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Opinion: in Formula One, the concept of ‘teammates’ is a curious contradiction

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Opinion: in Formula One, the concept of ‘teammates’ is a curious contradiction | Top Gear

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They're your closest ally, but also your closest threat. For drivers, navigating the relationship is a delicate balancing act

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Opinion: in Formula One, the concept of ‘teammates’ is a curious contradiction

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
They're your closest ally, but also your closest threat. For drivers, navigating the relationship is a delicate balancing act

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
They're your closest ally, but also your closest threat. For drivers, navigating the relationship is a delicate balancing act

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Opinion: in Formula One, the concept of ‘teammates’ is a curious contradiction

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Opinion: in Formula One, the concept of ‘teammates’ is a curious contradiction

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Opinion: in Formula One, the concept of ‘teammates’ is a curious contradiction

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
They're your closest ally, but also your closest threat. For drivers, navigating the relationship is a delicate balancing act

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In F1, the term ‘teammates’ is a misnomer. The irony is thicker than a C1 tyre compound – because these ‘mates’ are anything but. You want your teammate to be good (good enough to secure crucial, mutually beneficial, constructor’s points), but not too good to outshine you.

In F1, your teammate is your closest ally and your fiercest rival. They know your car, your strategy, and probably what your breakfast weighed. They’re the benchmark by which you are judged, the yardstick for your success, or indeed your failure. But it’s like being in a three-legged race where you and your partner have to run in perfect harmony but are secretly plotting to trip each other up.

Take the pit wall, for example. On race day, it’s a scene of split strategies... and personalities. One engineer is insisting your tyre strategy is optimal, while your teammate’s engineer is whispering the same sweet nothings into their ear about a contradictory decision. The garage is inevitably a den of duplicity, a place where data is shared, but paranoia can quickly set in.

Off the track, the relationship can be a peculiar dance of camaraderie and calculation. You might share a laugh over dinner, but behind every joke is a silent scorecard. “Pass the salt,” you say, but what you mean is, “How did you manage that sector time?” The podium often tells a tale of this ironic rivalry. When both teammates end up on the steps, it’s a spectacle of forced smiles and stiff hugs.

The most marked example in recent F1 history is that of Rosberg and Hamilton. Two gifted racers who grew up as best friends, but once a world championship was at stake, you’d presume they were sworn enemies from birth. We heard the passive aggressive radio messages and saw the petulant throwing of podium baseball caps… but behind the scenes, it would’ve been all-out tactical, psychological warfare. Which ended with Lewis leading the 2016 Abu Dhabi GP but desperately trying to back the chasing Nico into the pack behind. It didn’t work, and (not for the first or last time) Lewis lost a title at the last race of the season.

Teammate line-ups are one of F1’s great subplots. If you were a team principal, would you want a top tier talent twosome who could potentially destroy each other (say, a Senna/Prost or perhaps even Norris/Piastri) or a noble, obedient number two who vacuums up points but doesn’t get in the star act’s way – a Barichello, or a Bottas? Right now we’re mid silly season when the paddock is rife with rumour about drivers playing musical chairs. Who’ll be wearing Red Bull or Mercedes colours come the new rules in 2026 remains a fascinating prospect.

In the nearer future, I’m intrigued to see what will happen when Lewis joins Ferrari. Charles Leclerc is the clear #1 at the moment (after all it was Carlos Sainz and not him who had to make way for the seven-time world champion) and Charles knows what makes the team tick. Culturally, Ferrari is very different from Mercedes.

It’s the team every driver wants to drive for at one stage in their career, but it’s not the easiest to understand and navigate. What will Lewis do to fit in, but also to assert himself over Leclerc? How will Charles respond? Fascinating human science on the way in 2025.

# data.attributes.body.processed
In F1, the term ‘teammates’ is a misnomer. The irony is thicker than a C1 tyre compound – because these ‘mates’ are anything but. You want your teammate to be good (good enough to secure crucial, mutually beneficial, constructor’s points), but not too good to outshine you.

In F1, your teammate is your closest ally and your fiercest rival. They know your car, your strategy, and probably what your breakfast weighed. They’re the benchmark by which you are judged, the yardstick for your success, or indeed your failure. But it’s like being in a three-legged race where you and your partner have to run in perfect harmony but are secretly plotting to trip each other up.

Take the pit wall, for example. On race day, it’s a scene of split strategies... and personalities. One engineer is insisting your tyre strategy is optimal, while your teammate’s engineer is whispering the same sweet nothings into their ear about a contradictory decision. The garage is inevitably a den of duplicity, a place where data is shared, but paranoia can quickly set in.

Off the track, the relationship can be a peculiar dance of camaraderie and calculation. You might share a laugh over dinner, but behind every joke is a silent scorecard. “Pass the salt,” you say, but what you mean is, “How did you manage that sector time?” The podium often tells a tale of this ironic rivalry. When both teammates end up on the steps, it’s a spectacle of forced smiles and stiff hugs.

The most marked example in recent F1 history is that of Rosberg and Hamilton. Two gifted racers who grew up as best friends, but once a world championship was at stake, you’d presume they were sworn enemies from birth. We heard the passive aggressive radio messages and saw the petulant throwing of podium baseball caps… but behind the scenes, it would’ve been all-out tactical, psychological warfare. Which ended with Lewis leading the 2016 Abu Dhabi GP but desperately trying to back the chasing Nico into the pack behind. It didn’t work, and (not for the first or last time) Lewis lost a title at the last race of the season.

Teammate line-ups are one of F1’s great subplots. If you were a team principal, would you want a top tier talent twosome who could potentially destroy each other (say, a Senna/Prost or perhaps even Norris/Piastri) or a noble, obedient number two who vacuums up points but doesn’t get in the star act’s way – a Barichello, or a Bottas? Right now we’re mid silly season when the paddock is rife with rumour about drivers playing musical chairs. Who’ll be wearing Red Bull or Mercedes colours come the new rules in 2026 remains a fascinating prospect.

In the nearer future, I’m intrigued to see what will happen when Lewis joins Ferrari. Charles Leclerc is the clear #1 at the moment (after all it was Carlos Sainz and not him who had to make way for the seven-time world champion) and Charles knows what makes the team tick. Culturally, Ferrari is very different from Mercedes.

It’s the team every driver wants to drive for at one stage in their career, but it’s not the easiest to understand and navigate. What will Lewis do to fit in, but also to assert himself over Leclerc? How will Charles respond? Fascinating human science on the way in 2025.

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They're your closest ally, but also your closest threat. For drivers, navigating the relationship is a delicate balancing act