Ladies and gentlemen, your two unfortunates of the past weekend: Lando Norris and local wildlife. The Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, host site of the Canadian Grand Prix, encircles an island in Montreal. It is a gorgeous circuit, featuring the close-hewn walls of a street race, a run through lush greenery rivaling even the aesthetics of the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, and marmots. Groundhogs, specifically, who have found a circuit raised upon their homes and stayed put, to infrequent risk of extreme bodily harm, i.e. decapitation or bisection.
On turn 13, Lewis Hamilton hit a groundhog that was on track with his Ferrari. The remainder of the groundhog stayed as debris on the track, shown a few times throughout the race. Hamilton was smartly not informed of this fact during the race, which, thanks to resulting floor damage and poor pit-stop timing, he spent largely treading water on an island in P6. The nature of automobiles leads to somewhat flippant and/or nervously hysterical reactions to loss of animal life—during the weekend's running of 24 Hours of Le Mans, the delirious night session commentators' processing of a local rabbit death included a (unobserved?) moment of silence and the term "derabbitized"—but the vegan Hamilton was naturally upset after the race. There may be a crude metaphor in there for how things are going at Ferrari this year, though it remains to be seen who exactly is the groundhog.
But getting too caught up in the large ground squirrels of it all does a disservice to the Canadian GP, which historically lends itself to tight gaps and great racing. Last year, Max Verstappen and George Russell notched exactly identical times on their best qualifying laps; Russell, who finished his lap first, won the tiebreak. This year, he beat out Verstappen on pace for another pole. Former drivers were especially appreciative; in his commentary for F1 TV, David Coulthard referred to the circuit as a fingertip track, or one navigated by finest of feel and margins. And so despite the lesser intrigue of the race's earlier running, which was spent hankering after some safety cars, it was easy to believe that something might just happen in the closing laps. The McLarens were unable to find pace, and the top five were nestled close together. One mistake would just about do it.
Norris came into the race 10 points behind his teammate Oscar Piastri in the championship standings. On lap 62, he was running in P5, within a second of Piastri. How much would he be willing to risk for a four-point swing and a little bit of momentum coming his way?
His time was running out. Piastri was closing in on Mercedes rookie Kimi Antonelli, who was trying to score his first career podium. Piastri did not need to pass Antonelli, though a podium would be a nice bonus; he just needed to be within DRS range, to help neutralize Norris's own advantage. In theory, that would be enough, and in theory, with four laps to go, Piastri did enough: He edged within one second of Antonelli, and eliminated the traditional overtaking spots out of the straights. Norris took the only option left. The hairpin turn in sector three, a deliciously slow corner that the broadcast direction exploited to advertise F1's namesake feature film, finally served a much nobler task: hosting the best wheel-to-wheel racing we've had so far this season.
Norris dove down the inside of Piastri at the hairpin. Piastri pulled out the ideal response, sweeping under and through, to stick to the right of Norris. They ran side-by-side down the Casino Straight, DRS flaps open, mirrored but for Norris's bright yellow T-cam. Piastri broke late enough to stick ahead through the Wall of Champions, but compromised his exit, leaving Norris directly on his tail down the entirety of the start-finish straight.
Approaching the first turn of lap 67, Norris, assuming Piastri would turn into the corner, went for a gap that was not yet there. It was a drastic miscalculation, one you could miss altogether if you looked away for one second. Immediate consequences: Norris bumped into the rear of his teammate and lost his front wing. Meaningless, though flashy, aftermath: Norris kicked up grass, bumped into the barrier, and rolled to a stop at the end of the straight.
The safety car that everyone was hankering after scooted out for the final laps of the race, which were reduced to a procession later sorted out by legal dispute (Yuki Tsunoda would be justifiably cheesed about the letter of law sticking him with a 10-place grid penalty, but not applying to the six cars who only received warnings for passing under safety car conditions). Antonelli scored his first podium as a rookie. Norris extended his gap to Piastri by 12 points instead of two.
Norris showed contrition for the move with remarkable speed for an F1 driver, immediately admitting fault over the radio and acknowledging, "Stupid from me." In a boon for team morale, he also apologized to Piastri during their post-race media obligations. Piastri accepted his apology, though it was not a particularly difficult task: The person who committed the wrong was, for once, also the one who came out worse for it.
These are the disasters that championships are lost on, the burden of risk-taking falling on the driver lower in the standings. For half a lap, Norris silenced his loudest critics this season. Out of necessity, he broke from his earlier pattern of damage-limitation recovery drives in favor of some flashy racecraft, and he nearly, so nearly, pulled it off, before undoing all of his brilliant labor and then some. His greatest reassurance—that it is a long, long season—also lengthens his agony. Norris went for the gap half a second too early; now he will have to wait at least two weeks for the next one.
