oversteer. For most drivers, this setup is a nightmare; it feels like trying to balance a pencil on its tip while riding a rollercoaster. For Max, it is freedom.

He flirts with the limits of adhesion, using that instability to rotate the car faster into corners than anyone else dares. Engineers at Red Bull Racing have noted that the car is built to his extreme requests because he is the only one who can handle it. When rivals look at his telemetry, they don’t just see a faster driver; they see a driver operating in a window of performance that is physically inaccessible to them. It sends a clear message: “I can drive a car you would crash.”

Consistency in the Chaos

The 2025 Las Vegas Grand Prix served as another testament to his adaptability. Street circuits are notoriously chaotic—low grip, blind corners, and the distractions of the Vegas sphere. While other drivers complained about the spectacle, the cold tires, or the glitz, Verstappen simply locked in. He treated the neon-lit chaos with the same clinical detachment as a simulator session.

His victory there wasn’t just about points; it was about bandwidth. Verstappen has shown an uncanny ability to process information. He can manage tire temperatures, debate strategy with his engineer Gianpiero Lambiase, watch the race on the big screens, and still set purple sectors. This mental capacity allows him to thrive in chaotic races where others are overwhelmed. When you are comfortable in chaos, you make everyone else uncomfortable by default.

The Villain We Watch

There is a cinematic quality to Verstappen’s dominance. If F1 were a movie, he would be the antagonist who walks into a room and silences it without saying a word. But he is a villain who commands absolute respect. There is a “championship winning culture” that he carries—a swagger that isn’t boastful but factual.

In 2025, stats suggested he was responsible for approximately 96% of Red Bull’s points haul at one stage. That is a staggering figure that highlights his singular importance to the team. It creates an atmosphere where he is the standard. Rivals aren’t racing to beat Max; they are racing to see who gets to stand next to him on the podium.

Conclusion: The Era of Dread

As the season progresses, the narrative has shifted. The question is no longer “Who will win?” but “By how much will Max win?” This inevitability is the final psychological trigger. It transforms competitors into survivors. When the lights go out, and drivers see that orange helmet ahead or in their mirrors, the instinct isn’t to attack—it’s to defend, to minimize damage, to survive the encounter.

Max Verstappen has achieved what few athletes ever do: he has won the mental game before the physical contest even begins. He has made his rivals fear not just his speed, but his presence. In the high-stakes theater of Formula 1, he has become the director, the lead actor, and the critic, leaving everyone else to play the supporting roles. And for the rest of the grid, that realization is the scariest thing of all.

The polished chrome and papaya orange of the McLaren garage usually projects an image of unity, precision, and youthful energy. But as the Formula 1 circus touches down in Qatar for one of the most decisive weekends of the 2024 season, that image is cracking under the immense weight of a championship battle that has turned toxic.

Behind the polite press releases and the carefully curated social media posts, a storm is brewing that threatens to derail Lando Norris’s title hopes and fracture the team’s future. Oscar Piastri, the calm and collected Australian prodigy, has walked into the paddock with a message that has sent shockwaves through the team: he will not play the role of Number Two. He will not step aside. And he will not sacrifice his race for Lando Norris unless the mathematics of the championship leave him no other choice.

This is no longer just a sporting dilemma; it is a battle for control, respect, and the very soul of the McLaren team.

The Refusal That Shook Woking

For months, the question has hung over the paddock: Will McLaren enforce team orders to help Lando Norris hunt down Max Verstappen? With the gap narrowing and Verstappen’s Red Bull looking vulnerable, the logical, pragmatic choice for any team chasing a World Championship would be to consolidate efforts behind the lead driver.

However, logic has collided head-on with ambition.

Sources close to the situation reveal that when McLaren management approached Piastri with a “brief discussion” regarding his role in supporting Norris in Qatar, the response was not a negotiation. It was a firm, unshakable “No.”

This wasn’t a heated argument filled with shouting; it was perhaps more dangerous than that. It was a cold, calculated refusal from a driver who believes he has earned the right to fight. Piastri’s stance is rooted in cold hard facts: he is still mathematically in the championship hunt. He has won races this season. He has led the standings at various points in his career. To him, stepping aside now would be an admission of inferiority that he is simply not willing to make.

It reveals the mindset of a future champion—someone who views a title as something to be taken on the track, not gifted in a briefing room. But for McLaren, staring down the barrel of their first Drivers’ Championship in over a decade, this refusal is a nightmare scenario.

Mark Webber’s Fury: The Manager Steps In

If Piastri’s refusal was the spark, his manager, former F1 veteran Mark Webber, is pouring gasoline on the fire. Webber, known for his grit and no-nonsense attitude during his own racing days, has reportedly “doubled down” on Piastri’s stance, backing his driver completely.

