What Can You Learn About Motorsport While Watching Football?
What Can You Learn About Motorsport While Watching Football?
Natural Aspiration 03: Philosophical Musings on The Nature of Competition and Entertainment
For many, Labor Day Weekend marks a calendar and mindset shift toward autumnal events, regardless of prevailing weather conditions. Football fans await it as the official start of their season, with college football kicking off and the NFL season following a week later.
Among my fall rituals is Petit Le Mans, the 10 hour long IMSA season finale held at Road Atlanta; I will be attending my 25th iteration in a few weeks, despite some misgivings about sports car racing to be outlined below. Last year, Jack Baruth and his better half - Danger Girl - were in attendance. He was ostensibly on some sort of paid assignment, but he and DG ended up spending the better part of the day in the warm environs of the “Podium Club” VIP hospitality setup with Sherman McCoy, who was accompanied by his usual ragtag retinue of sports car racing buffs / budding alcoholics. We were inside because Petit was held unseasonably late in mid-November, and the mid-November weather itself was unseasonably cold and windy.
At one juncture, Jack and I were discussing the differences between the recently re-invigorated Formula 1 championship and other popular forms of motorsport, namely sports car racing, IndyCar, and NASCAR. I argued that Formula 1 stands apart from the aforementioned series in that viewers finish watching a race weekend and know what happened to every competitor, why it transpired, and how it impacted their finishing position. He helped me further refine my claim by suggesting that the telos - an Ancient Greek term for the point of the matter - was clear in Formula 1, whereas it was often unclear in other forms of motorsport, at least within the context of the argument I made.
While watching a few blowout, but still enjoyable college football games over the weekend, the rest of my argument crystallized: Formula 1 bears many similarities to college football, whereas the other series mentioned align more so with the professional football game played in the NFL.
Allow me to explain.
Managing Competition
There are three basic ways to manage competition in motorsport:
Spec Series - All competitors utilize identical equipment, theoretically resulting in close racing
Balance of Performance (BoP) Series - Competitors utilize different equipment with different performance attributes, and the sanctioning body manipulates their performance to ensure competitive fields
Development Series - Run what ya brung, within the context of the rulebook
None of the top-level series I mentioned adhere exclusively to one of these philosophies, but it’s a useful framework to keep in mind when thinking about each form of racing.
NASCAR and IndyCar most closely resemble spec series, and both feature a single chassis supplier with different manufacturer-supplied engine packages. The rule books are written rather tightly to prevent any team from gaining a material advantage over their competitors. The teams that enjoy lasting, long-term success tend to be those that distinguish themselves through superior funding and executional excellence. Over the course of a season - 36 races in NASCAR and 22 races in IndyCar for 2022 - there are ample opportunities for numerous drivers from numerous teams representing numerous manufacturers and sponsors to win or have strong performances.
Sports car racing is the preserve of BoP competition. In these series, which include the FIA World Endurance Championship and IMSA, among others, performance car manufacturers want to field cars that resemble, if only through a funhouse mirror, cars that they sell to the public. Porsche wants to race a 911 with a relatively small, high-revving flat-six in the back; Chevrolet wants to race a Corvette with a big V-8, recently relocated from the front to the middle; Ferrari wants to race a wasp-waisted, mid-engined car with turbo power; BMW wants to race a big sedan with a turbo straight-six up front; and so on. The manufacturers are reliant upon the series to adjust RPMs, turbo boost levels, weight, gearing, fuel capacity, refueling times, etc. to ensure that a diversity of cars starts a 6, 10, 12, or 24 hour race and has a legitimate shot to win, should they survive.
The final category - a development series - is the Holy Grail to many motorsport enthusiasts, especially those who look back on the likes of the Can-Am era with rose-tinted glasses. The problem with a development series is the risk of a development spiral, in which the best-funded team(s) utterly dominate, unless we’re talking about Toyota’s travails in Formula 1, and utter domination has a tendency to drive other competitors away, thereby diminishing the spectacle of the series. Formula 1 was essentially a development series for most of its history, although the 2022 season did incorporate for the first time a budget cap, which prevents the teams from overspending. Suddenly, for the first time since the modern championship began in 1950, every team in the paddock - even the backmarkers - is comfortably in the black.
A development series entails an enormous audience to support enormous budgets; in Formula 1, these budgets are funded by sponsors paying teams to place their logos on the cars and by the prize money that Liberty Media - the sport’s “Commercial Rights Holder” - doles out from the revenue it generates through charging hosting fees to promoters (who enjoy enormous demand from fans who want to watch races in person) and broadcasting fees to television networks (who enjoy enormous demand from fans who want to watch races at home).
