And so it was that Ferrari, in the darkness of the modern arena, climbed to the third step of the motorized heavens. By the hand of Leclerc, knight of honor and flame, who turned the Red into harp and lyre, squeezing its essence down to the last drop. With his right hand he tamed the beast, with his left he caressed the tires, treating them like silk, and with a fixed gaze, traced their path on the parchment of asphalt. Carlo the Cleric, herald of the Prancing Horse, raised high the banner of the Maranello house.
Ode to the Cleric of the Red
Of bolides and wrecks, of clerics and knights, of youthful fury and aged patience, I sing. Of Carlo the Cleric I shall say things both said and unsaid. Surely I shall speak of wonders! If the muse who inspires me grants me a trace of talent—what little I possess—and does not consume me before the next contest.
Thus I pray to God Almighty to help me chisel words both worthy and transparent, though not immediately clear. Set sail, dear reader, and let me lead you—without DRS. I shall speak of half-wits who diminish the prowess of the Cleric. Poor disbelievers! If you cannot sense talent, go to barns and manure, not the modern battlefield.
Charles Leclerc (Ferrari) with the SF-25 before pitting, Saudi Arabian GP 2025
Let the wise remind you: one should not speak of what they do not know. But those who know nothing, speak to the wind, for none hear them. It is background noise, like today’s short tale. Tomorrow’s story, however, shall speak and remember a talent both unique and crystal-clear. A source of joy for us who witnessed it. And of deep despair. For a diamond may shine with its own light, but the true question is: does it shine only for a moment?
Or will its brilliance echo in human eternity for a longer glow? The wizard Atlas seems to have kidnapped the Cleric. Our hero always has glory in sight, but it escapes and flees, never to be caught! Will he lose his mind in sorrow, like his ancestor Orlando, who vainly sought Angelica’s love and lost his sanity? We hope not!
But to love without being loved in return is time lost and life wasted… Still, we with red hearts, red with passion, suffer for that twisted little horse that refuses to return triumphant and reborn. And there are no wrongs to cling to… no easy excuses to trust… The saying goes: those who cause their own misfortunes should weep for themselves. And a wise one reminded us that victory is celebrated, while defeat is explained with rivers of words…
Charles Leclerc’s (Scuderia Ferrari) smile after the exhausting Saudi Arabian Grand Prix 2025
And then come ramblings and blabber about the season of rest, where one boasts of dreams that never come true. Then spring arrives, and with it, the truth on track. And for us and the Cleric come great troubles and laments. And we return, we poor ones sick with crimson fever, to the usual sad omen and the heartfelt plea:
Give the Cleric a missile, not a tired nag. A Durandal, not spoiled gunpowder. And then, we’ll talk again!
Verstappen optimizes, Mercedes toasted
Piastri. Rating: Leader
He’s ice-cold. Few words, lots of substance. Maybe even too much, considering Norris is McLaren’s chosen one for the title.
And a tough nut to crack even for the reigning world champion.
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