Fifth Column: Nigel Roebuck
What today’s cumbersome leviathans boast in power and downforce they lack in subtlety and appeal
It is not by happenstance that traditionally grandstands at race tracks have for the most part been constructed at corners: what fans come to see, after all, is driving artistry, and that finds little expression on a straight.
That being so, one of course regrets the crushing downforce of today’s Formula 1 cars, and the progressive conversion of once daunting corners into straights. This is true of nowhere more than Silverstone, where, as Max Verstappen remarked, a corner like Copse – like Spa’s Eau Rouge – is these days ‘easy flat’. In itself that militates against overtaking, and the practice is further discouraged by overwhelming ‘aero’, which prevents cars from closely following each other through a quick turn. If the problem has been with us for countless years, it grows ever more acute: “Anything within five seconds,” commented Christian Horner at Silverstone, “and you’re in ‘dirty air’…”
Today’s ‘Heavy Metal’ cars, with around 1000 horsepower and colossal downforce, may be numbingly impressive through somewhere like Becketts, but for me they lack subtlety, and have limited appeal.
I remember once talking to Colin Chapman about Gordon Murray’s Brabham BT49, a design he greatly admired, for it was light and nimble, and changed direction like a kart. The word he used to sum up the car was ‘deft’, as any grand prix car should surely be, so I can’t imagine what he would make of today’s leviathans – 734kg would have been
Colin’s idea of an acceptable weight for a transporter.
His immortal Lotus 49 came in at 500.
Looking back on the British Grand Prix, what most hit me between the eyes was the continuing plight of Williams, whose cars – Mercedes engine and all – were at the bottom of the list in qualifying, and started from pitlane. Frank Williams, who doesn’t fly any more, was at the race, and I felt sad he had to see it.
This was Silverstone, after all, and one’s thoughts drifted back to 1979, when the team was truly in the ascendancy, when Alan Jones took pole by more than half a second and ran away from the rest until his water pump gave up, leaving team-mate Clay Regazzoni to canter home for Williams Grand Prix Engineering’s first victory.
In the pleasing post-race informality of those days,
“INCONSISTENCY FROM STEWARDS IS SOMETHING WE TAKE FOR GRANTED”
Frank – so emotional he could barely speak – stood there in the media tent, pretending to sip a scotch someone had thrust into his hand, and Gianclaudio – ever the gentleman warrior – modestly shrugged off his own part in the day’s events. “Bravo, Frank,” he quietly said. Never can I remember such universal rejoicing at the outcome of a grand prix.
Fast forward to 1993, to Ayrton Senna pondering his future: stay at Mclaren, with whom he had won three world championships, or move to Williams, the team of the moment? From top to bottom is a long fall.
These days, it is Mercedes and Ferrari who dominate, with Red Bull occupying a mezzanine position between them and The Rest. Not since March 2013, when Kimi Raikkonen’s Lotus triumphed in Melbourne, has a grand prix been won by other than these three teams, and the 90 races so far run in the hybrid era shake out like this: Mercedes 67 wins, Ferrari 12, Red Bull 11.
As the statistics suggest, for most of the time it has been a two-car world championship, with the Mercedes drivers needing to worry only about each other: for an endless period we were accustomed to the sight of them disappearing into the distance, keeping a weather eye on fuel and tyres, and taking the flag. That didn’t do much for the TV figures, as Niki Lauda admitted: “For sure it’s boring if Mercedes wins every championship – when that happens, of course you lose people, but having said that, this year we’re back to a more competitive situation…”
So, mercifully, we are. While indubitably there is still a two-tier world championship, at least Mercedes no longer has the top one to itself, for currently Ferrari is at least a match for the Silver Arrows: not long ago few would have envisaged a red victory at
Silverstone, but that’s what we got.
More significantly, what we also got was a set of circumstances that demonstrated – to a shattering degree – the gulf in performance between Ferrari/mercedes and the other teams, Red Bull included. If on this ultra-quick circuit Christian Horner described his drivers as “hugely exposed”, Max Verstappen was more brutal: “It’s tragic – on the straights it’s like you are driving in a different series.”
