There are few institutions in the world of motorsport that conjure that singular combo of reverence, hope, and almost pathological fervor quite like Scuderia Ferrari. It is at once a racing team and a quasi-religious cult; a purveyor of motorsport engineering and a manufacturer of myths. And nowhere is that expressed on the tarmac more than on the tracks of Formula One. Since the pinnacle racing league’s debut in 1950, Ferrari has been more than a team—it’s a snorting, galloping emblem of Italian excellence, tenacity, and flair.
Its red-liveried chariots have scorched circuits, inspired operatic adulation, and, at times, embodied the very malaise of genius undone by its own greatness. To understand Ferrari’s arc in Formula One is not simply to recount victories or tally titles; it is to chronicle a saga of dominance, defeat, resilience, ego, and the irrepressible will to simply win. This is the story of four defining chapters in Ferrari’s Formula One odyssey: its formative victories, its resurgence in the 1970s, the undeniable dynasty of the Schumacher years, and the high-voltage hope electrifying the grid today.
A Cult Is Born: Ascari, Fangio, And A Taste Of Victory
When the first official Formula One World Championship commenced in 1950, Enzo Ferrari—a former Alfa Romeo team manager and sateless instigator of men—had already set about constructing an empire in his own image: obsessive, unforgiving, and excruciatingly Italian. Already demonstrating prodigious prowess in other racing endeavors, such as with their 1949 win at the 24 Hours of Le Mans only a year after forming his Scuderia, the Ferrari machines arriving at Silverstone that inaugural F1 year were not instant conquerors. They were fast, no doubt, but still chasing Alfa Romeo’s iron rule. However, what was established from the cradle was Ferrari’s commitment to the glorious V12—the narrow, sleek 125 F1s bristling with 1.5-liter supercharged versions in their engine bays. “I married the 12-cylinder engine,” Enzo once presciently said, “and I never divorced it.”
Their course to immortality changed swiftly. Ferrari’s first F1 Grand Prix win came at Silverstone in only F1’s second season when the Argentinian legend José Froilán González drove his 375 to the checkered flag, breaking Alfa Romeo’s seemingly unshakable hegemony. Not just a victory, the race symbolized Ferrari had arrived and was there to vanquish the field.
It was with the cerebral and eerily precise Alberto Ascari, however, that Ferrari first asserted its reign in only the racing series’ third year. Ascari, a coldly efficient tactician, clinched back-to-back World Championships in 1952 and 1953. The Milanese driver seemed less a man and more like a programmable oracle of apexes and braking zones. With Ascari, Ferrari not only won but established a precedent: Excellence would not be occasional, but systemic. His partnership with Ferrari planted the seeds for what would soon become the team’s unwavering culture of winning.
In 1956, another giant of the sport slipped into the Ferrari cockpit: Juan Manuel Fangio. Though his relationship with Ferrari was brief, it was potent. Already considered the best driver on Earth, that year Fangio captured his unprecedented fourth world title, this time in a Ferrari D50, reinforcing the Scuderia’s elite status and global prestige. These early decades weren’t just about collecting trophies, mind you—they were about forging an immutable identity. In the first decade of Formula One, Ferrari galvanized from upstart to axis; from challenger to throne-sitter.
The Rebirth Of Glory: Lauda, Scheckter, And The 1970s Revival
All empires, even blessed ones, flirt with decay. The 1960s proved to be a wilderness decade for Ferrari in Formula One—a mélange of political quarrels, engineering missteps, and driver incompetence, countered with the occasional flash of genius that only underscored how far the team had fallen. It wasn’t until the mid-1970s that Ferrari underwent a reformation led, ironically, by a man who could not have been less Italian if born on Pluto.
