Yet Ferrari is a rollercoaster of emotions: it lifts you to the sky only to let you fall when you least expect it. Often the descent comes on Sunday, when the illusion built the day before vanishes in an instant.
For a moment, the battle between Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton threatened to repeat history: a duel driven more by pride than logic, more by heart than reason. Perhaps a futile fight, but also revealing. Within that tension lies the nature of this Ferrari: passionate, instinctive, still struggling to find the calm necessary to truly become great.
But in a country where dreaming is almost a duty, Ferrari managed to continue its positive streak. Charles Leclerc embodied that spirit with a defensive drive that became symbolic: a “Minister of Defense” in red, resisting lap after lap the attacks of Lando Norris with a clarity that spoke of maturity and pride. He did not yield out of surrender, but out of inevitability. And in that duel, which lasted longer than expected, a spark ignited: a livelier car, a driver regaining trust, a dream slowly beginning to take shape again.
Just like the Italians who once sailed to America with light luggage and hopeful eyes, the Scuderia displayed courage, heart, and determination. And for a moment, under the Texan sun and amid the roar of engines, it truly seemed possible to believe that the dream—of returning to being protagonists—could restart right here, in the land of dreams and possibilities.
