Why stepping into the Red Bull cockpit today is like buying a haunted castle without a will, insurance, or an exorcist.

By Beto Villani

Max Verstappen, who seemingly now flies more in private jets than a minister in Brasília, put an end to his season of rumors with a good bottle of wine — not just any Bordeaux, but a rare one that was likely bottled while Nero was still playing the lyre in Rome. The setting? Toto Wolff’s yacht, of course. Because nothing says “I swear I’m not switching teams” like a summer ride on the Mercedes boss’s boat.

After that, our supersonic ego pilot calmly returned to Monaco, where his wife, Kelly Piquet, was waiting. It’s worth remembering, she’s the sister of Nelsinho, the one who, with all the subtlety of an IndyCar in a pit stop, leaked the info: Verstappen is going to Mercedes. And it wasn’t in a press conference. It was a “brother-in-law leak,” the deadliest of all leaks.

Now, after the scandal, let’s face the reality of 2026. The future is just around the corner, and it doesn’t look promising for Red Bull. The team, which until last week was the most coveted destination in F1, has turned into an Airbnb with a leaky roof and rats in the basement. The team is falling apart — Newey has fled, Horner has evaporated, and only Helmut Marko remains, who could easily be mistaken for a Roman bust in the paddock.

Tsunoda? He’s already been released to “seek new horizons,” which in F1 means, “Thanks, but your badge doesn’t work here anymore.” And the two seats are there, wide open, like two electric chairs waiting for suicidal volunteers.

The engine will be new. And when you say “new engine” in 2026, read it as: a pile of shiny parts that will make scary noises and break down like political campaign promises. It’s like handing someone a concept car from an auto show and telling them to race in Monaco: beautiful in PowerPoint, a disaster on the track.

Before disappearing like a station master at an abandoned railroad, Horner mentioned Oscar Piastri. A talent, of course. But does anyone really believe the Aussie will swap McLaren’s papaya rocket, which has finally started to master the corners, for a project that looks more like a garage start-up? Piastri would be smarter buying a coffee shop in Texas.

Other names are in the desperate bingo pool:

• Gasly, always looking like he’s been betrayed by someone.
• Ocon, who argues with teammates more than a teenager does with their mirror.
• Sainz, the orphan of Ferrari who might end up embracing the first opportunity, like accepting an invite to a bad party just to avoid staying home.

But what about the young talents? Throwing them in now would be like putting an intern to defuse a bomb while the clock is already at five seconds. Because, even in pieces, Red Bull is still a big team. And with a big legacy comes big expectations… and demands worthy of an Inquisition tribunal.

What we have, my friends, is a circus. A bizarre spectacle with runaway bulls, terrified engineers, and team bosses in “airplane mode.” Red Bull has become one of those cars you look at and say, “Wow, this car was amazing…” while thanking your lucky stars you’re not driving it right now.2026 is coming. And with it, two open seats for anyone with the courage, irresponsibility, or simply lack of options.

Good luck. You’ll need courage, talent…… and a good lawyer.