Then-team principal Luca di Montezemolo plucked a young Austrian named Niki Lauda from relative obscurity—an icy anomaly in the flamboyant world of F1, pragmatic in demeanor, fanatically disciplined, and exercising a work ethic that reshaped Ferrari’s entire culture. Lauda didn’t just drive the car—he famously tore it apart in his mind. “The Computer,” as he was dubbed, pored for weeks mentally deconstructing his chassis, refining technical aspects, analyzing data and tweaking its setup to solve the perfect configuration. That meticulous approach paid off handsomely. In 1975, Lauda won his first World Championship, gifting Ferrari its first Drivers’ title in over a decade. That season marked the start of a new, modern Ferrari—one that valued data as much as daring.
Then, tragically, came the inferno. At the 1976 German Grand Prix, Lauda’s car malfunctioned on the second lap at the Nürburgring’s Bergwerk corner, veering off track and crashing into an embankment. His Ferrari burst into flames, the young driver trapped, engulfed in the fire.
So ghastly was the event that last rites were read at his hospital bedside. A mere six weeks later, in one of the most courageous acts in sporting history, Lauda returned to race again to defend his title—head infamously bandaged in bloody gauze, skin horrifically burned. Though Lauda lost the title that year by a single point to playboy nemesis James Hunt, his return was a declaration of something more profound than victory. Lauda’s comeback etched him into legend, something few athletes across any sport can claim. He won his second title with Ferrari the very next year.
Lauda’s departure in 1978 left big shoes to fill, but Jody Scheckter stepped up. A more kinetic and instinctual driver, the South African’s aggressive style delivered Ferrari its third title of the decade in 1979. That championship would be Ferrari’s last for 21 years. The 1980s and ’90s delivered no world titles but still bequeathed thrilling moments—none more sweet than when checkered flags waved at Monza. Every year at the Italian Grand Prix, dedicated throngs of tifosi, as Ferrari racing fanatics are known, paint the Italian countryside a deep crimson as far as the eye can see, especially at the racetrack’s iconic podium, which transforms into a roiling blood-red sea whenever Ferrari claims the top spot. Arguably, the most symbolically charged being the 1988 Grand Prix.
Just weeks before the race at Monza, Enzo Ferrari passed away at his home. More than a figurehead or even CEO, Enzo embodied the hopes, passion, and fierce independence of Italy. The Scuderia, the city of Modena, the tifosi—the entire nation, really—mourned, collectively grimacing at the expectations for their beloved Scuderia at the upcoming home Grand Prix. McLaren’s relentless domination all season did not bode well; their twin drivers, Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost, won every single race up to that point, making a McLaren triumph feel all but assured. What no one saw coming was race leader Senna crashing his Marlboro-liveried McLaren trying to lap Jean-Louis Schlesser with only two laps to go, opening up a last-second window for Ferrari’s Gerhard Berger and teammate Michele Alboreto to secure an impossible one-two finish for the beloved Scuderia at the first home race just weeks after their founder’s passing. The miracle proved to the crazed sea of fans swelling under the Monza podium, never more joyous and delirious, that the F1 Gods had paid their honor to Enzo.
The Dream Team Dynasty: Schumacher, Todt, Brawn, And Byrne Conquering The New Century
If the 1970s were about rebirth, the early 2000s were about perfection. Ferrari’s greatest era of hegemony began not with one man, but rather a mastermind ensemble—each a genius in their own right. What followed was a political and technical coup disguised as a racing program. Sadly, it would also be the end of Ferrari’s fealty to the V12 engine—the 412 T2 in 1995 would be the last race car ever to soundtrack the F1 field with Ferrari’s signature bone-trembling wail.
At the heart of the dynasty stood Michael Schumacher, the German phenom coursing with a relentless will to win. After joining Ferrari in 1996, Schumacher spent years molding the team into a champion-making machine. But he wasn’t alone. Team principal Jean Todt restored order; technical director Ross Brawn offered strategic brilliance; designer Rory Byrne sculpted aerodynamically elite cars; engine chief Paolo Martinelli summoned spectacular 10-cylinder banshees. And above them all, Luca di Montezemolo orchestrated the entire opera with a conductor’s precision.
