The air in Maranello is thick with a familiar, suffocating sense of disappointment. For the Tifosi, the passionate sea of red that lives and breathes for Scuderia Ferrari, hope is a recurring, painful cycle.
The 2025 season was meant to be different. It was supposed to be the culmination of a grand rescue mission, a strategic overhaul designed to finally topple the modern titan of Formula 1, Red Bull Racing.
Yet, as the current season unfolds, the mission is not just failing; it is spectacularly unraveling, exposing deep-seated issues that new regulations and fresh paint cannot hide.
The recent Dutch Grand Prix at Zandvoort served as a brutal, high-speed autopsy of Ferrari’s failures. On paper, a slight improvement from the previous year—being two and a half tenths closer to pole—might seem like a small victory. But in the razor-thin margins of Formula 1, it was a hollow gain. The stark reality is that while Ferrari took a hesitant step forward, their rival, McLaren, took a monumental leap, effectively raising the bar for what it means to be a top contender. The Woking-based team has showcased what true holistic development looks like, transforming their car into a consistent threat, while Ferrari seems perpetually stuck in a developmental quagmire.
The core of Ferrari’s problem lies in a fundamental design philosophy that has backfired. In a bold attempt to emulate McLaren’s successful concept shift, Ferrari tried to pivot their car’s design for a final championship push under the current rules. It was a high-risk, high-reward gamble that, according to insiders, “just hasn’t worked.” The team finds itself hamstrung by a critical limitation: an inability to run the car low enough to the ground. In the ground-effect era of F1, this is a death sentence. It compromises every other aspect of the car’s aerodynamics and setup, turning their development path into a frustrating series of dead ends.
This persistent struggle breeds a unique brand of agony for the team and its fans. Unlike the more visible implosions at teams like Mercedes in recent years, Ferrari’s failure is a slow, grinding erosion of hope. They are not catastrophically slow, but they are critically incapable of winning. This constant state of being “almost there” is, in many ways, more painful than being completely off the pace. The double DNF at Zandvoort was the exclamation point on a season of frustration, a weekend that crystallized their fall from grace and highlighted the rising threat from an unexpected quarter.
The emergence of the newly rebranded Racing Bulls as a genuine midfield challenger has added insult to injury. To see the junior Red Bull team not just competing with, but actively “picking off” the works Ferrari cars is a humiliation that resonates deeply within the walls of Maranello. It is, as one paddock observer bluntly stated, “not really acceptable if you’re Ferrari.” The pressure now mounts for their home race at Monza, the temple of speed where the Tifosi demand nothing less than a miracle. But even with a “Monza special” low-downforce package, the shadow of McLaren’s superior tire management and raw pace looms large, making a home victory seem like a distant dream.
While one giant of the sport falters, the ruthless machine of the other, Red Bull, continues to churn out talent, creating a fascinating and high-stakes dilemma for its future. The name on everyone’s lips is Isack Hadjar. The young driver’s stunning podium finish at Zandvoort in Formula 2 has catapulted him into the center of the F1 driver market conversation. His performance has been a revelation, a case of “overachieving versus expectations,” and the question is no longer if, but when, he will be promoted to a Formula 1 seat.
However, this inevitable promotion comes with a chilling caveat: the “doomed” second Red Bull seat. For years, the garage bay next to Max Verstappen has been a career graveyard. Talented drivers like Pierre Gasly and Alex Albon have been chewed up and spit out by a team and a car that are singular in their focus: maximizing the generational talent of Verstappen. The car is notoriously tailored to Max’s unique, aggressive driving style, leaving his teammates to grapple with a machine that feels alien and unpredictable. Verstappen’s uncanny ability to drive around the car’s limitations only serves to magnify the struggles of whoever is on the other side of the garage.
This raises a crucial question for Hadjar and the Red Bull management. Is promoting him into this high-pressure environment a golden opportunity or a poisoned chalice? Some argue that the upcoming 2026 regulations could provide the perfect entry point. A “completely different car,” with potentially more benign aerodynamics and a wider setup window, could level the playing field and give a new driver a fighting chance. It could be the reset needed to break the curse of the second seat.
The situation also casts a light on the future of Yuki Tsunoda. The Japanese driver is under intense scrutiny. He must show consistent progress and close the gap to Verstappen to secure his future, a monumental task for any driver on the grid. Red Bull’s famed young driver program, once the envy of the paddock, is facing its own set of challenges. The talent pool is more competitive than ever, and finding another driver with the once-in-a-generation caliber of Max Verstappen is proving to be an impossible task.
The conversation even extends to the unthinkable: who would replace Verstappen if he were to leave? The consensus within the paddock is clear. A talent like Hadjar, promising as he is, would not be the immediate replacement. The team would undoubtedly look to the open market to sign an “established existing superstar,” someone who could immediately carry the weight of a championship-contending team.
Beyond the drama at Ferrari and Red Bull, other narratives continue to shape the grid. At Mercedes, the bold decision to promote Kimi Antonelli directly into the works team is being questioned. The young Italian is visibly struggling against the formidable benchmark of George Russell, leading many to believe that his promotion was premature, a “mistake” that could damage a promising career. Meanwhile, the quiet popularity of McLaren’s Oscar Piastri is a topic of discussion. Despite being universally liked and respected, the media narrative often gravitates towards his teammate, Lando Norris, whose more dramatic storyline and open struggles make for more compelling headlines.
The very structure of team management has also come under the microscope, with the long-standing practice of team principals like Toto Wolff also managing their own drivers raising questions about conflicts of interest. While it’s an uncomfortable reality of the sport, it’s a system so deeply entrenched in F1’s DNA that regulating it seems nearly impossible.
As the F1 circus rolls on, the contrasting fortunes of its most iconic teams paint a vivid picture of the sport’s brutal nature. Ferrari, a team steeped in history and passion, is trapped in a cycle of its own making, its rescue mission dead on arrival. Across the paddock, Red Bull faces the complex challenge of managing its success, nurturing new talent without sacrificing them to the altar of its reigning king. For the drivers, from the struggling rookies to the established champions, the pressure is relentless. In Formula 1, you are only as good as your last race, and the future is a finish line that is always moving.
