The Moss-Ferrari farce that current F1 drivers are thankfully spared

Oscar Piastri could easily HAVE painted himself into a difficult corner with his recent contract woes. Imagine the scenario: he walks into the McLaren garage at the first GP of 2023 to face a greeting like this from a person in papaya:

“Er, ’scuse me. What you doin’?”

“I’m getting into my car.”

“Hang on. Who are you?”

“Oscar Piastri. I believe I’m your driver.”

“Just a minute, mate.” The papaya person fishes in his pocket and produces various scraps of paper, all headed: ‘McLaren Racing: Anything Considered’.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t have your name here… Oh, wait, this list is for IndyCar. Lemme see… what’s this one? Formula E – nope, you’re not on this one either. Hang on, here’s another – WEC, whatever that is. Looks like we need three drivers per car, so plenty of room there. Could stick your name down? Just need your credit card details. And your lawyer’s name because, of course, we’re pretty good at making other teams look silly with their contractual pants down. Also, Zak Brown says I need to check if you’ve any outstanding finance on an Alpine road car. The French have been cutting up a bit rough recently.”

Far-fetched? Of course. But maybe not as much as you might think. One of Zak Brown’s heroes, Enzo Ferrari, treated Stirling Moss with such blatant disregard that the Englishman swore never to drive for the Prancing Horse, an unyielding stance that arguably cost Moss the championship he never had and truly deserved.

Moss had first come to Ferrari’s attention in 1949 when he turned up at a race in Italy and finished third on the tricky 10-mile Circuito del Garda road circuit. Moss was at the wheel of a rear-engined Cooper powered by a 1000cc twin-cylinder motorcycle engine. This spindly little machine may have been dwarfed and out-gunned by the V12 Ferraris ahead of it, but Moss’s performance that day captured the imagination of the public – who, for some reason, christened the air-cooled Cooper ‘The Jukebox’.

Moss continued playing the right tunes when he won the Tourist Trophy in a Jaguar XK120, his first international victory, in pouring rain on the fearsome Dundrod road circuit in Northern Ireland. The following day Moss celebrated his 21st birthday, which may be getting on a bit by today’s standards for future F1 stars but, in 1950, Stirling was considered a lad when compared, say, with Juan Manuel Fangio, who had taken part in his first grand prix a couple of years before at the age of 38.

Moss had continued to impress racing abroad in his F2 HWM. The British car’s suspension may have failed when leading on the streets of Erlen in Switzerland, but Stirling had done enough to warrant an invitation to Maranello. Moss thought nothing about making the 300-mile trip across the Alps in his Morris Minor (the equivalent of today’s Mini) for an audience with Enzo Ferrari.

Moss caught the attention of Ferrari but a potential partnership quickly soured

Photo by: Motorsport Images

With French as their common – if hesitant – language, it was agreed Moss would drive the new 2-litre Ferrari 500 at Bari on 2 September. Failing the car being ready in time, Moss would definitely race it two weeks later in the Italian GP at Monza. Even better, the Old Man wanted Moss to drive exclusively for Ferrari in 1952. Stirling described being the first British driver to receive such an invitation as “a terrific honour”.

The sense of anticipation can be imagined as Moss and his father, Alfred (who helped manage his son’s affairs), boarded a flight from London to Rome. Some of the glamour was admittedly lost on the overnight train travelling south-east towards Bari. Unable to sleep in the hot, stuffy carriage, Stirling attempted to open the window just as the train entered a tunnel, filling the compartment with smoke and ash.

All of that was forgotten on arrival as father and son located the garage being used by Ferrari and, to their delight, spied a brand new 500 sitting to one side. With time pressing, Moss hired a Fiat to become acquainted with the fast 3.4-mile Circuito del Lungomare through the city streets. Along the way, he met racing people, who confirmed the entry included Fangio and reigning world champion Giuseppe Farina in Alfa Romeo 159s, Luigi Villoresi and Alberto Ascari in a pair of Ferrari 375s, plus 15 assorted single-seaters; a strong entry for a non-championship GP. With practice due to start at 8.30am, Moss went to bed a very happy man.

Contract Recognition Board? Don’t be daft. In 1951, there were no contracts as we know the lengthy documents now, never mind a group of legal worthies to sit in judgement

Up bright and early, Stirling turned up at the Ferrari garage to make himself comfortable in the F2 car. As he sat in the cockpit, a mechanic came across and asked Moss who he was and what he thought he was doing – or words to that effect. He may have been unable to speak Italian, but Moss got the message that this car was due to be driven by Piero Taruffi, the Italian veteran who had finished second for Ferrari in that year’s Swiss GP. The bottom line was that Enzo Ferrari (absent on a race weekend, as usual) had changed his mind and told everyone – except Moss. Stirling was livid and left feeling completely helpless.

Contract Recognition Board? Don’t be daft. In 1951, there were no contracts as we know the lengthy documents now, never mind a group of legal worthies to sit in judgement. Deals were often agreed verbally and perhaps confirmed by a telegram. The actual signing of a piece of paper would be a formality in every sense. Different days, maybe. But underpinned by the same fundamental values of integrity and trust you would hope continue to exist today.

Piastri's switch to McLaren was decided by F1's Contract Recognition Board, a world away from the Moss and Ferrari fallout

Photo by: Carl Bingham / Motorsport Images