From 2000 to 2004, Ferrari was untouchable. Schumacher won five consecutive World Championships, racking up race wins with almost mechanical avarice. In 2002 and 2004, he clinched titles with races to spare, often finishing 1-2 with teammate Rubens Barrichello. To this day, Schumacher still holds the record for most fastest laps in Formula One history, with 77. What made this era so awe-inspiring wasn’t simply the wins—it was the harmony. The Ferrari garage operated like a symphony; pit stops were ballets of coordination. Strategy calls felt clairvoyant. And Schumacher, ever the perfectionist, drove like he was penning poetry at 200 mph.
The red cars didn’t just dominate the track—they defined an era of Formula One not soon to be forgotten or replicated. Fans either adored the Scuderia or begged for an upset. But no one could deny that Ferrari had reached a level of greatness unseen in the sport’s long history.
The Present Tense: Hamilton, Leclerc, And A New Era Of Promise
In recent years, Ferrari has oscillated between resurgence and near misses, lodged in a curious limbo state between glory and aspiration. Always burdened by its own mythology… and too often, dubious strategy. Each victory treated as a return to destiny; each failure a crushing blow.
But now, in 2025, Ferrari stands at the brink of a new frontier. An unexpected development tremors the red soil of Maranello: None other than Lewis Hamilton—he of the seven world titles, supreme fashion consciousness, and an almost Kardashian-like flair for drama—arrived from the comforts of the Mercedes-AMG-Petronas fortress that fed him so much success.
Hamilton’s arrival is seismic because of what he represents: a hunger for legacy, a master in the twilight of his prime, joining the sport’s most storied team to chase history. Of course, he is not alone. Charles Leclerc, the Monegasque wunderkind with the devastating one-lap pace and the perennial curse of mechanical misfortune, remains Ferrari’s long bet. Together, Ferrari now fields arguably the most electrifying duo on the grid. Whether this translates into trophies remains to be seen.
The engineering department, under the more rational stewardship of Frédéric Vasseur, is beginning to show signs of coherence. The SF-25 is brilliantly fast; the power unit more reliable. The strategies—long Ferrari’s Achilles’ heel—appear more assured. And so, once again, the tifosi dream. Make no mistake: Ferrari’s story is still being written. The culture of winning that began with Ascari and Fangio, was rekindled by Lauda and Scheckter, and then immortalized by Schumacher, today rears on its hind legs back to life. If Hamilton and Leclerc can translate their talent into titles, this just might be the beginning of Ferrari’s next golden age.
What To Read
Ferrari: From Inside and Outside (ACC Art Books) “The era that means the most to me is that of Schumacher, Todt, Montesemolo and Brawn,” James Allen tells Maxim, referring to Ferrari’s unparalleled success from 1999-2004. As a former lead TV commentator on the front line of F1, Allen delves deep into the cult of Ferrari with the rare access he was granted when he wrote two books on Schumacher. Here in Ferrari: From Inside and Outside, Allen reveals much of what he learned about behind-the-scenes drama and on-the-track thrills from the entire 75-year history of Ferrari in F1, along with unique perspectives from Piero Ferrari and Jean Todt. Highlighting the Scuderia’s mythology are over 200 rare images shot by two of the sport’s most acclaimed photographers: Rainer Schlegelmilch and Ercole Colombo. “What the experiences taught me was how teams operate at the very highest levels: how they push themselves to reach those levels, and how they stay there for season after season,” Allen shares. “This is the hardest thing to do in F1.” $325 (limited edition)
Formula 1: The Impossible Collection (Assouline) A tome of stunning scale, Formula 1: The Impossible Collection visually impresses in a larger-than-life manner. Its huge format (16 by 19 inches) and handcrafted printing techniques allow for a breathtaking presentation, absorbing the reader in a way traditional books simply cannot. Covering all the legends mentioned here, plus other pioneering racing teams and drivers in its robust 228 pages, Formula 1: The Impossible Collection is an indulgent necessity for any F1 lunatic. $1,400
This article originally appeared in our September/November 2025 issue.