The great Ferrari crisis
The crisis of victories, the press piling on, and the hunt for scapegoats. That’s how it works at Ferrari. “It’s always the same story,” we commented last Monday, drawing a parallel with the storm Jean Todt faced in 1996.
But not only that, because if we take a step back to 1987, the comments from the national and international press were not so different from today’s. These are cyclical doubts that affect Maranello whenever it doesn’t win: there is talk of internal politics, too many chiefs, and the wrong people in the right places.
To put it into context: in July 1987, Ferrari had not won in almost two years and had not taken the drivers’ title for eight years and the constructors’ for four. They had hired the brilliant John Barnard, who had launched the “technological antenna” in Guildford, England.
The press review collected by Carlo Marincovich was gathered thanks to the valuable historical archive of Repubblica.
It was July 1987
Derek Allsop (Daily Mail): “Ferrari’s troubles all start inside the team, in the sense that in Maranello they had been waiting too long for the messiah and now that the messiah, John Barnard, has arrived, they are getting nervous because the miracle is missing. In my opinion, there are too many chiefs at Ferrari and nobody commands. Some time ago I visited the factory and when I asked ‘how many engineers do you have?’ first they told me 18, then 20, then ‘maybe even more.’ To be honest, I’m not surprised things are going badly. To run a team, like any small-to-medium company, you need just one boss with clear ideas, like at McLaren where Ron Dennis is the one who gives the orders.”
Jean Sage (former Renault sporting director): “I have many dear friends at Ferrari, but poor them, what a disaster… You see, Barnard is talented, he has done exceptional things, but he is not the man capable of making others work with enthusiasm. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me that Barnard has stepped on too many feet inside Ferrari, and then you could even speculate that seeing Barnard lose inside the team could even please someone…”
Wagner Gonsales (O Estado de San Paulo): “The perhaps insurmountable hurdle is to make Italians accept an Englishman and the English accept Italians. Second problem: the current car is not Barnard’s creation but Ferrari’s: patching it up is difficult. Third: in my opinion, there’s no point in designing new cars in England and building them in Italy. It never worked with the English in Brazil or America, so why should it work with you Italians?”
Patrick Camus (Auto Hebdo, France): “Ferrari lacks adequate structures, they made too abrupt a step from craftsmanship to industry. Then there’s a human problem: there are many good engineers and mechanics, but the right people are not in the right places. A team is like an orchestra; it requires harmony, enthusiasm, conviction—in short, a good working environment. Enzo Ferrari’s personality is so strong that his employees, trying too hard, often end up doing harm. Finally, I have a suspicion: between Maranello and Guildford, an unbridgeable gap is forming. It’s hard for me to imagine an Anglo-Saxon general leading Latin infantry.”
Mike Doodson (Grand Prix, England): “In my opinion, you Italians are too impatient with Ferrari. You need to have patience. The current car is a hybrid: Brunner’s chassis, Postletthwaite’s aerodynamics, English suspension, Italian brakes, American clutch, and maybe some parts made in Albania. I’m not a friend of Barnard, but I know that when he can build a car as he wants, things will work. Maybe he was too indiscreet in his recent interview, which I read and think is all true, but Enzo Ferrari himself was often indiscreet…”
And finally, Marincovich
A few days after the press review, Carlo Marincovich went to Guildford to see in person what he called “Barnard’s workshop.” He was not gentle at all—how would people react to such an article today?
“Forget the ‘technological antenna,’ there isn’t even a TV antenna. […] We arrived less than five minutes ago when John Barnard hurriedly comes down the stairs at the back of the house and peels out with screeching tires in his metallic blue Mondial; through the open windows, you see the entrance, lavishly furnished with modern white furniture, colorful carpets, and a stream of very pretty girls. In another room, a small canteen has been set up, but it’s obvious it doesn’t work yet; through the next open window, you see a meeting room, then finally an open door. That leads to the real workshop. ‘Clean your feet before entering,’ says a sign. […]
A worker comes out who speaks a little Italian and explains that everything is still to come, meaning the machinery has just arrived and it will take a long time before the workshop can work at full capacity. But then, what’s the use of this Ferrari? ‘Ferrari?’ the worker answers, surprised. Around here, no one knows what is hidden in this river house that is part of Broadford Park […]. Suddenly, the sound of bells brings all the workers of the English Prancing Horse to the street. The ice cream cart has arrived and everyone enjoys a sorbet on the lawn. […] Barnard left; there’s not even a shadow of Lambrusco here, but the beer mugs being emptied are huge. Barnard returns, Piccinini arrives too, both surprised to be watched in their mysterious sanctuary. We ask to visit the ‘factory’ but no way. Instead, a grim-faced henchman slams the door in our face to keep us from looking at the workshop. But by now we have seen enough. […] Forget the technological antenna: this is just a workshop, a duplicate of Maranello. Ferrari […] seems very far from past successes, and it seems impossible that from this luxury building can come any help to the ‘Reds’ for the moment. Ice cream, candies, and river prawns are, for now, the only things abundant here. Not a shadow of technology.”
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