When seven-time world champion Lewis Hamilton announced in 2025 that he would be donning Ferrari red, the entire F1 world went into overdrive. The media practically spun it into a modern-day Roman Holiday—on one side, the sport’s living legend with more trophies than he can count; on the other, the prancing horse, an 800-year-old aristocrat of racing heritage. It looked like a fairytale “prince and princess live happily ever after” script.
But who could’ve guessed that by spring, this romantic blockbuster would twist into a motorsport version of Les Misérables.
At the Hungarian Grand Prix weekend, Hamilton’s comments turned the live broadcast into a stand-up roast. Staring straight into the camera, he fired: “Right now I’m just useless—this team should find another driver.” The commentator nearly spilled coffee all over the soundboard. Remember, this is a guy with 105 race wins under his belt. Even more heartbreaking? This wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment meltdown. After finishing with yet another stagnant result, he told Sky Sports—half holding back, half letting slip—“Some things are hard to say, but I truly love this team. When we’re back after summer break, I’ll definitely bounce back.” It sounded exactly like a student who flunked finals promising the teacher they’ll work harder next semester—believe it if you’re feeling naïve.
If we’re talking about bizarre seasons, Hamilton’s 2025 stat sheet could win an absurdist comedy award. He opened with a single-point finish so underwhelming the Union Jack barely dared to wave in the stands. Then, just a week later, he went full beast mode in the Chinese Sprint and took the win—only to see his Grand Prix result wiped from the books for excessive plank wear. Credit where it’s due, he kept scoring points for 11 straight races until Budapest finally broke the streak. Had the China result stood, he’d have missed the points just once all year. For most drivers, that’s a career highlight worth celebrating; for him, it’s like a Michelin-star chef serving fried rice—it’s edible, but nowhere near the prestige of his name. The real kicker? The teammate comparison.
Racing alongside his teammate is like a top student competing with an academic prodigy—both are great, but the gap is obvious. He’s behind in qualifying, unable to get the upper hand in races either. And this trend didn’t just start after joining Ferrari. As Toto Wolff recently pointed out, George Russell had been faster since the latter half of 2023, and that pattern has carried over. To be fair, switching teams is like switching operating systems—new team, new car, new engine, even adjusting how you stand on the timing board is a thing. And Ferrari’s team culture? More dramatic than Italian opera: one minute it’s singing your praises, the next it’s tragedy over a strategy blunder.
The radio chatter from the SF-25 garage alone tells you how rough it’s been. The car itself is a handful—like a moody teenager. Sometimes it surprises you; the next moment, it ghosts you. Top speed is lacking, tires are temperamental. Even Charles Leclerc, wringing every ounce out of the steering wheel, has to wrestle with it daily. The root of the problem? The fallout from Shanghai’s disqualification, forcing the team to raise the floor for compliance. Good results? Forget it. To make matters worse, the 2025 car was designed while Hamilton was still at Mercedes. By the time he rolled into Maranello with his suitcase, the car was already set in stone. Leclerc had logged hours in the simulator and built muscle memory; Hamilton? It’s like showing up to an exam when everyone else already has the cheat sheet—passing at all would be a win.
Still, fans shouldn’t despair. Next year’s regulation changes will reset the playing field, giving Hamilton a fresh shot to stamp his authority. The 2025 season? Just treat it as a “life experience” year at Ferrari. As for those retirement rumors—nonsense. He’s declared his love for the team loud and clear, and Leclerc has publicly smoothed things over: “It was just a heat-of-the-moment reaction—he’ll be back.” And with such massive rule changes coming, who’s to say Ferrari won’t suddenly find form? After all, we’ve been hearing “this is Ferrari’s year” for nearly two decades—one day, it might actually be true.
In short, Hamilton’s first year at Ferrari has been like drinking a cappuccino spiked with mustard—looks classy, tastes like tears. But can he turn it around? As long as his fighting spirit is intact, don’t bet against a comeback. In F1, the wildest scripts can come true. That said, the Brit shouldn’t expect the team to tailor everything to his liking. Maybe he should take a page from Kimi Räikkönen’s book. Back in 2007, Kimi waltzed in and grabbed the title on his first try. More importantly, he mastered the art of keeping to himself—talk less, work more, tune out the noise. Don’t take yourself too seriously, but don’t take yourself too lightly either. If Hamilton can channel that Kimi Zen, he might just figure out how to make peace with Ferrari.
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