Webber’s frustration goes far deeper than just this weekend’s strategy. Reports emerging from the paddock suggest that Webber believes McLaren has fundamentally mishandled Piastri’s season. He is preparing for “tough talks” with the team hierarchy over the winter—discussions that won’t be about money or contracts, but about trust and competency.

The concern for Webber is the “psychological shift” observed in Piastri since the summer break. In the first half of the season, Piastri was often matching or beating Norris, his confidence sky-high. But since the Dutch Grand Prix, that edge has vanished. The instinctive speed seems to require more effort; the margins are slipping away. Webber reportedly attributes this not to a lack of talent, but to a loss of trust in the team environment.

When a driver begins to question whether the team is truly in his corner—whether the internal dynamics are actually equal—doubt creeps in. And in Formula 1, doubt is slow poison. Webber sees the request for team orders not just as a strategic call, but as the final insult in a season where Piastri has allegedly been left feeling like an accessory to Norris’s campaign.

The Verstappen Factor: “Tell Them to F*** Off”

Adding a layer of chaotic brilliance to the drama is the external voice of Max Verstappen. The reigning champion, never one to mince words, has publicly interjected himself into McLaren’s internal politics.

When asked about Piastri’s situation, Verstappen’s advice was characteristically blunt: he said Piastri should tell McLaren to “f*** off” if they ask him to move over.

While Verstappen’s comments are undoubtedly self-serving—any friction at McLaren helps his own title defense—they also resonate with the racer’s mentality that Piastri embodies. Verstappen sees Piastri as a peer, a “pure racer,” not a support act. This public validation from the sport’s current kingpin only strengthens Piastri’s resolve. It validates his feeling that refusing to yield is not selfishness, but a badge of honor.

A Team Divided by Ambition

The dilemma facing McLaren Team Principal Andrea Stella is enviable yet terrible. On one side, he has Lando Norris, a driver with the momentum, the points, and the clear path to the crown. Norris has been loyal, fast, and is agonizingly close to achieving the dream. He needs every single point he can get.

On the other side is Oscar Piastri, a generational talent whose confidence is currently fragile. Breaking his spirit now by forcing him into servitude could damage him permanently, turning a potential future champion into a resentful employee.

The team has prided itself on its “Papaya Rules”—a philosophy of letting their drivers race. They have gained respect from fans for not issuing cynical team orders. But idealism rarely survives the pressure cooker of a title fight. If McLaren loses the championship by three points because Piastri refused to let Norris pass for 4th place in Qatar, the “Papaya Rules” will be remembered not as noble, but as naive.

The Ghosts of the Season Past

The tension exploding now is not just about Qatar; it is the culmination of small grievances accumulating over twenty races. Piastri’s camp points to moments like the Singapore Grand Prix, where Norris aggressively overtook him, or the strategy errors in Monza, as evidence that the “equal treatment” has been lip service.

Small cracks, ignored at the time, have widened under pressure. Incidents that seemed like “just racing” are now being re-interpreted as evidence of bias or mismanagement.

Webber’s reported anger suggests that he feels the team failed to protect Piastri’s interests when he was flying high, so why should Piastri protect the team’s interests now that he is struggling? It is a transactional view of a relationship that relies on emotional trust, and it suggests that trust is in short supply.

The Weekend That Decides The Future

As the engines fire up in Lusail, the atmosphere in the McLaren hospitality unit will be polite, professional, and suffocatingly tense.

Lando Norris knows he cannot afford to waste this golden opportunity. He needs a wingman, but he finds himself with a rival in the same car. Oscar Piastri knows he must perform to silence the critics of his recent form, but he must do so while navigating a minefield of team politics.

Mark Webber is watching like a hawk, ready to wage war in the boardroom if he feels his driver is being sacrificed. And the rest of the world is watching to see if McLaren has the maturity to handle two alpha drivers, or if they will implode mere meters from the finish line.

If they win, this tension will be rewritten as “competitive spirit.” If they lose, it will be the autopsy of a disaster. The Qatar Grand Prix is no longer just a race; it is a referendum on McLaren’s philosophy, and right now, the vote is too close to call. One thing is certain: come Sunday, if the radio crackles with the order “Oscar, let Lando through,” the answer might just define the next decade of this team.

Star said he has ‘a lot of other passions’

MAX VERSTAPPEN has dropped a bombshell retirement hint over his Formula One career.

Verstappen, 28, has never been shy in discussing his future in motorsport.

