In the high-octane world of Formula 1, where thousandths of a second separate glory from defeat, the hierarchy is usually clear. For years, Red Bull Racing has been the undisputed king of the track, a titan of engineering and strategy with Max Verstappen, their prodigious driver, rewriting the record books. But the 2025 season has thrown a wrench into the finely tuned gears of this championship machine. The most unexpected challenge isn’t coming from their usual rivals like Ferrari or Mercedes, but from within their own family—the junior team, Racing Bulls. What started as a surprising uptick in performance has now snowballed into a full-blown crisis, raising uncomfortable questions that threaten to unravel the very fabric of Red Bull’s dominance.

The signs have been brewing for weeks, subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. It began with both Racing Bulls cars storming into the final qualifying session at Zandvoort, a feat that turned heads in the paddock. Then came rookie driver Isack Hadjar’s maiden podium, a flash of brilliance that signaled a genuine shift in capability. But it was Liam Lawson’s consistent point-scoring finishes that truly cemented the narrative: Racing Bulls was no longer just a midfield contender; they were punching far above their weight.

On the surface, the Constructors’ Championship standings still tell a story of Red Bull supremacy, with the team sitting comfortably in fourth while Racing Bulls languishes in seventh. However, this statistic is deeply misleading. It masks the dramatic turnaround of the season, conveniently ignoring Racing Bulls’ dismal start, which was plagued by strategic blunders and missed opportunities. When you look at the raw pace and, more importantly, the car’s fundamental nature, a different, more alarming picture emerges.

The paddock is rife with whispers, and the consensus is startling: the Racing Bulls car is simply a much easier and more predictable machine to drive. This isn’t just speculation; it’s a theory supported by cold, hard evidence. Look no further than the contrasting fortunes of Liam Lawson and Yuki Tsunoda. Since his demotion from the senior Red Bull team, Lawson has been a driver reborn, thriving in the more forgiving Racing Bulls chassis and racking up an impressive 20 points. Tsunoda, meanwhile, has struggled immensely since his promotion to the “top team,” managing only nine points and often looking like a shadow of his former self. The data is damning—Hadjar, in the other Racing Bulls car, has already accumulated 37 points, further highlighting the disparity. It suggests that the problem isn’t the drivers; it’s the machine they’re trying to tame.

This sentiment was given explosive credibility by none other than two-time world champion Fernando Alonso. Known for his shrewd and unfiltered commentary, Alonso dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves through the sport. “The Racing Bulls always have a plane,” he stated with his trademark confidence. “If Verstappen were in that car, he’d fight for the championship.” The implication was seismic. Alonso wasn’t just praising Racing Bulls; he was delivering a stinging critique of Red Bull, suggesting that their car is so difficult and flawed that it is masking the true potential of the greatest driver of his generation.

Even more telling has been the raw, unfiltered frustration of Max Verstappen himself. Following a particularly grueling race, Verstappen made a stunning admission, conceding that Red Bull and Racing Bulls are now effectively “tied” on pure pace. The comment was a public acknowledgment of Red Bull’s rapid and shocking decline. “Our car is just not quick enough,” he lamented, the exasperation clear in his voice. “The entire race I was more so on pace with our sister team… that should not be, that is not good.” This wasn’t just a driver having a bad day; this was a champion witnessing his competitive advantage evaporate before his eyes, forced to battle the very team meant to be their subordinate.

So, how did it come to this? How did the team that perfected the ground-effect era of F1 seemingly lose its way so dramatically? According to former Racing Bulls principal Laurent Mekies, the answer lies in divergent development paths. The fundamental concepts, the very “genesis” of the two cars, are now so different that sharing ideas and solutions has become nearly impossible. Red Bull appears to have “chosen the wrong development path yet again,” a critical error that has left them with a car that is not only difficult to drive but is also proving stubbornly resistant to upgrades.

This internal crisis is compounded by a dramatic and destabilizing exodus of key technical staff. The departures of legendary designer Adrian Newey, sporting director Jonathan Wheatley, and chief engineer Paul Courtney have ripped the heart out of the team’s technical leadership. This brain drain was followed by the shocking and controversial sacking of team principal Christian Horner. The official line may cite a “lack of results under his leadership,” but many see it as the culmination of a power struggle that has been brewing behind the scenes for months. The once-unshakeable foundation of Red Bull Racing now looks fractured beyond repair.

This turmoil has inevitably led to wild speculation about Verstappen’s future. While he is contracted with Red Bull for the first year of the new regulations in 2026, his long-term commitment is far from certain. The “wild scenario” of him switching to Racing Bulls, once a laughable fantasy, is now being discussed in serious tones. Could Verstappen, in a more compliant and drivable car, truly fight for wins and expose the rot at the core of the senior team? It’s a tantalizing prospect that highlights the depth of the crisis.

The situation leaves Red Bull at a terrifying crossroads. Their car is difficult, their technical leadership is in disarray, and their star driver is growing increasingly disillusioned. The rise of Racing Bulls is no longer just a feel-good underdog story; it’s a harsh mirror reflecting Red Bull’s own failures. As the season marches on, the ultimate question looms larger than ever: Can the fallen giants recover, or are we witnessing the spectacular implosion of a modern Formula 1 dynasty, brought down not by an external rival, but by the quiet, relentless ambition of its own sister team? The answer will define the next chapter of the sport.