f1 sideblog

One of the most fun things about digging in to old races is the odd juxtapositions and parallels that come up, sometimes years or decades apart. So I wanted to compile a list of some of my favorites! Please enjoy this list of 5 different race pairs with different sorts of parallels.

2002 Austrian Grand Prix & 2002 United States Grand Prix

I learned about Austria 2002 fairly early on as an F1 fan -- the notorious over-the-line drivers swap that led to team orders being banned in Formula 1 for a decade. What I didn't know about was the bizarre accidental inverse of this which happened several races later that same season; at the US Grand Prix, Schumacher attempted to execute a photo finish, but he accidentally gave Barrichello the win instead. It's bizarre, and it's glorious, and it's so much more fun because it happened the same season as Austria.

2003 Brazilian Grand Prix & 2025 Brazil Sprint Race

In wet conditions, the same turn takes out several cars in these two races 22 years apart. The gradual accumulation of the car graveyard in Brazil 2003 is honestly a little comical. I think one of the most interesting things about this juxtaposition is that it highlights potential problems with these older tracks: Interlagos had and continues to have incredibly poor drainage.

2005 San Marino Grand Prix & 2006 Turkish Grand Prix

These two races have thrilling wheel-to-wheel action in the final stages between Fernando Alonso and Michal Schumacher -- in 2005, it's for the win, and in 2006, it's fighting for P2 while Felipe Massa soars to his maiden victory up ahead of them. Both races left me looking at Alonso and saying that he was driving like a champion.

2007 European Grand Prix & 2021 Hungarian Grand Prix

Honestly the similarities are almost eerie with these races -- they start in the wet, and then enormous pile-ups result in red flags, after which the track is drying. The conditions and the chaos amongst the front runners lead to surprising race leaders (unless you already know about this race, I can almost guarantee you've never even heard of the driver who leads several laps in 2007, as it is quite literally his only race start in F1). I am such an emphatic fan of both of these races.

2010 Turkish Grand Prix & 2019 Brazilian Grand Prix

I couldn't make a list of race parallels and not include this one... What if Sebastian Vettel was attempting overtakes on 2 different teammates down the straight on 2 different tracks 9 years apart and both times he caused a race-ending collision? What if in one race his star is rising and in the other he is visibly entering the sunset of his career? It's delicious!

Plus some honorable mentions with smaller details I enjoy:

Silverstone 2003 & Baku 2017: The actual impetus for this list, but not interesting enough to justify including above; David Coulthard and Lewis Hamilton's headrests become dislodged mid-race and they have to pit to fix them. These are the only races I've ever seen this happen in, and I happened to watch them within a week of each other.

Australia 2006 & Spa 2019: Jenson Button and Lando Norris have mechanical failures just by the start line on the final laps of the race.

⎯ε✿з ݁ㅤׅ⠀ george russell

weeeeell. there's not TOO much more to say about their present-day relationship, where it's just lewis mournfully wandering the halls of his castle and bono bringing him shiny handmade things like a distressed magpie. but i DID find this bit in the docs (from over a year ago??) that is set during the war. a post-battle bloodlust situation. it would seem

Lewis’ body becomes a blade beneath Bono’s hands. The angles of chest-waist-hip are familiar as his own sword—the strong, sharp jut of an ankle as easy to heft as the hilt of any weapon.

He goes easily to the ground. He is beautiful, smeared in blood and mud like warpaint. There is blood in a stroke across his cheek. There is blood shining in the delicate knotting of his braids. There is blood caught in the feathery cut of his eyelashes. 

There is blood on Bono’s hands, too. He leaves handprints in shades of scarlet across the dark expanse of Lewis’ belly, around a strong thigh, the solid swell of his arse. He’s not gentle, wrenching Lewis’ body around and over. Putting him on hands and knees. Bending over him and rutting like an animal. 

He is aware of sound; from himself, from Lewis, the shrill cicada-song ringing out from the forest. There’s no one near enough to hear Lewis keen when Bono breaches him, in something that should be only pain but is painted thick with layers of pleasure. There’s no one left to hear Bono hiss and groan and howl while he fucks his king into the ground.

He is aware of these things. Of sound, of sensation. Of taste, when he folds as if forced by an invisible hand, mouth gaping wide, tongue searching for the salt-sweat at the back of Lewis’ neck. He is aware of pleasure. He is aware of Lewis’ body, and its tight heat, and of Lewis’ fingers clawing at the dirt. 

He is aware, but awareness is not the same thing as lucidity. When he finds lucidity again it is a horror.

When he comes back to himself he sees what he has done. He sees the way he has shaped his king beneath his hands—Lewis, on his back, dappled in red, and in white, in fluids that shine and drip and are only just starting to dry in the western sun. Bono had, it seems, at some point torn Lewis’ clothes from his body so viciously that they’re barely recognizable as clothes anymore.