It was the transfer of the century. A move so seismic it reportedly made the Tifosi weep openly in the streets of Modena and sent shockwaves through the very foundations of Brackley. When Lewis Hamilton announced he was trading the silver arrows (and black beasts) of Mercedes for the scarlet romance of Ferrari, the Formula 1 world held its collective breath. We envisioned a glorious twilight chapter, a Schumacher-esque resurgence, an eighth world title draped in Italian red.

But now, as we stand in the cold light of January 2026, looking back at the wreckage of the 2025 season, the romantic comedy we were promised has tragically morphed into a dark, psychological thriller. The question on everyone’s lips isn’t “When will he win?” anymore. It’s a far more uncomfortable whisper: “Was this a terrible mistake?”

The Honeymoon That Never Started

Rewind to the start of 2025. The imagery was potent. Hamilton, free from what some jokingly called “Toto Wolff’s dungeon” of ground-effect misery, arrived in Maranello. The narrative was perfect: the greatest driver of his generation joining the most historic team. We were sold a story of a “fresh start,” a rejuvenated champion ready to adapt to a car that allegedly suited his driving style far better than the erratic Mercedes concepts of ’22 and ’23.

Yet, the warning signs were flashing neon red before the tire warmers even came off in Bahrain. The integration process, often glossed over in the hype reels, proved to be a mountain rather than a molehill. It wasn’t just about learning a new steering wheel layout—though the jokes about Hamilton needing a translator for the buttons weren’t far off the mark—it was about unlearning a lifetime of Mercedes philosophy.

Expectations were sky-high. Delusional, even. Fans expected Hamilton to stroll into the paddock, assert dominance, and leave Charles Leclerc in his dust. Instead, the reality of modern F1 struck hard: drivers need time. And time was a luxury the media wasn’t willing to grant.

Glimmers of False Hope

The tragedy of Hamilton’s 2025 season wasn’t that it was uniformly terrible; it was that it was cruel. It teased us.

Take the Australian Grand Prix. Despite forgetting the layout of Albert Park in the simulator (or so it seemed), Hamilton wrestled the SF-25 into Q3, qualifying just two-tenths off Leclerc. In the race, however, the gap widened. While Leclerc pulled audacious moves around the outside—ironically mirroring a young Hamilton’s move on Alonso back in 2007—Lewis struggled. He scraped home a single point. It was an ominous start, but we shrugged it off. Give him time, we said.

Then came the heartbreak of China. For a brief, shining moment, the “Hammer Time” of old returned. In the Sprint, Hamilton looked imperious, taking what felt like a classic pole and victory. The world rejoiced; the seven-time champion was back! He even out-qualified and out-raced Leclerc on Sunday.

But F1 is a cruel mistress. The FIA post-race checks found his Ferrari had been “railing the tarmac” a little too enthusiastically. Disqualification. The points vanished, and with them, seemingly, Hamilton’s confidence. That weekend in Shanghai was a microcosm of his year: incredible potential, cruelly snatched away by technicalities and misfortune. It was a high that made the subsequent lows feel so much deeper.

The Mid-Season Slump

After the false dawn of China, reality didn’t just set in; it poured concrete around Hamilton’s feet.

From Japan to Saudi Arabia, the disparity between the two Ferrari drivers became impossible to ignore. Leclerc was a machine, consistently locking out top-four grid slots. Hamilton? He was fighting for his life just to make it out of Q2. The car that was supposed to suit him suddenly looked like an untamed beast in his hands, while Leclerc danced with it.

There were reprieves, of course. The Miami Sprint saw Hamilton on the podium, largely thanks to Leclerc introducing his car to a wall on the way to the grid. But these were gifts, not conquests. The narrative had shifted from “Hamilton the Challenger” to “Hamilton the Survivor.”

The nadir of the European leg came at Imola and Silverstone. At Imola, Ferrari’s home turf, the team managed to botch the strategy so comprehensively that they broke international laws of common sense, leaving both drivers miserable. But Silverstone—Hamilton’s kingdom, the place where the British crowd usually lifts him two-tenths a lap—was the stinging slap in the face.

