the madszine

As I geared up for the back-to-back F1 weekends at the end of July, my excitement was mixed with a looming dread of the summer break. Three weeks off from the grid? What was I going to do with myself? Before the showdowns at the Hungaroring and Spa, I found myself praying to the F1 gods every morning in front of the mirror as I got ready for work.

“Two Red Bull-less podiums and an announcement about the second Williams, Mercedes, or Alpine seats, please.”

The long and short of the story is this: I got what I wanted but kids, be careful what you wish for.

Now I sit here in the dying dregs of a wet and dismal Scottish July, in the wake of the Hungarian and Belgian Grands Prix and so, in case you missed the melodramatic action, don’t worry, because I’m about to give my completely unrequested opinion on it. 

The first front row lock-out for McLaren in twelve years saw Norris on pole and Piastri in P2, with Verstappen nestled behind them in P3. Sainz, Hamilton, and Leclerc rounded out the top six. Immediately pure gold came from Piastri, who had a picture-perfect start, leading the race from the first corner in such a way that made victory seem innevitable.

I found myself sitting back and relaxing watching a Piastri masterclass in control at the front, the McLaren looked fast and with Piastri holding first and Norris sitting in second I turned my attention to the somewhat nostalgic combat taking place between Verstappen and Hamilton for third. I was so engrossed by the two battling backwards and forwards in a way that reminded not only me, but the commentary box as well, of the wheel-to-wheel racing of 2021 that I at first didn’t notice the catalyst of chaos occur. 

I glanced at the tracker and asked the question that would haunt me for the next week: “Why have they pitted Norris first?”

That simple decision from McLaren spelled disaster. Piastri, charging towards his first F1 Grand Prix win, faltered. The skill battle between Hamilton and Verstappen was quickly overshadowed by a battle in hostage negotiation between Norris and his engineer. What seemed like a vibrant and controlled victory for Piastri was stripped away by team decisions and the stubbornly unmoving mass that was Norris out in front.

Although Norris did eventually move aside to let Piastri pass in the closing laps of the race, the result felt hollow. The only silver lining was a minor collision between Hamilton and Verstappen, caused— in my professional opinion—by Verstappen being an idiot. Although the collision wasn’t enough for either driver to be forced to retire it was enough to momentarily give Verstappen’s RedBull wings. 

McLaren denying Piastri the solid first win he deserved whilst somehow simultaneously denying Norris points in the drivers’ championship (whether they would’ve been valuable or not) left me with a sour taste in my mouth which lingered into the next week and Spa. 

It was difficult, I pondered whilst trying to write this article a week ago, to find a way to fully defend Norris’ actions even by shifting some of the blame onto McLaren HQ and so I put down my keyboard and waited for something exciting to take my mind off my troubles – and I was rewarded.

My reward came in the form of an unexpected George Russell masterclass, devising a one-stop strategy mid race with his team. I couldn’t help but smile thinking how much he sounded like his teammate Lewis Hamilton and how much confidence his victory in Austria had clearly brought him.

It provided a thrilling climax to an already drama-soaked Spa weekend as Hamilton ate up the seconds lap after lap on Russell who was on tyres over twenty laps older than himself, and Piastri, who had apparently put rocket fuel in his car during his final pit stop began to emerge in the Mercedes’ driver’s wing mirrors. Although, as Hamilton sat so close to Russell that the front wing of his car was practically under the back of Russell’s in the final laps of the race I did begin to wonder how Hamilton wasn’t able to make the overtake. 

The reason became clear as my dad drove me home after the race. I exclaimed “FUCK” as we pulled into my road. George Russell; disqualified for an underweight car. My thirteenth reason was narrowly avoided however, as this DQ granted me a long-awaited Leclerc podium – the first one since Monaco earlier this year.

After two weeks of grid-caused and grid-executed mayhem, I was surprisingly ready for a few weeks off. Maybe a couple of staff and team announcements—nothing major. This morning, I opened Instagram to message a friend my meaningless but important to be heard and validated thoughts. First post, front page, staring at me loud and clear, headline news the first day of the summer break.

And isn’t that the joy of Formula 1? It never gives the teams, drivers, or viewers a break.

I spam-texted my friend in block caps, hoping he’d read it before seeing it on Twitter: “SAINZ IS DRIVING FOR WILLIAMS!!”