In the high-octane, ruthless theater of Formula 1, loyalty is often treated as a disposable commodity—the first casualty when performance dips or political winds shift. It is an unwritten rule of the paddock: when the axe falls, phone numbers are deleted, allegiances are scrubbed, and former allies become awkward acquaintances who avert their gaze in the hospitality suites. The sport moves on with brutal efficiency. However, the relationship between three-time World Champion Max Verstappen and his former team principal, Christian Horner, has proven to be a stunning anomaly in this ecosystem of transactional relationships.
Months after the seismic shift that saw Christian Horner removed from his post as Red Bull Racing’s team boss in July—a move that shook the very foundations of the sport—the connection between the star driver and his ousted mentor has not only survived; it has thrived in the shadows. Recent revelations have exposed a depth of contact that is unprecedented, challenging our understanding of professional boundaries and personal loyalty in elite sports.
The Bond That Survives the Axe
For twenty years, Christian Horner was the face of Red Bull Racing. He built the team from the ashes of Jaguar in 2005, sculpting it into a juggernaut that claimed 14 world titles. But it was his partnership with Max Verstappen, the prodigy who joined the team as a teenager in 2016, that defined the latter half of his reign. Together, they forged a dynasty. Yet, when Horner’s tenure ended abruptly amidst a cloud of internal toxicity and performance decline, the expectation was that the “Verstappen Era” under Horner was over in every sense.
The narrative was simple: The King is dead, long live the new management. Laurent Mekies was brought in to clean up the mess, and the team moved forward. But Max Verstappen, a man known for his blunt honesty and refusal to play media games, recently shattered that narrative.
When pressed on whether he still maintained contact with the man who guided him to his first championship, Verstappen’s answer was not a polite, media-trained deflection. It was a revelation.
“Every week,” Verstappen admitted. “Every race. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. And usually via text message, but also on holiday, for example. Every week.”
Let those words sink in. In a sport where a fired team principal is usually treated like a radioactive element, the team’s star driver—the man currently leading their charge on the track—is in constant, ritualistic communication with the “exiled” leader. This isn’t a casual “happy birthday” text or a polite holiday card. This is a continuous, disciplined stream of communication that occurs during the most critical moments of a race weekend.
Warfare on Wheels: The Roots of Loyalty
To understand why this communication persists, one must look back at the fires in which this bond was forged. The relationship between a driver and a team principal is often strictly professional, but for Verstappen and Horner, it transcended that. The defining chapter was undoubtedly the 2021 championship battle against Lewis Hamilton and Mercedes.
That season wasn’t just a sporting contest; it was, as many have described it, “warfare on wheels.” Every overtake was scrutinized, every strategy call was debated, and the pressure was enough to crack even the most seasoned veterans. Through it all, Horner stood as a human shield for his young driver. When the British press descended, when the FIA investigations loomed, and when the world seemed to question Verstappen’s aggressive driving style, Horner was there, defending him with a ferocity that made him enemies in the paddock but a hero to his driver.
“You’ll never forget that Christian really went through fire for me,” Verstappen has said, reflecting on that period with a reverence he rarely shows. That level of support creates a debt of gratitude that cannot be erased by a corporate restructuring or a press release. It is a bond of blood and oil, solidified in the trenches of the sport’s most intense modern rivalry.
The “Secret” Texts: A Mentor’s Ghost
The nature of their current communication reveals a fascinating dynamic. Horner, now stripped of his headset and his seat on the pit wall, has reverted to a role that perhaps suits the purity of their friendship better: the ultimate fan.
According to Verstappen, the texts are not about team secrets, suspension geometry, or undermining the new leadership. They are messages of pure, unadulterated support. Before qualifying, before the lights go out, and after the checkered flag drops, Horner is there digitally, whispering encouragement.
“It’s more about ‘I wish you good luck’ and ‘I believe in you’,” Verstappen explained. “Biggest fan… what we’ve all been through… but also, you know, ‘you can do it.’ All that kind of stuff.”
This is the behavior of a mentor who still cares deeply about his protégé’s success, even if he can no longer share in the glory or the champagne showers. It paints a picture of Horner not as a bitter ex-employee plotting revenge, but as a man who has separated his love for the sport and his driver from the politics that ended his career.
The Tightrope Walk: Agreeing with the Executioner
However, this story is not just a heartwarming tale of friendship. It is complicated by the brutal reality of why Horner was fired. The final 12 to 18 months of his reign were, by all accounts, a disaster for the team culture at Milton Keynes.
