The allure of the Prancing Horse is undeniable. It is a siren song that has called to the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, promising immortality, passion, and the adoration of the Tifosi. Yet, for nearly two decades, the gates of Maranello have functioned less like a gateway to paradise and more like a revolving door of broken promises and tarnished legacies.
As we close the book on the 2025 Formula 1 season, the motorsport world is left reeling. What was billed as the “transfer of the century”—Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, leaving his empire at Mercedes to restore glory to Ferrari—has unraveled into a season of frustration, confusion, and despair. It feels eerily familiar. It feels like a re-run of a horror movie we watched just five years ago.
The question currently dominating the paddock, social media forums, and post-race debriefs is a painful one: Who had the worse final straw at Ferrari? Lewis Hamilton in 2025, or Sebastian Vettel in 2020? To answer this, we must look beyond the points tally and delve into the psychological toll, the operational failures, and the sheer tragedy of talent wasted.
The Ferrari Meat Grinder: A History of Hope and despair
To understand the magnitude of Hamilton’s disastrous 2025 campaign, we must first contextualize the environment he walked into. Since 2008, Ferrari has been a team seemingly at war with itself. The DNA of winning that defined the Michael Schumacher era has been replaced by a cocktail of mismanagement, corporate politics, and a crushing weight of expectation that suffocates its drivers.
Fernando Alonso was promised a championship-winning car; he left years later with empty hands and a weary soul. Sebastian Vettel arrived with dreams of emulating his idol Schumacher; he departed humiliated, fired before the season even began, and driving a car affectionately known as a “tractor.” Charles Leclerc, the chosen one, has spent years oscillating between brilliance and the pit wall’s baffling strategic blunders.
And then came Lewis. The move was supposed to be the final, glorious chapter of the greatest career the sport has ever seen. Instead, 2025 became a case study in how to break a legend.
Hamilton’s 2025: A Symphony of Errors
Hamilton’s season began with the highest of hopes in Australia, but the cracks appeared instantly. Qualifying P8 was underwhelming, but the race itself was a descent into midfield purgatory. Stuck in dirty air, victims of a car sensitive to turbulence, Hamilton spent his debut in Red staring at the gearboxes of cars he used to lap.
But it was the glimmer of hope that made the subsequent failures hurt more. In China, the pace was finally there. A commanding performance seemed to signal the turning of the tide. Yet, in a twist of cruel irony that is distinctly “Ferrari,” his P5 finish—already a compromise—was wiped from the books. A disqualification for excessive plank wear. The team had run the car too low in a desperate bid for downforce, sacrificing legality for pace. It was a rookie mistake from the most storied team on the grid.
The European leg of the season offered no respite. Spain saw Hamilton completely lacking pace compared to teammate Charles Leclerc, a harsh reality check for a driver used to being the benchmark. Silverstone, usually Hamilton’s fortress, teased redemption. In mixed conditions, the old magic returned; Hamilton was the fastest man on track, dancing through the rain. But as the track dried, the strategy crumbled, and the car ate its tires. No podium. Just another “what if.”
Perhaps the nadir of the season was Spa-Francorchamps. A “suspension upgrade” somehow turned the car backward, flicking a switch that seemed to dim Hamilton’s confidence entirely. He qualified 16th—a stat that looks like a typo next to his name. Even a spirited recovery drive to 7th couldn’t mask the stench of failure.
Then came the rage-inducing climax in Mexico. Finally qualifying in the top three, Hamilton looked set for a podium. Enter Max Verstappen. A clumsy overtake attempt by the Dutchman pushed Hamilton wide. Hamilton, refusing to be bullied, cut the corner, only to be slapped with a penalty that ruined his race. It felt personal. It felt like the universe conspiring against him.
By the time the season wrapped up in Abu Dhabi, Hamilton’s 2025 campaign could be defined by one word: Rage-bait. He was baited by a car that worked only sporadically, baited by a team that fed him useless data, and baited by rivals who sensed blood in the water.
Vettel’s 2020: The Long Goodbye
If Hamilton’s season was a tragedy of errors, Sebastian Vettel’s 2020 season was a tragedy of neglect.
Vettel entered 2020 knowing he was a dead man walking. Ferrari had essentially fired him via phone call before the engines even fired up in Austria. The mental toll of driving for a team that has already discarded you cannot be overstated.
And then there was the car. The SF1000 was a disaster of engineering—draggy, slow, and unstable. In Austria, Vettel spun, a symptom of a driver pushing a bad car beyond its limit and terrified of its unpredictability. The humiliation deepened in Styria when he and Leclerc took each other out on the opening lap—a double DNF that symbolized the team’s implosion.
Strategy calls were comically bad. In Spain, Ferrari left Vettel out on 50-lap-old tires, ignoring his questions, only to ask him mid-corner what strategy he wanted. Vettel had to drive the car and run the pit wall simultaneously, dragging the car to 7th through sheer willpower and anger.
Yet, amidst the gloom of P13 finishes and Q1 exits, there was Turkey. In treacherous, wet conditions—the great equalizer—Vettel reminded the world who he was. Starting 11th, he vaulted to 3rd on the first lap and held his nerve for two hours. On the final corner, as Leclerc ran wide attempting a move on Perez, Vettel slipped through to snatch a podium. It was a final flicker of the four-time champion’s brilliance, a middle finger to the management that had written him off.
The Verdict: Who Suffered More?
Comparing these two seasons is like choosing between drowning and burning. Both are excruciating, but the nature of the pain differs.
Lewis Hamilton in 2025 suffered from the shock of the new reality. He arrived with expectation, only to be met with incompetence. His suffering was “active”—fighting for results that were snatched away by disqualifications, crashes, and penalties. His pace was often there, but it was suffocated by circumstance.
Sebastian Vettel in 2020, however, suffered from “passive” neglect. He was driving a tractor, unwanted and unloved. His confidence was shattered not just by the car, but by the explicit rejection of the team. When he drove poorly, it was fear. When he drove well, the team often failed to capitalize.
So, who had it worse?
Strictly looking at the driving and the machinery, Sebastian Vettel’s 2020 was the deeper hell. He was fighting a car that fundamentally didn’t work, while being publicly ostracized by his employer. He scored a fraction of the points Hamilton did. He looked like a broken man for most of the year.
However, Hamilton’s 2025 carries a different kind of tragedy. Vettel was leaving; his pain had an end date. Hamilton has just arrived. He is contracted for the future. The realization that he may have trapped himself in a sinking ship for the final years of his career adds an existential dread to his season that Vettel didn’t have to face in 2020.
In the end, the real loser isn’t Hamilton or Vettel. It’s the fans, and the sport itself. We have watched Ferrari take two of the greatest talents in history and reduce them to frustrated, mid-field drivers pleading with their engineers for a strategy that makes sense.
As we look toward 2026, one has to wonder: Can the Prancing Horse be healed? Or will the red garage remain a graveyard for legends? For Lewis Hamilton’s sake, we must hope for the former. But if history—and the ghosts of 2020—are any indication, hope is a dangerous thing to have in Maranello.