2026 Italian Grand Prix: The Temple of Speed Deserved More

There is perhaps no stranger way to describe a race won by an Italian driver charging from nineteenth to first at Monza than underwhelming. And yet, here we are.

Kimi Antonelli’s victory at the 2026 Italian Grand Prix deserves every bit of celebration it will receive. Starting nineteenth after a power-unit penalty, he fought his way through the field, battled his own Mercedes teammate at the front, and became the first Italian driver to win at Monza in 60 years. That is extraordinary. But Antonelli being extraordinary and Monza being underwhelming are not mutually exclusive.

For a race at the Temple of Speed, Sunday felt remarkably restrained. Not uneventful. Not devoid of overtakes. Managed. And increasingly, that may be the problem with Formula 1.

Monaco, Silverstone, Spa, Suzuka, and Monza are among the most coveted victories in motorsport. They mean more than another 25 points ever could. These wins become part of a driver’s mythology, remembered long after the championship standings fade from memory. If you are a Formula 1 driver, these are the victories you should want badly.

And yet, watching Monza this year, one question kept coming back to me: Where have the drivers gone?

The ingredients for a spicy race were there. Pierre Gasly had shocked the grid with his first Formula 1 pole position. George Russell lined up beside him. Charles Leclerc had Ferrari and the Tifosi behind him in third after Oscar Piastri’s grid penalty. Lewis Hamilton started fourth. Max Verstappen was fifth. Antonelli, meanwhile, was buried all the way back in nineteenth.

At lights out, there was some bite. Gasly fought Russell. Leclerc and Hamilton went wheel-to-wheel, Hamilton eventually taking to the gravel in an incident judged to be racing. Then, on Lap 2, Leclerc lost the rear at Curva Alboreto and crashed heavily, eventually bringing out the red flag.

For a moment, it looked as though Monza had arrived. Then came the strange lull.

Positions shifted. Strategies developed. Battery deployment became crucial. Antonelli climbed through the order. Verstappen stayed in contention. Russell moved to the front. It was the standard rhythm we have grown accustomed to this season. Things were unfolding, but very little of it felt desperate.

There is a major difference between drivers racing one another and drivers being allowed to fight only while that fight remains strategically convenient.

Antonelli and Russell provided some of the afternoon’s best racing. Their different battery deployment created repeated exchanges, at one point bringing them perilously close at Curva Grande. It was exactly the sort of intra-team tension a Grand Prix like Monza should produce.

But then Mercedes, in an echo of McLaren’s much-discussed “Papaya Rules,” intervened, telling Antonelli that the pair needed to focus on building a gap to Verstappen.

The strategic call made complete sense, but that was exactly the problem.

From the pit wall, one makes that call because points are in the air. From the sofa, one groans because that was a fight prematurely broken up. Two drivers in equal machinery, both with a legitimate chance at winning one of Formula 1’s most prestigious races, could have — and should have — settled it between themselves.

Instead, the Spock-like calculations we’ve grown accustomed to arrived: preserve the tires, protect the gap, avoid unnecessary risk, maximize the points, bring both cars home.

Formula 1 has always required strategy. The Constructors’ Championship has always mattered. Teams have always managed their drivers when necessary. But it increasingly feels as though we are watching the eleven teams more than the twenty-two drivers, as racing philosophies prioritize team points over high-quality on-track action.

That is what made Monza so frustrating. There were battles. Antonelli and Russell fought. Verstappen was a threat. Norris and Piastri produced tension of their own, with Norris taking fourth from his teammate on the final lap by less than two-tenths of a second.

The race was not devoid of action, but it was devoid of sustained aggression.

Watching the cars in action, the question seemed less like Can I take this position? and more like Is chasing this position worth the risk?

Formula 1 has gotten very good at answering that second question. Perhaps a little too good.

The contrast feels particularly sharp after last season, when Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, and Max Verstappen turned the Drivers’ Championship into a genuine three-way fight. Even Monza itself had an edge, with Verstappen and Norris immediately fighting for the lead and Leclerc and Piastri scrapping behind them. Positions felt personal, not merely strategic.

That is the part that increasingly feels absent this year. This isn’t about skill, courage, or even one’s ability to overtake. It’s about the lack of sheer audacity and defiance that has so often defined the sport.

What happened to the stubborn defence? The slightly irrational lunge? The driver who looked at the car ahead and refused to accept a second-place finish? The teammate who actively fought the “second driver” label? Those were the moments that made the sport magical, separating determined racing from corporate optimization.

And that is why Monza felt so strange. On paper, the race sounds almost impossible to criticize: a shock polesitter, an early red flag, a Ferrari crashing in front of the Tifosi, a driver starting nineteenth and winning, teammates fighting, Verstappen threatening, Norris and Piastri separated by fractions at the finish, an Italian historically winning his home Grand Prix.

It should sound like a classic race. But I don’t think it felt like one.

This is the Temple of Speed, so why was no one fighting harder to win?

I don’t think the drivers themselves are the problem. Perhaps Formula 1 has become so adept at managing risk that it increasingly suppresses the instincts that make racing exciting.

Antonelli started nineteenth and had no choice but to attack if he wanted to win. So he did. That is why his performance stood out so dramatically that afternoon. Kimi raced at Monza like Monza mattered.

I wanted more of that from everyone else.

Monza is not supposed to feel sensible. It is loud, historic, fast, emotional, and slightly ridiculous. Thousands of people do not descend upon a royal park outside Milan because they want to watch a Formula 1 parade. They come because somebody might do something audacious at the Temple of Speed.

Kimi Antonelli did.

The 2026 Italian Grand Prix deserved more of it.