(Fooled By) Randomness
It’s not uncommon to watch an IndyCar race in which a “good” driver at a “good” team lays an egg on a given weekend. This poor performance came courtesy of the same chassis as every other competitor and an engine that roughly half the field uses, so what gives? The same driver who blanked the last race could dominate the next round, which would almost certainly occasion the lamentable sound of an excited Leigh Diffey, IndyCar’s “star” commentator, vomiting a word salad into his microphone. It is similarly common to see a relative nobody from a small team with comparatively modest resources do well, even in a marquee race, which would also set the toothy Australian squealing. From my point of view, the randomness of outcomes seems to be a desirable feature from the perspective of IndyCar leadership.
On a related note, most of the IMSA calendar - excepting the blue riband endurance events at Daytona (24 hours), Sebring (12 hours), Watkins Glen (6 hours), and Road Atlanta (10 hours) - is comprised of races run to a time limit of 2 hours and 45 minutes. IMSA adjusts fuel capacities and refueling times to ensure that these “sprint” races are a strategic tossup in terms of pit stop strategy, which again strikes me as a deliberate attempt to generate arbitrary results. Obviously, the endurance events serve up unknown victors due to their sheer duration, especially in light of the speed differentials inherent in multi-class racing, in which cars are constantly negotiating traffic outside of their own class while racing within their class.
I suspect that the desirability of randomized finishes across a full season relates to providing as many “stakeholders” as possible with an opportunity to win an event, thereby justifying the corporate largesse from both manufacturers and other sponsors that ultimately funds the existence of the sports.
In this fashion, I contend that IndyCar and IMSA bear similarity to the NFL (to say nothing of NASCAR, occasional viewing of which reminds me of a six-month period in second grade during which I was a committed follower of professional wrestling). How often have you tuned in to watch your favorite pro football team, a team which has a respected coaching staff and a robust starting roster, a team which has won several games in a row, a team that’s expected to go deep into the playoffs and maybe even win the Super Bowl … and seen that team get beaten like a drum by an opposing team that has a coach on the hot seat, a lineup full of rejects, and a losing record? You, dear reader, have probably endured this humiliation more often than you’d like to admit. Once more, the uncertainty appears to be a feature rather than a bug.
NFL fans will doubtless invoke the parity of “Any Given Sunday;” I’m inclined to think in terms of Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s seminal “Fooled by Randomness,” and I don’t find being taken for a fool the highest and best use of my entertainment hours.
Cause and Effect in Formula 1
On the contrary, it’s far easier to divine the causes leading to the outcomes - the effects - in Formula 1. Take for example the practice and qualifying sessions preceding the Dutch Grand Prix, which I watched before writing this piece. Press time in this case was Saturday night - i.e., before the Grand Prix itself.
Max Verstappen and his Red Bull Racing team had dominated the previous weekend’s Belgian Grand Prix in imperious fashion: Verstappen started from 14th on the grid at Spa Francorchamps, owing to penalties for taking new Power Unit components beyond the limit set forth in Formula 1’s rulebook. Tellingly, Max was the odds-on bookmakers’ favorite to win the race from 14th, unheard of in the sport. Max first led on lap 12 of 44, and he took the lead for good on lap 18, ultimately extending an 18 second margin over his teammate Sergio Perez, who finished second.
Naturally, you’d expect Verstappen to have an easy go of things at Zandvoort, his home track where he won handily last year; moreover, he would not have to take any grid penalties. He managed to secure the pole position for the race, but only by the slimmest of margins - .021 seconds, or 1/50th of a second - over the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc.
I will rely upon the reliably excellent analysis of Mark Hughes, in my view the premier Formula 1 journalist, to help me illustrate what occurred.
A typical Formula 1 weekend features two one-hour practice sessions on Friday, a sole one-hour practice session on Saturday, a three-round “knockout” qualifying contest that introduces multiple rounds of jeopardy on Saturday afternoon, and then the Grand Prix itself on Sunday. Track time is precious for all drivers, as there is no private intra-season testing in Formula 1. Tires - or “tyres” - are a key variable in Formula 1, as well: Pirelli, the exclusive tire supplier, offers three compounds (soft, medium, hard) each weekend with trade-offs in peak grip and longevity for the teams to puzzle over. Each driver receives a fixed allocation of tires for a race weekend, so “wasting” a set of tires - a trip through the gravel trap, an aborted qualifying simulation, a big lock-up under braking - is to be avoided. Drivers must use multiple differing tire compounds during the race, unless it rains.
