‘It’s not a race, it’s a farce’: Inside ‘f***ing crazy’ event that almost killed F1, 20 years on

Formula 1 has had plenty of dim days, but 19 June 2005 will surely stand forever as the most farcical afternoon in world championship history.

Exactly 20 years ago today the lights went out on the 2005 United States Grand Prix, Formula 1’s most infamous race.

Just six cars launched from their awkwardly staggered grid positions of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, one of the world’s most hallowed racing circuits.

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The other 14 cars had peeled into pit lane following the formation lap, the result of a catastrophic political and logistic failure that came close to obliterating Formula 1 from the sporting landscape of the United States.

It was a remarkable act of self-sabotage that came only five years after Formula 1 had returned to the US, having endured an eight-year absence after its earlier love affair with the nation had fizzled out.

The long-awaited reunion and following fiasco took place in American racing’s holiest temple: the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

F1 had struggled to pin down a long-term home in the US during the 1980s and had subsequently failed to establish a meaningful foothold in the gargantuan American sporting market.

But now it had the chance to argue its case on American motorsport’s biggest stage.

All the stops were pulled out to make it happen, with IMS even building a bespoke infield circuit for Formula 1 that incorporated one corner of its famous banked speedway.

More than 225,000 people turned up to the first race, the biggest Sunday crowd in Formula 1 history even to this day.

It was a roaring success. But it wasn’t to last.

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THE BEGINNINGS OF DISASTER

The farce of 2005 had its origins in an innocuous bit of circuit maintenance that took place months earlier.

The oval had been fully resurfaced and then diamond cut to smooth some bumps in the turns that were deemed unacceptable for the flat-out speeds in the Indy 500, America’s biggest motor race.

It added up to a significantly grippier track surface than Formula 1 had experienced the previous year.

These were the days of multiple tyre manufacturers in Formula 1, with the grid divided between Bridgestone and Michelin. In 2005 Bridgestone supplied Ferrari along with backmarkers Minardi and Jordan, while Michelin supplied the rest of the grid.

Neither manufacturer had forecast the gravity of the surface changes when they were made, but Bridgestone at the time was supplying IndyCar with tyres via its American Firestone brand, from which it got what proved to be a decisive tip-off following an Indy 500 test day: the new surface was a tyre-killer.

The Japanese tyre brand therefore turned up to the grand prix prepared. Michelin didn’t know what it was in for and never stood a chance.

The first sign of problems came during Friday practice, when Toyota driver Ralf Schumacher suffered a rear-left Michelin tyre failure through the banked turn 13, triggering a monster crash.

He was replaced by Toyota test driver Riccardo Zonta, who subsequently suffered a tyre deflation at the same place.

At first glance it looked like nothing too peculiar, particularly given the issue appeared to affect only one car.

But when other Michelin-shod cars returned to pit lane with signs of terminal damage to their tyres, it became clear the French manufacturer was in strife.

Through the high-speed banking, where the tyre was subjected to up to 1200 kilograms of vertical and lateral load, the Michelin tyre construction was deforming until eventually it collapsed.

Michelin had been using a different construction to Bridgestone that year in response to a regulation change banning tyre changes during races. It meant the tyre compounds had to be much harder, more durable, to make it to the end of a grand prix. Michelin compensated for this by making its construction more flexible to keep more of the tread in contact with the road more often.

But that flexibility meant through the banking, which was taken in excess of 300 kilometres per hour, the tyres were also shouldering more of the load than they should have — and more than they were designed to handle.

The flexing damaged the construction with each lap until it eventually failed.

It meant even the team’s back-up tyre option — which was a softer compound anyway, as was the way during the era of competition between tyre manufacturers — was no better. All of Michelin’s F1 tyres suffered from the same fatal flaw.

With no other tyre construction ready to go back at base, the French manufacturer had been caught completely off-guard and had no obvious way to complete the weekend.

POLITICAL CHICANERY

By Saturday morning Michelin had communicated to its teams that it has serious problems. Based on data gathered on Friday, it couldn’t guarantee its tyres would last for more than 10 laps at a time.

On track the teams responded by completing only short runs during practice. Off the track the politicking started.

To combat tyre deformation, you can either increase the tyre pressure or decrease the load on the tyre by decreasing the speed.

Michelin had already pumped up pressures as high as the tyre had been designed to tolerate. The only other lever to pull was to try to reduce speed through the banked turn.

The installation of a chicane before turn 13 was proposed, breaking up the long run from turn 11 and through the sweeping turn 12.

It wasn’t totally without precedent, with a temporary chicane having been installed for the Spanish Grand Prix some 11 years earlier, although in that case the decision was made before the weekend had started and after the drivers had resolved to boycott the race if the change wasn’t made.