It felt, he said, like Formula 1 against Formula 2, putting one in mind of Fernando Alonso’s remarks about Honda.
Having been relatively reticent on the subject of Renault shortcomings in the recent past, Red Bull people, since announcing their forthcoming split from the company, have lately become more vocal again. Honda folk, take note: should your engine fail to give satisfaction in
2019, you may come to look back fondly on Alonso’s observations. Toro Rosso’s Pierre Gasly certainly didn’t hold back at Silverstone.
By general consent, year in, year out, Red Bull produces the best chassis, but even trimmed to the bone, Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo had nothing for Ferrari and Mercedes in the British Grand Prix. Sebastian Vettel and Valtteri Bottas duly went off on their own, but it was their teammates who really caught the attention. Not often, after all, do we see Mercedes and Ferrari in company with the lower orders, save when lapping them, and Hamilton and Raikkonen were plainly hurrying.
This situation arose because Lewis made a bad start from pole, putting himself in the line of fire at the first corner, where he was turfed off by Kimi. While – despite unworthy Mercedes mutterings – this was clearly inadvertent, the Kimster was awarded a 10-second penalty, and quite why this should have been twice as severe as that handed out at Paul Ricard to Vettel for his clumsy assault on Bottas, one doesn’t know: inconsistency from stewards is something we have long taken for granted.
Raikkonen’s artlessness is perhaps his most endearing quality: yes, he said, the mistake had been his, and he had no complaints. In wishing there were more like him, it seems to me that the time has come to abandon this constant ‘under investigation’ business: if a driver indulges in what used quaintly to be called ‘dirty driving’, particularly at a psychopathic level, he should be hammered, but if contact is plainly the result of an honest mistake, let’s see it for what it is, a ‘racing incident’, and – to use
Hamilton’s favourite phrase – ‘move on’.
From the word go Lewis had to fight at Silverstone, and once his anguished suggestion that his car was damaged had been dispelled by Mercedes engineers, he really got on with it, as later – after serving his penalty – did Kimi. While it was clear that most of those ahead wisely weren’t putting up much of a fight, the pair of them scythed through the pack, their closing speeds on others almost beyond belief. Verstappen felt as if he were in a Formula 2 car – and he was in a Red Bull. He should try a Mclaren some time.
To rapturous cheers from the Hamilton-mad crowd, soon after half-distance the safety car was deployed when Marcus Ericsson parked his Sauber in the fence, and then again – almost immediately – when Romain Grosjean had his latest accident, this time taking Carlos Sainz with him.
What all this meant was that the Mercs, the Ferraris and the Red Bulls were together for the final restart, and the prospects for the last 15 laps looked enticing. With fresher tyres, Vettel, Hamilton and Raikkonen all eventually got by the hapless Bottas, and Verstappen spun into retirement when his brake-by-wire system failed.
So it was the race ran out, and we had been starkly reminded – if such a thing were necessary – of the gloves-off capabilities of Mercedes and Ferrari relative to their opposition. No wonder other teams despair of the current Formula 1: in a spending war, only giants thrive, and never have we seen one like this.
Hockenheim provided a further opportunity for a Hamilton comeback drive, this time after an incident in Q1, which ruled him out of further involvement in the session, and obliged him to start the German
Grand Prix from the seventh row.
Charlie Whiting is one of very few with firm knowledge of how Ferrari’s recent power surge – estimated at 40 horsepower – has been achieved, but it’s been passed as kosher, and so Mercedes and Renault and Honda must try to figure it out for themselves. At Hockenheim
Ericsson’s Sauber was the only Ferrari-powered car not to qualify in the top 10.
German Grands Prix have been intermittent in recent years – no-one, Vettel included, has come close to replacing Michael Schumacher in the affections of the populace, who stayed away in droves – so for Mercedes, whose entire board of directors was to be present on race day, a strong result was even more vital than usual. More than once Hamilton had been off the road in Q1 before he ran wide at the first turn, skittering wildly over the kerbs, then immediately slowing. From the pits came an urgent instruction to stop, but this for a couple of kilometres was ignored.