Max’s Red Bull ground to a halt with gearbox trouble during Friday’s initial practice session, putting him on the back foot immediately.
Says Hughes:
As the donkey work of tyre gathering data was now all on the shoulders of Sergio Perez, there was no parallel tyre comparison. Perez ran the early part of his session on the hard C1 tyre. It was only as he switched to the medium part-way through the session that it was realised the hard was essentially uncompetitive and could be discarded.
The limitations of the set-up, which had been tweaked around the hard tyre, were very evident and required a wholesale change into [the second practice session]. “But there was such a big hurry to get those changes made,” said Verstappen, “that we got some other parts of the set-up not quite right.” The unusually quick ramp-up of track grip as the session proceeded just made things yet-more difficult compared to those teams which had enjoyed a less compromised run through Friday.
So Red Bull finished Friday’s sessions at a data deficit to other teams. Overnight after Friday, the Formula 1 equivalent of magic elves will toil away at each team’s headquarters running simulations and experiments based on the information gathered at the track on Friday in hopes of finding the optimum setup to secure success in qualifying and the race itself.
Hughes continues:
A totally different set-up was devised overnight Friday based on those errors. Into Saturday morning [the third practice session] Verstappen was finally feeling in proper shape for the first time all weekend.
The fact that Verstappen did only one run in [the second part of qualifying] (on used tyres) yet was within 0.1s of Carlos Sainz and [George] Russell suggested that on equal tyres he was surely favourite for pole. But it was more difficult than expected. In the final [part of qualifying], at the point that Leclerc took just a little too much speed into T10, he had been 0.5s up on Verstappen – and had Lewis Hamilton not had to back off for Perez’s last-corner accident, he too was in real contention. At the point he was forced to lift, Hamilton was around 0.1s up.
A straightforward run for all three suggested the top 3 may well have been Leclerc-Hamilton-Verstappen.
Max put together a strong lap as time ran out in the third and final part of qualifying, allowing him to best Leclerc, who had made a mistake when it counted. Max’s teammate Perez spun exiting the penultimate corner, which prevented Lewis Hamilton from completing his final lap at competitive pace.
Looking at [Verstappen’s] lap in detail compared to Leclerc’s, it’s clear that Leclerc is able to brake later and harder, but that the Red Bull is stronger out of the corners. But the margins are small. Any differences in qualifying were as much about preparation laps and tyre temperatures as inherent difference in pace – with the Mercedes right there, probably less than half-a-step behind.
Verstappen doing [the second part of qualifying] on a used set of tyres gives him an extra set of new softs to play with – and that might be needed. If he takes victory tomorrow it will have been hard-fought.
On the eve of the race, the Red Bull of Max Verstappen, the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc, and the Mercedes of Lewis Hamilton appeared to be in close contention over a single lap. Be mindful that each of these cars is a bespoke creation, and although they look almost identical on the broadcast, they share only their tires and wheels in common. Everything else on the cars is unique, proprietary (i.e., development series). Max will have the advantage of starting from the first grid spot, which is on the racing line and therefore rubbered-in, offering more grip. Max also preserved an unused set of soft tires, opening up greater strategic flexibility for the Grand Prix.
Obviously, the sharp end of the grid is the focal point for Formula 1 fans and media alike, but you can make a similar investigation into the qualifying result for each driver if so inclined; for the sake of example:
Mick Schumacher, who is desperate to retain a presence on the grid next year, managed to qualify his Haas 8th, while his more experienced teammate Kevin Magnussen, who enjoys the comfort of a multi-year contract, could only get his car to 17th.
Lance Stroll, who is the favored son (literally) at Aston Martin, achieved 10th place in qualifying, while his teammate Sebastian Vettel, who has won 4 World Drivers Championships and 53 Grands Prix (more than any other driver, excepting Lewis Hamilton and Michael Schumacher), will line up 19th.
Expected Outcomes & Telos
Both Schumacher and Stroll effectively qualified out of the “natural” positions of their cars, which currently sit in 7th and 9th places, respectively, in the World Constructors Championship standings. Their goal during the Grand Prix isn’t necessarily to retain those positions, but to finish as high up as realistically possible given the ceiling of their cars’ performance and - it goes without saying - finish ahead of their “faster” teammates starting far behind them.
This is where Formula 1’s similarity to College Football comes into play.