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Max Verstappen has dropped a bombshell retirement hint on his F1 careerCredit: Shutterstock Editorial
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He has warned he will quit the sport if the new regulations are not ‘fun’Credit: Shutterstock Editorial
Such discussion usually regards his future with Red Bull in F1, but the flying Dutchman has also been open in saying he wants to race in other categories.

And, according to the man himself, that future could be fast-tracked elsewhere if next season’s F1 regulations are not “fun”.

The 2026 season is bringing sweeping changes to the technical regulations of F1, including the removal of DRS and an engineered emphasis on more wheel-to-wheel racing.

However, Verstappen has declared he has no plans to match Lewis Hamilton and Michael Schumacher‘s tally of seven titles and is prepared to leave F1 “tomorrow” if he stops enjoying himself.

The four-time world champion told reporters at the Qatar Grand Prix: “My contract runs until 2028 but it [his future] will depend on the new rules in 2026, and if they are nice and fun.

“If they are not fun, then I don’t really see myself hanging around.

“Winning seven titles is not on my mind. I know that there are three more years after this one, so it could be possible, but it is not something I need to do before I leave the sport.

“I can leave the sport easily tomorrow.”

Verstappen has been vocal about his criticism of sprint race weekends, while drivers are also said to have raised concerns over the new regs being too focused on energy deployment rather than natural racing ability.

Earlier this year, Verstappen won an endurance race at the Nurburgring Nordschleife after earning his licence to race competitively and without a handicap on the famous circuit.

Verstappen has previously said he is targeting victory in the Nurburgring 24 Hours.

And speaking about racing in other series, he added: “I have a lot of other passions; other racing categories, I want to spend more time with the family, and live off my own schedule.

“And in my mind, I know if I close the chapter, it is closed.

“I don’t see myself stopping and coming back. Once I stop, I really stop.”

Verstappen is looking to stay in the drivers’ championship fight with McLaren stars Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri in Qatar this weekend.

He is level on points with Aussie Piastri and trails British title front-runner Norris by 24 points going into the weekend.

However, he qualified P6 during sprint race qualifying on Friday with Piastri top and Norris third.

Speculation over Lewis Hamilton’s future has been rife in the last week with the seven-time Formula 1 champion enduring a particularly tough run in this first Ferrari season

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Lewis Hamilton must soldier on despite his current Ferrari woes(Image: PA)

No wonder Lewis Hamilton this week made it clear he is excited for next season after all. Because no matter what some talking heads are saying about his future, he would be crazy to walk away from Formula 1 right now, no matter how grim this year has been.

The temptation is understandable – we’ve never seen the Ferrari driver as disillusioned as he has been at times in the media pen after qualifying sessions and races this year. In Las Vegas, the 40-year-old said it has been “definitely the hardest year” of his career after qualifying dead last.

Twenty-four hours later, Hamilton mumbled that he was ready for the campaign to end and, worryingly, that he was not looking forward to next season. I was in the media pen for both and have never witnessed the seven-time champion look so downcast.

But Hamilton wears his heart on his sleeve and we need to remember those quotes come from interviews that happen just a few minutes after getting out of the car, when the disappointment is still so raw.

It’s been a dreadful year but, with new engine and aerodynamic design rules coming into force next term, it means nothing in terms of a yardstick for 2026. You never know, Ferrari may be the ones to get it right and Hamilton and Charles Leclerc might spend the whole year in a two-Prancing Horse race for the title.

Or it could be another miserable year of finishing about sixth in most races, watching on with jealousy as others take all the glory. If the latter happens, no-one could blame Hamilton for choosing to call it a day. But retiring this year without knowing where Ferrari’s car will stand next term wouldn’t just be premature – it would be plain daft.

As if racing in Qatar wasn’t already uninspiring enough, this weekend’s action has been ruined further still by the introduction of another artificial rule. At least this one does have some safety value, with tyres limited to a total of 25 laps because the abrasive tarmac in Qatar chews up rubber like nothing else.

But what it means is everyone will be on pretty much the same pit strategy and pushing flat out between stops. So while the track may have more overtaking opportunities than in Monaco, it could end up being another race where, once qualifying is over, you know pretty much where you’re going to finish.

From the archive

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Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri won’t be playing the team game in Qatar this year(Image: Formula 1 via Getty Images)

Lando Norris raised eyebrows in the Qatar Sprint last year by moving aside to let team-mate Oscar Piastri win. With the title on the line, there’s no chance he will repeat that gesture this time…

Fast fact

Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton are the two drivers who have won a Grand Prix in Qatar, and are also the only ones to have led a lap in the previous three visits to the Gulf state.

Inside track

Adrian Newey may have been installed as the latest team principal at Aston Martin, but it’s understood they remain in talks with at least one other outside candidate about a possible future leadership role within the squad. But it isn’t Christian Horner!