The roar of the engines fades, the checkered flag waves, and the spectacle of Formula 1 reaches its crescendo. For three drivers, the world stops and the glory begins. They are the gladiators who have earned the right to step onto the hallowed, elliptical-shaped risers of the podium, bathed in studio light, under their national flag, with the cheers of tens of thousands echoing in their ears. It is a moment of pure, unadulterated triumph, recognition, and validation at the highest level of global motorsport.

But just feet away, often hidden from the cameras and the cheering masses, a parallel, far more silent and desolate reality unfolds for the other 17 drivers. It is a difference defined by a mere single position—third versus fourth—yet the chasm separating the two post-race experiences is so immense, so stark, and so emotionally draining, that it literally changes everything in Formula 1. This is the invisible, ruthless line that divides a celebrated hero from a forgotten competitor, turning a hard-fought race into either a career milestone or a humbling ‘walk of shame.’

The Ecstasy of Three: Champagne and Celestial Light

To finish on the podium is to enter a temporary state of motorsport heaven.

The top three drivers are immediately whisked away, not to the back of the garage, but to the brightly lit, state-of-the-art cool-down room, specially built for each race weekend. This impressive space, complete with comfortable seating, studio lighting, and a screen playing race highlights, is where they shed their helmets and prepare for their public coronation. They are pumped, lapping up the adulation, and enjoying a moment that is broadcast to tens of millions around the globe via TV.

The celebration itself is an iconic ritual. On the podium, with the team representative standing on the side step, the drivers are handed their trophies and the prized 3-liter Jeroboams of Moët & Chandon champagne. These bottles, valued at between $550 and $650 US dollars each and served at room temperature (having been pre-opened just before the race finale), are promptly weaponized in a joyous 12-liter spray-down. The sensory details—the sticky sweetness of the champagne, the blinding flash of the cameras, the deafening noise of the crowd—cement the memory of victory and success.

The significance of this moment transcends the track. For a driver’s career, a podium carries immense weight. It is a tangible milestone, a physical manifestation of potential that is crucial to sponsors and team principals. A handful of podiums marks a driver as a proven competitor, a talent capable of challenging for championships. Crucially, that third step often comes with a sizable cash bonus, fueled by sponsors who clamor to see their logos beamed worldwide on the suits of celebrated winners. For rookies like Kimi Antonelli and Isaac Hadjar, experiencing that first podium is a life-altering moment, giving them an immediate, addictive taste for triumph.

Even in rare moments of frustration, the importance of the podium remains. We recall Daniel Ricciardo’s raw fury after a pit stop blunder cost him the 2016 Monaco Grand Prix victory; despite his visible anger, he was still standing on the world’s most prestigious stage.

The Agony of Four: The Dimly Lit Back Exit

Now, consider the man who finishes fourth. He has often pushed his machine and himself to the very limit, yet for him, there is no fanfare, no waiting crowd, and certainly no champagne.

The driver in fourth, and all those behind him, are directed away from the glorious chaos. They park their cars away from the ceremonial area and head to the back of the FIA garage, a place described as a “dimly lit, bare space.” There is no media scrum to greet them, no high-fives from the team waiting at the car.

Instead, they spend a brief period of time with only their trainer, drying themselves off with a towel the trainer brought down, perhaps having a quiet drink, and changing out of their race suit. The silence here is deafening, broken only by the distant, mocking sound of the celebration they’ve just missed. They can hear the crowd cheering in Pit Lane, the national anthems playing, and sometimes even glimpse the celebratory fireworks in honor of the three fastest drivers. All the while, the brutal internal monologue plays: they are ruing not being fast enough to secure that one precious spot.

For legendary champions who have tasted victory countless times, like Lewis Hamilton and Fernando Alonso, having to repeatedly take this “back exit” becomes a genuine “comedown.” These drivers know the rush of the podium, making the lonely walk through the back area all the more humbling. This year alone, both drivers have been forced to do this 21 times out of 21 races.

The Salt in the Wound: Prepping for the Media Gauntlet

Before they face the waiting media, the non-podium drivers spend a few moments with their press officer. This isn’t a celebration debrief; it’s a damage control session. The press officer gives them a rundown of what the media will quiz them on, often about race incidents. Crucially, the press officer, having already watched countless replays, sometimes has to show the driver the footage on a screen, forcing them to “reconsider their comments” if their immediate opinion is “radically different to what the commentators are saying.”

As they wait for their turn with TV crews in the media pen, they sometimes hang around and watch the race vision that plays on a screen. This is perhaps the ultimate psychological torment: seeing the podium feed, watching the three drivers they just battled so fiercely with, bathed in the glow of success. It is, as the content editor wisely noted, “rubbing salt into the wounds.”

Once they are done with the TV and the assembled written media section, often after a further period of questioning, the final humiliation awaits.

The Contrast in the Crowd: Security vs. The Scramble

This is where the difference between third and fourth becomes physically and emotionally jarring.

The top three drivers are finally walked from the podium by security, marched through the cheering crowd, as fans “ooing and aaring as they pass by.” They are afforded a secure, protected passage to the press conference room, surrounded by an impenetrable shield of protection.

The 17 non-podium finishers, however, are left to “navigate their way through a throng of fans and corporate guests packed tightly around the media pen without the security afforded to the top three.” It is a chaotic, humbling scramble, a stark contrast as they attempt to weave their way through a sea of excited fans and corporate guests back to the relative safety of their hospitality suites.

Some drivers have even developed a unique social media strategy just to ensure a quicker trip: recording a video for their social media crew while walking, as fans “typically won’t bother drivers when they’re being recorded.” The fact that a world-class athlete has to use a video recorder as a makeshift security shield underscores the immense disparity in treatment and status that finishing just one place out of the top three creates.

The Weight of a Career

The gap between third and fourth is truly enormous. The experience between fourth and fifth, however, is exactly the same. This proves the podium is the sole differentiator. A fourth-place finish, especially one lost by a tiny margin, can be “gutting,” financially and professionally.

For Nico Hulkenberg, this reality was a decade-long crucible. He exited the FIA garage as a non-podium finisher a staggering 239 times before he finally experienced the joy of stepping onto the Silverston podium in July of this year. His story perfectly encapsulates the perseverance required to break through that invisible barrier. Even upon achieving it, he was so unused to the process that the FIA crew had to guide him through, with fellow driver Lando Norris giving him instructions on what to do with his helmet.

While the non-podium drivers do get one positive—they are free to leave the track significantly earlier than their celebrated colleagues—the trade-off is immense. They miss the career-defining moments, the financial bonuses, and the global recognition that validates years of sacrifice and brutal competition.

Ultimately, Formula 1 is a sport obsessed with timing and position. The ruthless nature of the contest dictates that finishing fourth is not merely a slightly worse result than third; it is the difference between being immortalized in champagne-soaked glory and taking the long, silent, and entirely unglamorous walk out the back door. It is the position that separates everything.