Following the death of Red Bull founder Dietrich Mateschitz, a power vacuum emerged. Factions warred for control. Allegations of inappropriate behavior—though Horner was cleared—poisoned the atmosphere. The “well-oiled machine” began to grind its gears. The team slipped to fourth in the pecking order, a previously unthinkable decline for a squad that had just dominated the sport.
Verstappen, usually one to keep his cards close to his chest regarding internal politics, has been surprisingly candid about this dark period. “Things weren’t going very well for the whole team,” he admitted. “In terms of results, there was a bit of unrest… the internal environment had grown heavy.”
This leads to the most fascinating psychological aspect of the entire saga: Max Verstappen seems to agree that firing his friend was necessary.
It is a cognitive dissonance that few athletes could manage with such grace. On one hand, he loves Horner and maintains daily contact. On the other, he openly praises the new regime under Laurent Mekies and admits that the “change” was vital for the team’s survival.
“We have a lot of confidence. You see people smiling. It’s a nice environment,” Verstappen said of the current team atmosphere. “Everyone gets along well, and we missed that at one point. The Red Bull style was a bit lost or gone.”
“We missed that.” Those three words are a damning indictment of the final days of the Horner era. Verstappen is effectively saying that the man he texts every Sunday had allowed the team to lose its soul. To hold these two truths simultaneously—that Horner is a dear friend worthy of loyalty, and that Horner’s departure was the only way to save the team—requires a level of emotional maturity that is rare in professional sports.
The Resurrection of Red Bull
The results of this painful transition speak for themselves. Under the leadership of Laurent Mekies, Red Bull Racing has pulled off a shock turnaround. The “heavy” atmosphere has lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and, crucially, speed.
Verstappen’s performance on the track has mirrored this cultural shift. A season that looked lost during the slump was salvaged into a fierce title bid, with Verstappen ultimately finishing runner-up to Lando Norris in a championship fight that went down to the wire. The smiles in the garage are back. The metrics are trending upward. The “toxic” cloud has dissipated.
This resurgence validates the decision of the shareholders. They saw a team losing its identity and made the hard call to remove a legend. In a binary world, this would make Horner the villain and Mekies the hero. But Verstappen’s “secret” contact reminds us that life is rarely binary.
The Human Element in a Data-Driven Sport
We obsess over data in Formula 1. We analyze tire degradation, aerodynamic loads, and fuel flow rates. We treat the teams as monolithic entities and the drivers as biological components of the car. But this situation serves as a stark reminder of the human element that underpins everything.
Teams are comprised of people with emotions, loyalties, and breaking points. When the culture sours, the dynasty crumbles. It is that simple and that complicated. The “Red Bull style”—that mystical combination of aggression, innovation, and swagger—is not found in a wind tunnel; it is found in the morale of the mechanics and the confidence of the driver.
Verstappen’s ability to navigate this transition highlights a new era of driver power and personality. He is not a corporate puppet who cuts ties when told. He is an independent operator who values human connection over PR strategy.
“Ultimately, it’s always difficult,” Verstappen reflected, his voice carrying the weight of the past year. “You’ve built up a bond with Christian and achieved so much… Those kinds of things are always difficult when you talk to each other on the phone.”
There is pain in that acknowledgment—the pain of supporting a decision that hurts someone you care about. But there is also wisdom. Max recognizes that sometimes the right decision for the team is the hardest decision for the heart.
Conclusion: A Friendship Stripped of Politics
In a strange twist of fate, the firing of Christian Horner may have saved his friendship with Max Verstappen. Stripped of the pressure of management, the power struggles, and the “heavy” toxicity of a failing team structure, Horner can now be what he was perhaps always meant to be for Max: a supporter.
The corporate structure that once defined their relationship no longer constrains it. They are no longer Boss and Employee. They are simply two men who went through the fire together and came out the other side. One is still driving the car; the other is watching from afar. But the connection remains, buzzing on a phone screen every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
It is a reminder to the world that while F1 is a business of ruthless efficiency, the people inside the helmets and the polo shirts are still, undeniably, human. You can agree with the firing of your boss and still miss your friend. You can thrive under new management while secretly texting the old guard. In the complex world of Max Verstappen, loyalty doesn’t mean blind obedience—it means remembering who stood by you when the world was against you, even if the world has since moved on.