With the almost certain arrival of Adrian Newey in Lawrance Stroll’s team, Ferrari in Formula 1 finds itself more technically depleted than ever. Frederic Vasseur might be right in saying that the Maranello team has actually strengthened. But, to use a military metaphor, infantry is needed, but so are officers and generals. Enrico Cardile’s departure (the former Ferrari technical director is also heading towards Aston Martin) led many to think that this would mean Adrian Newey’s arrival at Ferrari. But instead, Maranello has lost both. It’s difficult to support the Italian team. We know this well…
But sometimes it’s also difficult to understand the world of Maranello. With the growing fame, notoriety, and even the track record, it’s as if the structure created by Enzo Ferrari has become less and less flexible, dynamic, and increasingly cumbersome, bureaucratic, and not agile. This is not entirely new, to be clear. Something similar often happens to large industrial and technological groups, like Apple, for example. The bigger they get, the more complex things become. It’s almost inevitable. And sometimes, this complication of simple matters leads to decisions and behaviors that, seen from the outside, seem incomprehensible.
It’s not that they lack an “internal” logic. But it’s a logic that escapes us because it’s so convoluted. Often it even escapes the decision-makers, entangled in industrial, political, and mental frameworks that prevent them from seeing that, to get from A to B, sometimes a straight line is enough. That’s the case with Adrian Newey. Signing him, at any cost, was a win/win. And it wasn’t done. Now, such a thing, a certain modus operandi, can also be seen in certain details. It’s often said that the devil is in the details. Historically, Ferrari has always had two critical points:
The relationship with the press and the extreme secrecy surrounding the technical aspects of their F1 cars. We rarely know how and why something breaks down in a Ferrari car unless it’s absolutely evident. As if saying something broke would somehow tarnish the image of the team and ultimately the Scuderia itself. Let’s consider a relatively recent example: the Austrian Grand Prix.
Charles Leclerc’s car stalls in the pitlane. Here’s an excerpt from our onboard analysis at the Red Bull Ring: “As for Charles, things get tremendously complicated. Car number 16 leaves the garage and suffers a problem at the end of the pitlane. The car goes into anti-stall mode, a system designed to prevent the loss of propulsive power, and then shuts down. Unfortunately, the mechanism kicked in when the car was actually in neutral. You could clearly see it from the steering wheel. Shortly after, Leclerc manages to restart, but the time available is really short.
This, considering that during the outlap, the Ferrari was not supposed to disturb the drivers who were already on a flying lap. Charles Leclerc fails to cross the finish line in time to start a flying lap and is unable to set a timed lap. He opens up on the radio, asking for clarification and emphasizing the fact that it was the anti-stall that shut off the engine, something that shouldn’t have happened. It’s clear from an initial analysis of the situation that Charles’s car No. 16 experienced an unprecedented problem. A malfunction in the system that ruined an already complicated qualifying session. Bozzi offers no explanations, cuts it short, and says they’ll discuss it in the garage.”
This incident became relevant again with a recent interview by Italian journalist Roberto Chinchero with Charles Leclerc Leclerc. In the end, the following question was asked by Roberto, with a cryptic answer from Charles: Question: “Can you explain now what happened in the pitlane at Spielberg when your engine shut off and you couldn’t restart?” Answer: “What really happened… I can’t say! Bye!” I can’t say. As if to say… I’ve received CATEGORICAL instructions not to say anything. If it had been his mistake, I don’t think the Monegasque driver would have had any particular issues making it known.
Are they hiding something borderline within the regulations? I don’t think so, but who knows. However, connecting the dots, it seems evident that extreme secrecy is precisely a way of operating in Maranello. At least in the sporting management. I reiterate, as if admitting to having suffered a breakdown or a problem would diminish Ferrari’s credibility. And I, foolishly, always thought that the results on the track determined the strength of an F1 team. Maybe I was wrong. But the real question is: does such an attitude serve any purpose? Does it pay off? Does it have any useful function for the cause? The answer is up to you, readers.
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