Why F1's junior logjam isn't entirely a product of current issues

One of the byproducts from last week’s news of the impending shock transfer of Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari was that it raised speculation, through a handy hint from Mercedes F1 chief Toto Wolff that it may be “an opportunity to do something bold”, that the Three-Pointed Star’s 17-year-old sensation Andrea Kimi Antonelli may be called upon to fill the seven-time world champion’s sizeable shoes in 2025.

Young Antonelli would be the lucky one. The Italian is clearly a sensational talent, about to embark upon his first season in Formula 2 as the reigning (but hardly dominant) title holder from the Formula Regional European Championship by Alpine. He may well win the F2 crown, although he does have the not inconsiderable obstacle of Ferrari protege – and Haas F1-destined? – Ollie Bearman working out of the same Prema Racing awning for 2024.

Any F2 champion surely, by definition, deserves an immediate graduation to F1, but it rarely works out that way. Look at Theo Pourchaire, Felipe Drugovich before him, Oscar Piastri before him. Back in the 1980s, reigning champ Pourchaire would surely be gearing up for a rookie F1 season, probably with Ligier – although that might not always have been a good thing…

PLUS: Why F1 is largely a closed shop to new talent

Making it even harder for these budding starlets is the effectively closed shop of F1. Also last week, F1 rejected the bid of Michael Andretti’s team to join the grid. Bang went any chance of the field rising from 20 cars to 22, and with it any increased opportunity for newcomers to break through.

Back in 2022, football fans were outraged by the attempted creation of a European Super League, with member clubs locked into the competition in perpetuity. Motorsport fans rightly feel similarly that Andretti’s rebuff is scandalous – F1 is now a European Super League in all but name.

Also in the past fortnight, many in the sport were deeply saddened at the news that Gerrit van Kouwen had died after an illness at the age of 60. He was supreme in the 1984 Formula Ford Festival, and a race winner in British F3 in 1985 and 1986. His career ran out of steam, but he retained a close connection with the sport. It was in his blood, after all.

Huge grids in British F3 during the mid-80s were helped by the involvement of multiple manufacturers that allowed teams and drivers to do cheap deals

Photo by: Sutton Images

An engineer pal of mine, who worked with van Kouwen when the Dutchman was coaching and mentoring young drivers in the 1990s, messaged me on Monday. He was logged in to the video stream of the funeral, and remarked that footage had been shown of an F3 race at Silverstone where van Kouwen burst into the lead at the start. The field was so enormous, remarked my friend, that “it seemed like every F3 car ever built was in it!”.

My immediate assumption was that it must have been the 1985 British Grand Prix support race. Coincidentally, I had reason to dig out the programme last week, so it was close to hand. Sure enough, 36 drivers had qualified, and I’d also taken the trouble to note four non-qualifiers – presumably in case anyone failed to make the start and a reserve got shuffled onto the grid. And this got my mate (who is still active in engineering young single-seater drivers) and I chatting. What, we wondered, has gone wrong since then?

Spec racing is great in principle: identical equipment supposedly offers a level playing field and cuts costs in development. Yes, but it also takes the cost beyond the reach of some of those who might otherwise be able to compete in a freer arena

We agreed that one-make racing has killed opportunities for many. Leading drivers back then such as van Kouwen, Andy Wallace or Tim Davies would never have been paying a full budget, but with competition between constructors – back then it was Reynard versus Ralt in F3 – it was in their interest to get the best young talent in their cars.

PLUS: How pragmatic principles made Ralt's Tauranac a design legend

Look also at Formula Ford from the late-1980s: Reynard (again) versus Van Diemen and Swift, even Mondiale. If they won races, they sold cars, so slipping a freebie or a cut-price weapon to a hot prospect paid for itself. The same principle could be applied to engine suppliers or tuners.

Nowadays, every step of the ladder is spec cars. Each category comes with its own list of parts that can only be supplied by one source. It’s great in principle: identical equipment supposedly offers a level playing field and cuts costs in development. Yes, but it also takes the cost beyond the reach of some of those who might otherwise be able to compete in a freer arena.

Is it a coincidence that the old philosophy of F3, the last single-seater bastion of open competition in chassis and engines, produced a certain Max Verstappen, who raced on a budget he would have struggled to get into an F4 team with before he was scooped up by Red Bull?

It also slashes the demographic. Look at the peak days of British F3 in the late 1980s. Grids overflowed into qualification races, around 20 to 25 of the drivers were worldwide up-and-coming talents, roughly 10 to 15 were very capable amateur racers – some as old as their thirties or even forties. Nowadays they’d be regulated out of most series by age or experience restrictions.

In more recent times, single-seaters have been prefixed with the word ‘junior’; or, even worse than that, ‘feeder series’. All hideously subservient by the very phraseology to the bloated great god F1. Which, apart from throwing the best of them a few scraps of Friday FP1 outings, has shown with its Andretti ruling that it clearly isn’t interested in giving new faces a proper chance.

Bearman impressed in FP1 outings for Haas, but his path to a race seat is currently unclear

Photo by: Andy Hone / Motorsport Images