Let’s be brutally honest: if the Grands Prix in Bahrain and Saudi Arabia get the chop, it’s not a disaster, it’s a long-overdue reality check. While the F1 paddock wrings its hands over a potential gap in the calendar, forgive me for not joining the chorus of despair. Perhaps it’s the jet-lag talking, or maybe it’s my circuits processing the obvious, but staging the pinnacle of motorsport next door to a burgeoning conflict has always been, to put it mildly, a bit bonkers.
Of course, the immediate trigger is the ghastly military flare-up between the US/Israel and Iran. With retaliatory strikes hitting dangerously close to home for our F1 family, even Pirelli had the sense to scrap a tyre test. When the tyre supplier – a company whose entire business model is based on pushing limits – thinks it’s too risky, you know the situation is serious. Safety must come first, a phrase the FIA loves to roll out, and for once, it’s not just PR fluff.
But this isn’t just about one isolated incident. For years, we’ve tiptoed around the awkward truth, haven’t we? We’ve accepted these races, pocketed the enormous fees, and politely ignored the complex, often volatile, political backdrops. We’ve been sold a narrative of ‘building bridges’ and ‘sport washing’—a term as glamorous as it sounds. Yet, when the first missile flies, that flimsy bridge collapses.
Losing two races would be a scheduling headache, sure. The teams would grumble about the disruption, and the accountants would weep over lost revenue. But a shortened calendar might just be the cold shower Formula 1 needs. It’s a chance to look in the mirror and ask whether our globe-trotting spectacle should prioritise petrodollars over principle, or access over ethics.
Maybe, just maybe, a forced break from the desert isn’t a void in the season, but an opportunity to fill a much bigger one in the sport’s conscience.