Finally Lewis did pull up, and with the help of marshals began vainly pushing the car, which had suffered hydraulic
“IN A SPENDING WAR, ONLY GIANTS THRIVE, AND NEVER HAVE WE SEEN ONE LIKE THIS”
failure. Had this been brought about by the violent trip over the kerbs, or – robbing him of power-steering – had it been the cause of it? Initially the assumption by Toto Wolff and others was that it had been the former, but later Mercedes insisted that blame had not lain with the driver.
Whatever, Hamilton was understandably distraught at the thought of starting 14th in a race from which his championship rival was starting on pole. Sebastian Vettel, who had never won at Hockenheim in Formula 1, looked to have Sunday afternoon on a plate.
As it was, the German Grand Prix fell the way of Lewis, who banished his blues, and drove one of his greatest races, picking off most of those ahead with DRS ease, but doing it in supremely disciplined style. It must be said that without the intervention of rain he would not have won, for Vettel – comfortably in front – would not have made the error that took him into the fence, but the fact is he did, and instead of increasing his championship lead to at least 15 points, Sebastian ended the day 17 adrift of his rival.
A disastrous day for Ferrari, then, and at a moment when the team – for all its performance surge of recent days – was already in some turmoil, as revealed in a statement issued at Hockenheim: “The Board of Directors of Ferrari learned with deep sadness during its meeting today that Chairman and CEO Sergio Marchionne will be unable to return to work.”
This situation had arisen as a result of complications following an apparently routine operation on Marchionne’s shoulder, and as I write his condition is clearly grave. All, of course, wish Ferrari’s strong man well, but it was no more than inevitable that his leaving the helm at Maranello should swiftly lead to debate about its consequences.
On an immediate level, it appeared, for example, to lessen the chances of Charles Leclerc replacing Raikkonen as Vettel’s team-mate in 2019. In his end-of-term speech last December, Marchionne made clear that Kimi was on notice: yes, he had been scintillating at Monaco, but unless that sort of form were in more frequent evidence this season, it would be his last with the team. Never a man to speak idly, he was taken at his word, and although Raikkonen has driven some fine races, so – very much so – has Leclerc.
Unquestionably, though, Vettel wishes for Raikkonen to stay. The two have always had a good relationship, and of course Sebastian values an apolitical and unselfish team-mate, who, if called upon, can be guaranteed to do the right thing. For Kimi motor racing is one of the good things of life, but it is not life itself, and that makes him unusual in the upper echelons of Formula 1.
In his support of Raikkonen, Vettel has an ally in team principal Maurizio Arrivabene, who previously worked for
Philip Morris – whose CEO Louis Camilleri is expected to take Marchionne’s place as CEO at Ferrari. Some suggest, therefore, that Leclerc’s move to Maranello might take a little longer than expected.
Marchionne’s absence through illness will of course have repercussions, both for Ferrari and the future of Formula 1: given that his stepping down was anyway planned for next year, these things had already been long discussed.
Throughout his career Marchionne – among other things, lest we forget, formerly the chairman and CEO of Fiat Chrysler – has been known as a powerhouse of a man, and once involved in the day-to-day machinations of Formula 1 he lost no time in getting that across. As we know, there has for years been a power duopoly of Mercedes and Ferrari, the two companies making it very clear how they wished the future to be: if his requirements for the 2021 engine regulations were not met, Marchionne said, he would withdraw Ferrari from Formula 1, and whereas Enzo’s threats to do that were never taken seriously, this one came not from an emotional racing man, but a hard-boiled industrialist.
Unquestionably, too, Marchionne’s effect on Scuderia Ferrari has been profound. When he showed Luca di Montezemolo the door in the autumn of 2014, the team was in a state of chaos: in this first hybrid season the car had been embarrassingly off the pace, the clueless team manager – former salesman Marco Mattiacci – out of his depth, the number one driver, Fernando Alonso, at the end of his tether.
