With rallying back in the spotlight, it could probably teach F1 a thing or two

On the same day Formula 1 was caught with its software around its ankles, the World Rally Championship raced towards a hugely dramatic climax and produced the first British champion since Richard Burns and Colin McRae a couple of decades ago. Talk about neat timing for the British Broadcasting Corporation.

It seems a lifetime since the BBC lost its F1 coverage to what has since become Sky and marathon blather coupled with coercing hapless F1 drivers into silly contests like eating pizzas made of Lego. The future for sports coverage in general on the Beeb had seemed even bleaker thanks to recent discussion about major cutbacks that threaten to leave us with Paddy McGuinness attempting to read the news. But then, sideways around the corner comes the surprising and spectacular arrival of plans to televise all 15 rounds of the 2027 WRC.

The image of a full-blown rally car on the absolute edge through Scottish forests or on an Alpine pass is a tasty prospect. It comes just as F1 delivers the Madring, followed by the unedifying sight of F1 cars hobbled by a downpour and then another solemn sermon from James Vowles on how everything is actually OK because they expected it to be as crap as this. It’s a fair bet that the WRC could have signed up a handful of F1 stars that afternoon at Sepang as they sat around wondering if they’ll ever be allowed to drive flat-out again for more than half a mile.

When F1 racers – from Jim Clark to Martin Brundle to Robert Kubica – turned their hand to rallying, they came away with eyes on stalks. Driving a single-seater was nothing compared to this apparent madness on a closed road you wouldn’t tackle on a horse and cart. By the sound of their ambitious plans, the BBC intends to show us exactly why.

Last I’d heard, Gwyndaf was several places and a couple of miles ahead of us. Turns out, he’d gone off at the same corner

I’ve done a bit myself – not driving, you understand, but the next level of craziness by choosing to sit in the front passenger seat and urge the driver to go even faster. I was particularly chuffed to see Elfyn Evans win the 2026 title, not only because he fully deserved it after such wretched luck in the past, but also because I had competed against his dad, Gwyndaf – well, not ‘competed against’ as such, but taken part in the same event.

The memory I have is of a miserable November night on the fearsome Epynt special stage through a military training area in mid-Wales. My driver, Tony Jardine, managed to clip (nothing to do with me) a hidden concrete block on the apex of a corner and put our Ford Fiesta ST on its side – my side, of course – before rolling onto the roof. I then compounded the felony by popping open the seat harness and landing on my head.

Dazed and confused, I appeared to see the smiling upside-down face of Gwyndaf Evans peering through what was left of my window. “Come with me,” he said, gently. “There’s a lovely nurse over here.” I thought I’d gone to parc ferme in the sky. Last I’d heard, Gwyndaf was several places and a couple of miles ahead of us. Turns out, he’d gone off at the same corner. And there was indeed a lovely nurse in a nearby ambulance. Both Jardine and I made remarkable recoveries.

Unedifying damp-squib early stages of the ‘Bahrain Grand Prix in Malaysia’ not Formula 1’s finest hour

Photo by: Mark Sutton/Formula 1/Getty Images

The thing about WRC televised events is that the clever camera positioning really brings home the commitment and sheer lunacy of the moment – something which F1 onboards singularly fail to do. Again, I speak from experience, having been fortunate enough to lap Yas Marina with Brundle and then Jean Alesi in two-seater F1 cars.

The acceleration and the braking are indeed mindblowing. I half-expected that. But what caught me by surprise was the sheer violence – there is no other word – when cornering and clipping kerbs. After four or five laps, I had to be helped from the car. OK, I’m not fit. But none of that physical punishment comes across on TV.

I’ve also been lucky enough – crazy, you might say – to sit alongside rally aces on media days. These rides were something else. One that sticks out was charging down the side of a Welsh mountain on the Esgair Dafydd stage. That was awesome enough, but throw in the naturally gifted Billy Coleman driving a Lancia Stratos and the experience moves onto a completely different level.

What were we pulling in third? Dear God, Billy! That was like asking a mugging victim if he happened to have caught his assailant’s name

The harsh but superb sound of that V6 and a close-cut gearbox just behind my left shoulder; a sheer drop edging the gravel road; Billy left-foot braking and syncing the revs absolutely right when shifting down the manual gearbox.

We get to the bottom and that’s when he casually tells me he’s never driven this Italian jewel before! “Ah, ’tiz a fine car al’ roight,” he says in that lovely soft Cork accent. Then a pause, before asking: “What were we pulling in t’urd?”

What were we pulling in third? Dear God, Billy! That was like asking a mugging victim if he happened to have caught his assailant’s name. Or expecting an F1 driver in Malaysia to explain exactly what happened when their piece of kit costing millions coasted to a halt like a kiddie’s bumper car when the £2 token runs out. You don’t get that on a rally car. Or any proper car, come to that.

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