Unanimity can achieve much in Formula 1. But whereas the drivers were united in 1994, the teams in 2005 were not.

Ferrari, Bridgestone’s closest partner, refused to engage with the process. The then team principal, Jean Todt — who would later become FIA president — said simply that it wasn’t his problem and up to the FIA and Michelin to figure it out for themselves.

But even if Ferrari had come to the table, the FIA was staunchly against any last-minute alteration to the track.

Max Mosley, the former barrister who was then the head of the FIA, said there was a clear legal argument behind his refusal to consider a circuit change.

“The decisive reason was that changing the circuit without following our own safety procedures would leave the FIA exposed if there were an accident,” he said.

“Imagine trying to explain to an American judge hearing a case involving injuries to spectators that you had changed the circuit without following any of your own standard safety procedures and checks.

“Doing so because some competitors had brought the wrong tyres would certainly not impress the court, indeed quite the reverse — it would give the impression that those running Formula 1 were either incompetent or irresponsible.”

The teams nonetheless persisted, spearheaded by Bernie Ecclestone, representative of the commercial rights holder.

Ecclestone was motivated by spectacle over sport, but he was acting against a political backdrop of growing malaise among the teams over the FIA’s stewardship of the sport — admittedly a story as old as time.

He likely saw a chance to score a political win with the teams, uniting with the teams against the headstrong and inflexible governing body.

At Bernie’s insistence, circuit organisers started building a chicane despite a lack of approval from the FIA.

Mosley lunged for the nuclear option. If the circuit were to be changed, the race would be called off. FIA staff would down tools and head home. The withholding of approval of other races in the United States was also threatened.

Work on the chicane was undone, plunging the race back into doubt.

COMPROMISES COLLAPSE

With the clock counting down, every option was canvassed.

“We made various proposals to solve the problem, any of which would have allowed all the teams to race without us having to break our own rules,” Mosely said.

The alternatives, however, were difficult for the teams — including the two non-Ferrari Bridgestone teams — to accept.

One was to allow Michelin teams to make tyre changes every 10 laps to ensure the rubber wasn’t damaged past the point of no return. That would have meant seven tyre changes — and this in a year tyre changes had been banned.

Another was to have the cars run through the pits — at the pit lane speed limit — every lap given pit entry bypassed turn 13.

It was also suggested that the Michelin teams could all agree not to race on the banked part of turn 13, taking instead the flat lower line through the corner, or they could also agree to simply limit their speed through the corner to ensure they didn’t stress the tyres.

None of these tweaked rules would apply to the Bridgestone runners.

“The seven teams — McLaren, Renault, Williams, Toyota, BAR, Red Bull and Sauber — rejected every one of our solutions,” Mosley said.

“The measures we proposed would all have placed the Michelin teams at a disadvantage, but this was to be expected as they had brought the wrong equipment and could not run at full speed on all parts of the circuit for more than a few laps at a time.

“But running at a disadvantage was certainly better than not running at all.”

But several teams highlighted safety concerns with those alternatives. Having cars running at different speeds at the fastest part of the track would have created a huge hazard. Likewise having the Michelin cars peeling off to a separate part of the track and then rejoining — also with a huge speed deficit — would have been dangerous.

Having 14 cars lapping through pit lane constantly also had clear safety implications for the people working there.

Australian Paul Stoddart was principal of the Bridgestone-shod Minardi team at the time, and in an open letter published in the days following the race he accused Mosely of failing in his role as steward of the sport.

“Mr Mosley … had no idea whatsoever of the gravity of the situation, and furthermore, cared even less about the US Grand Prix, its organisers, the fans, and indeed, the hundreds of millions of television viewers around the world who were going to be affected by his intransigence,” he wrote.

“By this time, the nine teams had discussed running a non-championship race, or a race in which the Michelin teams could not score points, and even a race whereby only the Michelin teams used the new chicane, and indeed, every other possible option that would allow 20 cars to participate and put on a show, thereby not causing the enormous damage to Formula One that all those present knew would otherwise occur.

“Mosley refused to accept any of the solutions offered, and that refusal was, I believe, politically motivated. Therefore, I feel he failed in his duty, and that is why I have called for his resignation.”

Stoddart and Mosely already had beef between them. The Australian had long fought for cost controls that would have benefitted his cash-strapped team but put him at odds with the FIA. He later vociferously argued against Mosley approving an extension to the so-called Concorde agreement — the commercial and governance deals that bind the sport together — that appeared to be a Ferrari sop, and he accused the FIA boss of unconstitutionally changing the regulations for 2005.

