The new owners of Formula One will be looking hard at how the races of the future can be more of a spectacle. And how a driver can win because of his lantern jaw, his steely eyes and his giant testes. Not because he changed his tyres 32 seconds later than the other guy.

Many think that faster cars are the answer. But that’s rubbish. The only people who truly appreciate higher cornering speeds are the drivers. And the sport isn’t run for them. It’s run for you and me, at home, on the sofa, with a bottle of beer perched between our knees as we reach for another handful of executive nuts. And we can’t tell whether a car is doing 150 through Becketts, or 152.

What we can tell is that it’s going through Becketts by itself. And that the car behind cannot catch up because in order to go through Beckets at 152, the car in front has all sorts of aero which messes with the air in its wake.

The solution, then, is obvious. Ban the wings.

Of course, the cornering speeds would drop but us lot, the fans, wouldn’t care about that because we’d be too busy whooping as we watched the driver working for a living.

He wouldn’t be able to rely on an invisible elephant sitting on the back of his car. He’d have more power than grip and it would be up to him to manage that. With another car right up his trumpet, trying to get past. Something that would be possible because the air in his slipstream would be less smashed and deranged.

It’s often said that the technology developed in the world of Formula One trickles down eventually to ordinary every day cars. This certainly isn’t the case when it comes to aero. So there’s definitely no need for it.

I appreciate that without wings, there would be fewer places on the car to put sponsor’s decals. But the teams shouldn’t worry about that.

The racing would be so much more exciting, television audiences would sky rocket and they’d no longer have to rely on a Huddersfield carpet warehouse paying £2.75 to have its name on an end plate. Instead, the world’s big name brands would be fighting each other with shitty sticks and open cheque books for the chance to have their name writ large and proud on the nose cone.

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