Why carrot can be so much more effective than stick when getting the best out of a driver

There was a lovely moment – well, several, actually – during a post-qualifying interview in Belgium, where reaching Q3 was clearly a recent novelty for Yuki Tsunoda.

As soon as he arrived on the Sky F1 interview platform, Yuki, with his back to the camera, proceeded to politely shake the hands of all three of the bemused presenters in the middle of a live broadcast, bits of Natalie Pinkham’s script fluttering to the floor since she needed three hands to cope with notes, microphone and such delightful formality.

Nico Rosberg – always a refreshingly confident and direct presence – hit on a pertinent point when he asked Tsunoda if the arrival of Laurent Mekies as team principal at Red Bull had brought some reassurance following their time together at Racing Bulls (and whatever bizarre team titles had been dreamed up during previous seasons).

Rather than, as you might expect, stating the obvious with a simple confirmation, Tsunoda launched into a thoughtful recollection. “Whenever I was into Q2 and ready for Q3 [in the past], he [Mekies] was always smiling at me from the pitwall,” said Yuki.

“I was watching him, thinking he showed me a happy emotion. Exactly the same thing happened today. Those feelings were definitely a nice flashback from old times.”

Tsunoda responded to such beaming benevolence by qualifying a fine seventh for his 100th grand prix; the first time he had reached the top 10 at Spa. OK, his performance will have benefited from upgrades to the floor of the tricky RB21. But his genuinely warm response did make you wonder about the vibes coming from the Red Bull pitwall in the past.

It’s easy to dismiss the effect of soft and subliminal encouragement as sentimental claptrap in the hard-nosed business of Formula 1. But any sports psychologist will tell you about the benefits for motivation and self-worth. It’s a comparatively new phenomenon.

Mention of a driver’s mental performance enhancement 30 years ago would have been treated with the same derision as an F1 mechanic saying it might be nice if they didn’t have to work through the night with a McDonald’s takeaway as the highlight. 

Boutsen celebrated in Hungary in 1990 while the team high-ups headed for the airport

Photo by: Motorsport Images

I’m not just talking about an arm round the shoulder if the driver is a couple of tenths short in lap time and has difficulty rotating his besieged reputation mid-corner. How about if you’ve had the mother and father of accidents due to car failure?

When a disc on Derek Daly’s Tyrrell shattered under heavy braking during the 1980 Dutch Grand Prix and took the left-front suspension with it, the Irishman careered into the tyre barrier at Tarzan, briefly headed for the sky, before crash-landing on top of the guardrail.

Daly, shocked but miraculously unhurt, later returned from the medical centre and found nothing but his clothes piled in a corner of an empty Tyrrell motorhome.

This could also apply at the other end of the mood scale. One of Thierry Boutsen’s most memorable victories – in fact, a fine win by any standards – came at the end of a tenacious drive in Hungary in 1990.

Traffic in Hungary may have been notoriously difficult in the rush to the airport, but it was no coincidence that Frank Williams and Patrick Head had already decided to replace Boutsen with Nigel Mansell for 1991

The Williams-Renault driver ran non-stop and nursed the same set of tyres for almost two hours at a time when we had no need for a compulsory pitstop artifice masquerading as ‘really exciting racing’. Boutsen somehow managed to hold off the McLaren-Honda of Ayrton Senna, winner of four of the previous nine races. 

Having dispensed with the podium and media formalities, Boutsen returned to the Williams motorhome to find only his engineer and the team’s press officer waiting to greet him.

Traffic in Hungary may have been notoriously difficult in the rush to the airport, but it was no coincidence that Frank Williams and Patrick Head had already decided to replace Boutsen with Nigel Mansell for 1991.

At least no one had been physically hurt during the preface to such crushing insouciance. Brian Redman was not so fortunate during the 1968 Belgian GP, in the days when the road course swung left at Les Combes and headed towards Stavelot.

Marshals extricate Redman from the wreckage, while one of them keeps puffing on his ciggy

Photo by: Phipps/Sutton Images/Getty Images

Redman had reached the top of the hill when he hit the brakes at 160mph and had his Cooper-BRM turn sharp left.

Redman’s right arm, trapped momentarily between the chassis and the metal crash barrier, was badly broken, the Cooper then vaulting the Armco and demolishing a marshals’ post before hitting a parked Vauxhall Velox.

The Cooper came off worst and burst into flames. Once the fire had been extinguished, Redman was dragged from the wreckage by a marshal, ash from his cigarette then reigniting spilt fuel.

Surviving such an incident was one thing. Receiving little sympathy and being blamed for the crash quite another.

When Motoring News published Redman’s informed view that the suspension had failed, his boss, John Cooper, was (according to Redman’s autobiography Daring Drivers. Deadly Tracks) on the phone immediately, demanding a retraction on the grounds that driver error had been the cause.

The following day’s Autosport carried a picture by its photographer, Peter Burn. It captured the moment when the Cooper’s lower right-front wishbone snapped under braking. Redman’s name had been cleared. At least that was something to smile about – albeit for all the wrong reasons.

This article is one of many in the monthly Autosport magazine. For more premium content, take a look at the September 2025 issue and subscribe today.

Autosport caught the precise moment of Redman’s wishbone failure under braking

Photo by: Burn/LAT/Getty Images