When #3 ranked Georgia kicked off against #11 ranked Oregon on Saturday afternoon in Atlanta, everyone - including honest Oregon fans - expected the Dawgs to win, which they did on cruise control. Similarly, everyone knew going into #1 ranked Alabama’s matchup with, uh, Utah State that the Crimson Tide would roll all over the Aggies (I had to look up their mascot, too).
Consistently dominant performances by a small group of elite teams do not, in my view, diminish the quality of the entertainment, especially if artificially construed “parity” is the alternative. There is still great, genuine enjoyment to be gleaned from the moments in which expected outcomes are subverted.
If Mick Schumacher manages to finish in or near the points and - crucially - well ahead of Kevin Magnussen, he will cry big, fat tears of joy, for he may have salvaged his Formula 1 career at the most critical of opportunities. If Lance Stroll can do well and scalp Sebastian Vettel, he may be the recipient of a bona fide “attaboy” from Papa Stroll. Provided Max Verstappen fails to win the race for any reason, he will be downcast and disappointed, despite his gaping championship lead over his teammate that virtually assures him the title months before the season concludes.
If you get a push notification on a Saturday afternoon alerting you that Alabama (or another elite college football team) is trailing Northern Nowhere State University at the half, you’ll probably want to tune in to see if the Cinderella team can pull off the upset. Whether you are motivated by the feel-good underdog story or the prospect of seeing Nick Saban (or similar) suffer a debilitating, stress-induced heart attack on national TV, the potential divergence from the expected order of things creates the opportunity for authentic entertainment. This is the manifestation of the telos discussion that Jack and I had last fall.
Oh, The Irony
It is not lost on me that there are several ironies around which I have skirted in presenting my arguments.
The first is that Formula 1, a now-global sport of European origin, is far more meritocratic than the most popular American-based racing series, which are downright socialist in their commitment to “everybody gets a trophy” mentality.
The second is that Denver-based Liberty Media, which completed its purchase of Formula 1’s commercial rights in 2017, has endeavored to make the pinnacle of motorsport more, ahem, “American.” Hence the budget cap, an incipient franchise system that - in concert with the profit-assuring budget cap - will lead to rising team values and leave the likes of the Andretti family, who aspire to Formula 1 entry as an eleventh, expansion team, in the cold. Liberty has also introduced a sliding scale of wind tunnel allocation time for car development. The higher up the championship order a team sits, the less wind tunnel time it will be allowed going forward. Until this initiative, there was no mechanism - like, say, preferential draft picks - to bring parity or level the playing field in Formula 1; the best team was rewarded with the most prize money, and the worst team the least. It was frightfully challenging to climb up the greasy pole of Formula 1 relative car performance and all too easy to slide down it.
Formula 1 is, fundamentally: (1) sport, (2) entertainment, (3) business. Thus far, Liberty’s reforms have improved the quality of Formula 1 with respect to the latter two without compromising the first. Let’s hope that continues.
Sound Off
Dear reader, how does my argument strike you? Do you agree, disagree, or want to drive a city bus through a logical loophole that I carelessly left wide open?
Today I saw someone refer to Lewis Hamilton as the greatest of all time. I thought to myself, "Put Sir Lewis in a late 1960s F1 car (with the cockpit flanked by fuel tanks), with no ground effect generating downforce, on a period track, with period correct tires, with the period's lack of concern for safety, and see if his pace compares to race winners back then."
"Consistently dominant performances by a small group of elite teams do not, in my view, diminish the quality of the entertainment, especially if artificially construed 'parity' is the alternative."
I find both alternatives to be unbearably boring to watch. I honestly question the intelligence of somebody who's consistently entertained by "their" team competing for a title every year. I mean, how many times can you watch, say, the 1949-64 Yankees or Steph Curry's Golden State Warriors dominate?
"Don't try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring. Besides that, they're fascist. Throw some more ground balls, it's more democratic." - Crash Davis
College football is the worst, since the rules meddling decreases rather than increases parity. Seeing a team like Ohio State never get seriously challenged with a schedule of mediocre Big 10 teams and no-name chump teams and then arbitrarily waltz into the playoff is just ridiculous. It's even more maddening if you have the misfortune of living next to the fanbase of a team like that (former Ohio resident here) and have to listen to their entitled blather every year. Conversely, the only entertaining thing in college football is watching a team like that get their teeth kicked in.
I tend to be a "hater" when it comes to lopsided competitions, rooting against the dominant player. On the other hand, I find watching an aging GOAT like Tom Brady or Tiger Woods try to overcome adversity to get one last championship one of the greatest spectacles in sports. So I guess you can chalk up a win for unexpected outcomes.