Six Cars, Zero Dignity: The Farce at Indianapolis

Nothing in the long and often turbulent history of Formula 1 — not the politics, not the tragedies, not the controversies — produced quite the image of the 2005 United States Grand Prix. Fourteen cars drove to the grid. They completed a formation lap under the lights of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Then they drove back down the pit lane, parked their cars, and climbed out. Six cars remained to race. The crowd of 120,000 — who had paid hundreds of dollars for their seats, many of whom had travelled across America or across the world to be there — expressed their displeasure with increasing directness, loudness and creativity. They were right to do so.

The background was a tyre failure crisis. Ralf Schumacher had experienced a dramatic blowout in practice at the high-speed Turn 13 banking — the section of the Indianapolis road course that used the famous oval — and had been launched into the wall at significant speed. Michelin, who supplied tyres to seven of the ten teams, conducted urgent analysis and concluded that their product could not be guaranteed safe at race speeds through that corner in the conditions expected on race day. Michelin proposed the installation of a temporary chicane to reduce cornering speeds at Turn 13. The FIA refused, citing sporting regulations. The teams proposed that a speed limit be applied through the section. The FIA refused again. Various other solutions were proposed, discussed and rejected.

Negotiations collapsed on the grid. The seven Michelin-supplied teams — Renault, McLaren, Williams, BAR-Honda, Toyota, Red Bull and Sauber — drove their cars through the pit lane entry after the formation lap, bypassing the grid, and parked. The public address announcer attempted to explain what was happening. The crowd did not require explanation. What they received in return for their investment was a procession of six cars — the two Ferraris, both Jordans and both Minardis — circulating the full distance at racing speeds in the absence of any genuine competition.

Michael Schumacher won the resulting non-event. He crossed the line to a stadium of contempt.

Michael Schumacher took victory for Ferrari — his ninth win at Indianapolis and, in another world, a milestone result. Rubens Barrichello completed a Ferrari one-two. Tiago Monteiro of Jordan-Toyota finished third, the best result of his Formula 1 career and the final podium in Jordan's history as a team. Narain Karthikeyan was fourth, Patrick Friesacher fifth and Christijan Albers sixth.

All points went to Bridgestone-tyred runners. Schumacher received his trophy on a podium that was booed comprehensively. The FIA and the Bridgestone teams insisted they had acted within the regulations; the Michelin teams insisted that safety had to take precedence over sporting rules. Both positions had merit. Neither resolved the damage done to Formula 1's reputation with the American public, a relationship the sport had spent years and enormous resources trying to rebuild.

Fernando Alonso was on his way to the 2005 championship in a dominant Renault, but this race added nothing to his tally — his team had withdrawn. The points gifted to Schumacher were ultimately irrelevant: Alonso won the championship that year with significant room to spare, becoming the youngest champion in history at 24 (a record that Hamilton would later take). The Indianapolis farce was a footnote in the sporting story of 2005 but its reputational damage to the sport in America was considerable and lasting.

June 2005 found the United States managing mounting criticism of the Iraq War, which was in its third year with no clear path to resolution. The Live 8 concerts were being organised ahead of the G8 summit at Gleneagles in Scotland, where Bono and Bob Geldof were applying public pressure on world leaders over African debt relief. In technology, YouTube had launched that February. The American sports landscape was dominated by the NBA Finals and the approaching baseball season.

Formula 1's relationship with the United States had always been complicated. The sport had raced at various venues over the decades — from Long Beach to Detroit to Phoenix — and had only recently found a stable home at Indianapolis. The debacle of 2005 set that relationship back significantly; the US Grand Prix did not return until 2012, when it moved to the Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas.

Hot and humid, as Indianapolis in June reliably provides, with temperatures around 30°C at race time. Track surface temperatures were considerably higher, contributing to the already dangerous situation around the banking at Turn 13. The heat that broiled the grandstands added an appropriate discomfort to what the spectators were being forced to witness. The sun beat down on a stadium full of people who had been failed comprehensively by the sport they had come to see.