In short, they didn’t get along.

But the iron-willed Mosley wouldn’t be turned. And with no acceptable compromise found to have the Michelin cars complete the race, they agreed to line up on the grid to satisfy the regulations but then return to pit lane at the end of the formation lap to withdraw.

‘THIS IS F***ING CRAZY’

Stoddart emerged from the weekend with the clearest conscience, having been publicly and vociferously on the side of the Michelin teams despite helming a Bridgestone-shod team.

Minardi was an iconic F1 minnow, an honourable but perpetual backmarker whose best season was a return of seven points in 1993.

In 2005 it was anchored at the bottom of the table with Jordan, which had recently been sold by eponymous founder Eddie Jordan and was now headed by Colin Kolles. Jordan was also a Bridgestone runner.

Both teams had much to gain from a situation in which no Michelin cars started the race. Not only would they be guaranteed points, but whoever scored the most points on Sunday would be almost guaranteed to finish ahead of the other on the championship table and therefore be entitled to a greater share of prize money.

For most of the weekend the two teams stuck fat with the Michelin squads, leaving Ferrari isolated.

But Stoddart sensed something had changed when the Jordan cars fired up and were first to head to the grid.

“I asked Jordan’s Colin Kolles if he intended to stand by the other teams or participate in the race,” he wrote in his open letter. “In no uncertain terms, I was told Jordan would be racing.”

He later revealed Bridgestone threatened to withdraw its tyre supply if Minardi didn’t race.

Having taken a principled stand and having intended to have his cars return to pit lane with the rest of the Michelin runners, Stoddart was suddenly in an invidious position.

With great reluctance he let his cars start the race.

Spotted smoking a cigarette behind his garage by Dutch television while the race unfolded, Stoddart unleashed in a famous tirade.

“This is f***ing crazy,” he said. “The FIA needs to get a grip with itself and sort this sport out before there’s no f***ing sport to sort out. This today is bullshit.

“I don’t take any pleasure in this. It’s not a race, it’s a farce, and my apologies go out to the fans that are here today and to the millions and millions of people watching this on television around the world.”

It took the boss of an F1 backmarker to express what the FIA had appeared to have forgotten among the politicking — that the sport had a responsibility to its fans as well as its regulations.

BACK FROM THE DEAD

Formula 1’s blossoming relationship with the United States was immediately tainted.

The late Charlie Whiting, the race director and official starter at the time, saw it happen in real time.

“It was pretty awful starting that race,” he told Autosport. “My goodness, the crowd opposite, when I climbed down off the start platform, you should have heard the boos. It was horrendous.

“I wanted to run inside, but I tried to walk in as dignified a fashion as possible!

“Obviously it wasn’t me they were aiming their boos at, but what really worried me was when they started throwing beer cans onto the track at the first corner. I thought if that gets a hold, we’ll have to stop the race.”

The 100,000-strong crowd walked out in disgust, with most having left before Michael Schumacher collected his only winner’s trophy of the season for leading home a Ferrari one-two ahead of the two Jordans and the two Minardis, one lap and two laps down respectively.

Michelin paid for refunds and supplied 20,000 free tickets for the following year’s race, but the damage had been done.

Formula 1 left the United States at the end of 2007, when Indianapolis chose not to extend its contract.

It was back in the American sporting wilderness without a home.

It took five years for the first green shoots to appear stateside with the construction of the Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas. It took time, but eventually COTA established itself as a sustainable home for the sport, and its popularity exploded following the pandemic, boasting sellout weekend crowds of more than 400,000 people each year since its return.

It’s also holding its own alongside new races in Miami and Las Vegas. Whereas the highrolling new arrivals play to a glitzier crowd, Austin identifies with the hardcore F1 and motorsport fan.

In this way F1’s recovery in the United States is an analogy for the sport’s turnaround as a whole.

Formula 1 in 2025 was wracked with toxic self-interest, totalitarian governance and poisonous politics. The sport has serious systemic issues that were beginning to become apparent, but it was often its own worst enemy in trying to fix them.

But under the stewardship of Liberty Media — which took control of the sport from private equity firm CVC Capital Partners — F1 has been transformed into an environment far more conducive to effective decision-making and good governance, even if some tensions between the sport and the FIA remain.

The gulf between the front and the back is smaller than ever. Competition is closer and more fierce. The teams are wealthier and more financially stable than they’ve ever been. And F1 resultantly is more popular than it’s ever been.

It’s difficult to imagine the sport today repeating its 2005 fiasco. So long as the lessons learnt about governance and compromise on that grim weekend are remembered, 19 June 2005 will remain as Formula 1’s most farcical day.