As Mattiacci was pitched, Vettel arrived from Red Bull, Alonso having decided to leave with two years of his contract to run. True enough, Fernando has not always made the best of career decisions, and this was surely the worst, for now Marchionne was taking personal charge of Ferrari’s F1 activities: when he said things were going to change, he meant it.
To no-one’s surprise, it has taken time to turn things round at Maranello, but Mattia Binotto – promoted from within by Marchionne – has been an outstanding success as technical director, and Ferrari is now in fear of no one.
Formula 1 is a ruthless business, as we know, and these days it is more difficult than ever for a young driver to break into its ranks – and then, once in, to stay there. Something close to a blank cheque is of course the most popular way to sidestep these problems, but otherwise, unless you have access to such things – or a once-and-for-all talent like Max Verstappen – job security can be hard to find, as such as Sebastien Buemi and Felipe Nasr will tell you.
Another I was sorry to see depart the F1 scene was Jean-eric Vergne, and while I struggle to enthuse about Formula E, it pleases me to see him thrive in another series. With that, and a sportscar drive, Vergne is doing very nicely, thank you, and says now that, even if an opportunity arose, he would not return to Formula 1.
The other weekend, in New York, he became Formula E champion, and good luck to him.
Jean-eric’s Brooklyn weekend, though, was not without blemish, for both he and Techeetah team-mate Andre Lotterer were fined €5000 and given two penalty points for breaching Article 30.14 of the FE sporting regulations during qualifying. Had they driven in a dangerous manner or ruined
“SOME SUGGEST THAT LECLERC’S MOVE TO MARANELLO MIGHT TAKE A LITTLE LONGER”
a rival’s quick lap? No, it was nothing as trivial as that: like Lucas di Grassi in Uruguay, they had blatantly – unforgivably – worn illegal underpants.
Would that I were making this up. When first it came to my notice, I thought immediately of Peter Ustinov’s Grand Prix of Gibraltar, of life – in this dispiritingly risk-averse age – imitating art. In Ustinov’s glorious pastiche, world champion Jose Julio Fandango is eliminated from the race when he takes to an escape road, and inadvertently crosses the Spanish frontier: “Of course,” the commentator says,
“he didn’t have his passport with him, and I can tell you from experience those boys can be nasty…”
Having been around this business for so long, it should be no surprise that occasionally I find myself remembering lost friends, and picturing their responses to events of the present age. I smile, for example, at the thought of what
Rob Walker and Ken Tyrrell – whose deals with Stirling Moss and Jackie Stewart, respectively, were sealed with a handshake – would have made of the year-long contract negotiations between Lewis Hamilton and Mercedes. I picture the outrage of Denis Jenkinson at the introduction of the halo, or Gilles Villeneuve at losing grid positions because of a gearbox change. In my mind, though, none come close to James Hunt’s reaction to Liberty Media’s ban on grid girls: never a great one for ‘brand values’, James.
And now comes the surpassing silliness of illegal underpants. In announcing the penalty dished out to Vergne (and Lotterer), the official bulletin read thus: “After checking the clothes, helmet and front head restraint of the driver, it was found that he was wearing non-compliant underwear pants, which are not allowed by the international sporting code.” One hesitates to consider the circumstances in which the underpants were ‘checked’.
This, I’m told, is what is known as ‘protecting people from themselves’ – it is not easy, after all, to see how ‘non-compliant underpants’ constitute a risk to any save those daring to wear them. Whatever, Jean-eric and Andre are out five grand apiece, so we may assume standard Y-fronts are off the agenda from now on, and thus the world is allowed to go on.
One day, when I was talking to Ustinov about his celebrated recording, he said, “At the time it was affectionate satire, but the way racing is these days, it’s starting to look more like a documentary…” That was nearly 20 years ago, some time before post-qualifying underpants inspections came in. I’m going to lie down now.