Daniel Ricciardo: Lack of sympathy from teammate Lando Norris reminds us of F1's ruthlessness

Lando Norris’ stark admission that he had little sympathy for outgoing teammate Daniel Ricciardo, and that he expected more from the Australian, demonstrates F1’s cut-throat nature.

In most sports, a teammate is there with the same goal as you - to help the team win. In football, rugby or cricket, almost, everyone is there for collective glory above individual glory. Even if winning a World Cup is personally more impressive than a Ballon d’Or, the celebrations are shared with those on your team before anyone else can get to you

There are, of course, tensions. Players can compete with one another to be captain, to be first choice in their preferred position, or to be the best player at the club. Players can fall out with another just as people do in any workplace. But that’s not the case in F1.

Earlier in the week, a Norwegian tennis player Casper Ruud was invited to offer his sympathy to Novak Djokovic because of his self-inflicted absence from the US Open.

While Ruud acknowledged it was sad for Djokovic, and perhaps harmed the appeal of the tournament, he made it clear that consensus amongst the pack was that they didn’t care, because it was their job to win the tournament. It is the overlap between teammate and rival that lends F1 an unusual compelling angle.

There are many examples of drivers who are employed by the same team who rub each other up the wrong way. Lewis Hamilton described his McLaren teammate Fernando Alonso as his toughest opponent, and the pair were able to manage a year together before their own ambitions became impossible under the same franchise.

Sebastian Ocon and Sergio Perez clashed repeatedly when they shared Force India liveries, but at least their collision in 2021 and the muted reaction suggested their antipathy was behind them, but that is still curious: nominally opponents, the thrust of their troubled relationship was because they were competing for the same resources from one source.

Going back, things were often frosty at Ferrari with Alain Prost and Nigel Mansell, and the normally relaxed figures of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber clashed at Red Bull, leading the Australian to consider his future when he felt the German stole victory from him.

It is clear why the drivers clash so regularly. Nobody remembers the winners of the constructors’ championships. The car manufacturers might enjoy it, but the highlights reels do not celebrate a grinning technician, engineer or team principal. They might be vital to a driver’s success, but they are fundamentally the support staff. Legacies require a human face, and it is sportspeople who have been increasingly possessed by creating the perfect, unassailable track record.

Perhaps the most dogmatically selfish player in modern football, Cristiano Ronaldo, the Portuguese’s determination not to miss out on a season’s Champions League scoring haul has reportedly gone some way to poison the atmosphere at his club.

Imagine what that can do at an F1 team. Both drivers are supposed to relay information to perfect the car setup, and to follow team orders in order to serve the points’ total in the way they see fit. But the incentives are not aligned. To be a F1 driver requires sizeable ego and self-belief, so it is natural that a teammate being given the nod would bristle. There are only 20 or so spots on teams, and they rarely become easily available. Logically, it’s easier to nobble your friend’s chances to remain your team’s most reliable presence, whether you like him or not.

Norris and Ricciardo always appeared to get on, in off-track publicity obligations they smiled and joked. And then Ricciardo was cut, and Norris didn’t seem to care.