Comfortable in the car and buoyed by the home crowd, Hamilton looked set for a result. Yet, he crossed the line third, beaten not just by the frontrunners, but by competitors he would have lapped in his prime. The social media discourse turned toxic. “Was he washed?” “Is he the worst Ferrari driver ever?” The noise was deafening.

The Psychological Toll

What followed in the second half of the season was difficult to watch. We often forget, amidst the glamour and the millions, that these drivers are human beings. The psychological weight of underperforming in a Ferrari race suit is unlike anything else in sports.

By the time the circus reached Hungary, a track Hamilton historically owns, the defeat was palpable. Leclerc took pole; Hamilton looked despondent. The paddock whispers spoke of a depressed figure, a man wishing he could fast-forward to 2026. The qualifying gaps didn’t just remain; they grew. Six-tenths in Baku. Out-qualified in Singapore. The “magic” race-day resurgences that became his trademark at Mercedes were nowhere to be found.

The lowest point, however, came at the end. The triple header of the Americas was a horror show. Mexico marked his final Q3 appearance of the year—read that again. Mexico was his last Q3 appearance. By Brazil and Las Vegas, Hamilton had developed a magnetic attraction to the Q1 drop zone.

In Vegas, under the neon lights that should have highlighted his star power, he qualified dead last. His radio message—a dark quip about “trying not to kill myself”—was played off as gallows humor, but it hinted at a deep, resounding frustration. This wasn’t just a bad season; it was a soul-crushing one.

The Cold, Hard Numbers

You can argue about luck, you can argue about strategy, but in Formula 1, the stopwatch never lies. The end-of-season statistics paint a brutal picture of domination, and unfortunately for the British legend, he was on the receiving end.

In qualifying, the average grid position told the story: Leclerc sat pretty at an average of 5.46, while Hamilton languished back at 9.04. In a sport measured in thousandths of a second, that is a chasm. The points difference was equally stark—an 86-point canyon separating the two teammates. Hamilton didn’t just lose the intra-team battle; he was decimated.

It was, statistically and arguably visually, the worst season of Lewis Hamilton’s illustrious career. The “Fresh Start” had garnered fewer points and less joy than his “misery” years at Mercedes.

2026: Redemption or Retirement?

So, where does this leave us? The 2025 book is closed, and it’s a chapter most Hamilton fans will want to burn. But 2026 brings the great equalizer: new regulations.

The technical reset offers a glimmer of hope. The new generation of cars, moving away from the ground-effect philosophy that Hamilton so despised, could be the reset button he desperately needs. They are predicted to be closer in feel to the cars of his glory days—stiff, agile, and less reliant on running millimetres from the asphalt.

However, hope is not a strategy. Reports on Ferrari’s 2026 engine project are conflicting at best, with rumors oscillating between “revolutionary new approach” and “behind Renault” (which, in F1 terms, is a polite way of saying “slow”). Furthermore, Hamilton will be starting the season as a 41-year-old. The physical and mental reflexes required to wrestle these machines do not improve with age.

He also retains his race engineer, Ricardo Adami. While experienced, their partnership in 2025 seemed to lack the telepathic connection Hamilton shared with Peter “Bono” Bonnington. When your engineer tells you to “try to speed up” while you are dead last in Vegas, you know the communication breakdown is real.

Can Lewis Hamilton bounce back? History tells us never to write him off. He is a driver who feeds on adversity, who turns doubt into fuel. But the mountain he has to climb in 2026 is steeper than any he has faced before. He has to overcome a confident and dominant teammate in Leclerc, a possibly uncooperative car, and the creeping shadow of Father Time.

As we look toward pre-season testing, the sentiment is mixed. We want to believe in the fairytale ending, the eighth title in red. But after the nightmare of 2025, the fear is that we are not watching a stumble, but a fall.

One thing is certain: the eyes of the world will be on Maranello again. But this time, they won’t be looking for a savior. They’ll be watching to see if the King can simply stand up again.