The engines have finally fallen silent on the 2025 Formula 1 season. The confetti has been swept from the pit lane, the champagne has long since dried on the podiums, and the grandstands are empty. By all official metrics, the history books are closed. Lando Norris is the 2025 World Champion. His name is etched into the silver engravings of the sport’s most coveted trophy, a lifelong dream realized after years of promise and perseverance. It is a monumental achievement, the pinnacle of a racing driver’s career. And yet, as the dust settles and the sport turns its gaze toward the looming regulation changes of 2026, an unsettling silence hangs over the celebration.
Beneath the official results and the press releases, a darker, more complicated truth has emerged—one that refuses to stay buried under the weight of statistics. A controversy has ignited not from the fans or the media, but from the very men who shared the asphalt with the new champion. In a move that has sent shockwaves through the paddock, the annual “Driver’s Driver of the Year” vote has delivered a verdict that challenges the legitimacy of the season’s narrative. For the first time in the history of this specific poll, the reigning World Champion was not voted the best performer of the season by his peers.
This is not just a statistical anomaly; it is a psychological blow. It resurrects an old, almost philosophical debate once voiced by the legendary Ayrton Senna: “There is always a champion, but not always a great champion.” In 2025, that theory has returned with chilling clarity, casting a long shadow over Lando Norris’s moment of glory.
The Vote That Changed the Narrative
The premise of the vote is simple. At the end of every season, the drivers on the grid cast a secret ballot to rank their top performers of the year. It is a ranking stripped of team bias, media narratives, and fan favoritism. These are the votes of the men who see the data traces, who watch the onboard footage, and who feel the visceral pressure of wheel-to-wheel combat. They know who is simply driving a fast car, and who is transcending the machinery.
In 2025, their answer was unequivocal. Lando Norris, despite winning the championship, did not finish first.
That honor went, once again, to Max Verstappen.
It is a historic outcome that reveals a deep schism between the points standings and the perception of pure driving excellence. Verstappen, despite falling short in the title race, was voted the season’s best driver by the very rivals he defeated on track or who defeated him. His relentless precision, his raw speed, and his uncompromising presence left a deeper impression on the grid than the points table alone could capture.
To the drivers, Verstappen remained the benchmark. He was the force of nature that had to be reckoned with every race weekend. Even without the fastest car or the championship trophy, he commanded a level of reverence that Norris, for all his success, could not quite secure.
The Perception of Greatness
Why does this matter? One might argue that the trophy is all that counts. History remembers the winners, not the voters. But in the insular, high-pressure world of Formula 1, respect is a currency as valuable as gold.
When drivers look at Max Verstappen, they see a driver who bends the season to his will. In 2025, the consensus from the cockpit was that the “present” of F1 still belongs to the Dutchman. He represents the “inevitable”—the sense that no matter the car or the circumstance, he will extract the maximum result.
Norris, by contrast, was placed second in the vote. He was respected, admired, and acknowledged as a worthy winner, but he was not revered. The distinction is subtle but devastating. To be a champion is to have the most points. To be a “great” champion is to be feared. The voting results suggest that while Norris delivered when it mattered most, winning the critical races and managing the championship fight, he was not seen as the defining force of the season. He was the pilot of the winning campaign, but perhaps not the singular talent that terrified the grid.
This perception creates a unique burden for Norris as he enters his title defense. He wears the crown, but he does not hold the kingdom. He enters 2026 not as the undisputed king of the sport, but as a ruler whose authority is quietly questioned by his subjects.
The Midfield Miracles and Quiet Shocks
The drivers’ vote revealed more than just the top-tier rivalry; it offered a fascinating glimpse into how the grid values resilience and adaptability over pure machinery.
George Russell claimed third place in the rankings, a testament to his dogged consistency and ability to extract performance from a Mercedes package that has oscillated in competitiveness. Right behind him was Oscar Piastri, Norris’s own teammate, who settled into fourth. Piastri’s formidable season with McLaren clearly did not go unnoticed, and his high ranking suggests that many drivers viewed the McLaren car as the dominant machinery of the year—further diluting the credit given to Norris for his title. If both McLaren drivers are ranked in the top four, it implies the car was a significant factor in their success.
Charles Leclerc landed fifth after what was described as a “bruising and turbulent” year with Ferrari. The fact that he remains so highly rated speaks to the visibility of his talent; the drivers can see past the strategy errors or mechanical failures to the raw speed that lies beneath. They recognize the scars of inconsistency are often inflicted by the team, not the driver.
But the true “quiet shock” of the list came in sixth place. Carlos Sainz, driving for Williams, achieved a ranking that defies the logic of the constructors’ championship. For a Williams driver to be voted the sixth-best on the grid is an extraordinary accolade. It signifies that Sainz’s move to the Grove-based outfit was not a retirement home, but a showcase of leadership. His resilience, adaptability, and ability to drag a midfield car into positions it had no business being in resonated deeply with his peers. They understand the limits of that car better than any spectator, and they rewarded Sainz for fighting against the dying light.
Further down, the list highlights the enduring class of the veterans and the spark of the new generation. Fernando Alonso followed in seventh, wringing performances from an Aston Martin that often gave him little in return—a familiar story for the Spaniard, whose reputation for outdriving his equipment is legendary. Eighth went to his teammate, likely Lance Stroll, suggesting a solid if unspectacular contribution to the team’s efforts.
The bottom of the top ten offered a glimpse into the future. Oliver Bearman, the rising star, claimed ninth, followed by Isack Hadjar in tenth. For these rookies to crack the top ten in the eyes of established champions is a massive vote of confidence. It suggests that while the media focuses on the title fight, the drivers are acutely aware of the talent bubbling up from the back of the grid.
The Shadow Over the Future
As the paddock packs up and heads into the winter break, the implications of this vote will linger. Formula 1 is a sport that is 90% mental. Confidence is the fuel that powers the fastest laps.
For Max Verstappen, this vote is a potent weapon. It validates his belief that he is still the best, regardless of the scoreboard. It allows him to enter 2026 with his ego bruised but his reputation burnished. He knows that his rivals still fear him above all others.
For Lando Norris, the offseason will be complicated. He has achieved his life’s goal. He is a World Champion. No one can ever take that away from him. But he is intelligent enough to understand the subtext of the peer vote. He knows that he has not yet convinced the grid of his supremacy. The question “Was he truly the best?” is now out there, spoken aloud by the collective voice of the driver’s union.
This dynamic sets the stage for a volatile 2026. Norris will be desperate to prove that his title was not just a product of a superior car or good fortune, but the result of being the best driver. He will drive with a point to prove, which can be a dangerous motivator. Verstappen, meanwhile, will drive with the vindication that the crown belongs to him by right of talent, if not by points.
The 2025 season may be over, but the story it has written is far from a fairy tale. It is a gritty, complex drama about the difference between winning and being the best. Lando Norris has the trophy on his shelf, but as he looks in the mirror, he has to confront the uncomfortable reality that in the eyes of the men he beat, he is still second best.
In a sport that never forgets, that lingering doubt may prove to be a more dangerous rival than any car on the track. The 2026 season hasn’t started yet, but the psychological warfare has already been won—and lost.