DPTJ Script: Engines of Power: Formula 1's FISA vs FOCA Conflict Part 1 (1964-1977)

The explosive war between Formula 1 teams and the FIA that nearly killed the sport.

What do you consider to be the defining characteristics of Formula 1 in the modern era? There are plenty of options to choose from. Maybe you'd suggest that the two driver per team format is critical, since that differs so strongly from other forms of motorsport that allow for smaller or larger teams, or for one-off car entries.

Or maybe you'd pinpoint big-money glamour as an important part of Formula 1. After all, it takes hundreds of millions of dollars to run a team, and you see that money reflected in the VIP paddock club suites, in luxury race venues like Las Vegas, and in climbing ticket prices.

Or, perhaps, you'd just point to the sheer number of rules as being a defining part of F1. You could note the Concorde Agreement, or the hundreds of pages of regulations that dictate the function of the sport, or even the long-winded process of applying for credentials.

Whatever you pick, there's a good chance that that characteristic is the direct result of a decades-long battle for dominance between two different entities that wanted to professionalize Formula 1. On the one hand you had the Formula One Constructors’ Association, which was a group of team owners that wanted to advocate for things like better pay before they began to wrangle for control of F1. On the other hand was the Federation du Sport Automobile, a subsidiary of the FIA that dictated the functioning of Formula 1 — and that had very different ideas about what constituted a professional sport compared to FOCA.

In this special two-part podcast, we'll chart the course of this intra-series battle from the first inklings of frustration in the mid-1960s, all the way through to the changing of the guard that took place in the late 1980s to understand just how this war between FISA and FOCA defined the sport of Formula 1 as we know it today.

Defining FISA and FOCA

There are at least two sides to every war, and in order to actually understand what happened in the FISA/FOCA war, we need to dig into a bit of history about both parties involved, and what their goals are.

First up is the Federation du Sport Automobile, which today we just know as the FIA. This organization, though, is a little different than what we would expect.

See, the FIA started off as an organization called the Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus, which was founded in Paris on June 20, 1904. Prior to its formation, there wasn't one unifying body that oversaw the rapidly changing automotive and motorsport worlds, and the AIACR was the initial fix to oversee both the consumer automotive industry as well as the growing international racing scene.

As more cars hit the market and as more people took up racing, the AIACR realized that it was trying to manage a whole lot under the umbrella of its one organization. So, in 1922, it established the Commission Sportive Internationale, or the CSI, to really dig deep into motorsport. The CSI absorbed a lot of responsibilities from both the AIACR and the Automobile Club de France, which included establishing the rules and regulations for Grand Prix racing as well as setting up various championships for drivers and manufacturers. After World War II, the AIACR was renamed the FIA, and the FIA established a handful of championships like Formula 1, which were all overseen by the CSI.

Even though the CSI was in charge of organizing things like Grand Prix racing, that organization process looked a lot different compared to today. See, the CSI would call up a track and say, “Hey, do you want to host a Grand Prix this year?” and that track would say “yes, of course.” The CSI would add that track to a calendar with several other tracks, and it would clarify car specifications and racing rules, but that was kind of it. The circuits themselves were in charge of track maintenance, prize money, weekend formatting, and so much more — which meant that there wasn't much continuity in the schedule, and that every track was kind of servicing its own needs.

For example, the Italian Grand Prix could get away with offering a lower prize purse than some other circuits because it was centrally located for most F1 teams at the time, because it was prestigious in its own right, because you'd inevitably have a ton of Italian manufacturers that wanted to compete on their home turf, and because it was usually scheduled during a time of year that made it reasonable for teams to arrive.

But for the organizers of the United States Grand Prix at Watkins Glen, it was a lot harder to convince drivers and teams to compete at your event. The race was usually scheduled as the season finale, and if the championship was already tied up, then there was no need to go to America. It would cost a lot of money — and time — to ship your cars overseas, and making matters even more complicated, the track was located way out in the middle of nowhere. It was generally more hassle than it was worth.

Except, US Grand Prix organizers knew this, and to encourage drivers to make their way to the States for a weekend, they offered insane prizes. If you won at Watkins Glen, you'd be guaranteed to make more money than you would have for winning a continental European race. In fact, you'd probably make more money than you would have for winning multiple European races.

To sum it up, the CSI created a rough framework in which Formula 1 could exist, but once you got to the race track, it was more of a free-for-all.

In the 1970s, the lack of consistency started to become a real problem. Cars started getting faster, but no one was mandating that tracks be made safer to accommodate that. There was also no incentive to do regular maintenance, so it was up to the drivers to start advocating for themselves. They were, after all, the ones risking their lives for a pretty measly prize purse at the end of the weekend.

Improvements in technology and increased sponsor dollars also meant Formula 1 could be shared with growing audiences. The 1976 season finale in Fuji was one of the first races to be broadcast on television, because the contentious title fight between Niki Lauda and James Hunt had captured the imaginations of fans around the globe. But with more eyes on F1, it was becoming ever clearer that the sport needed to become more professional.

In 1978, a man named Jean-Marie Balestre was made president of the CSI, which he renamed the Federation International du Sport Automobile, or FISA. A former automotive journalist, Balestre was the first person to preside over the FIA's Commission Internationale du Karting, and his election to FISA coincided with his push to professionalize the sport.

A group of constructors at the time also wanted to professionalize the sport — but they had much different ideas about how they'd go about that, leading to some nasty ongoing tensions as the 1970s bled into the 1980s. Let's talk about FOCA.

FOCA stands for the Formula One Constructors Association. This group was composed of privately-owned teams like Williams, March, Lotus, McLaren, Brabham, and Tyrrell — or, teams that were operating on much smaller budgets and in much smaller facilities than the so-called grandees, or the factory-backed efforts of Ferrari, Alfa Romeo, Renault, or Matra.

See, those big-name teams may not have liked to be paid pennies for turning up at a race, but they could afford it — and they probably were ending up with a bigger cut of the starting money than their smaller competitors. On top of that, their star power naturally gave them a little more sway over the rules of the series.

But smaller, independent teams have always been a critical part of motorsport history, and as F1 entered the 1960s, those private teams were becoming a more dominant force. Even though they were building cars in tiny workshops and wood sheds, they were winning races and challenging for the championship. Still, they didn't feel they were getting their fair share, and in fact, there was a tendency for continental teams to look down on the privateers. Enzo Ferrari himself had a derogatory term for them: garagistes.

The first iteration of the Formula One Constructors Association popped up in 1964. At that point, it was still a pretty informal operation, but it did enable those smaller teams to join together in order to negotiate better prize and starting money, and they were even able to negotiate transportation costs to at least help them travel to the circuit.

But trouble was brewing. In 1967, some conflict arose between the Automobile Club de France, which organized the French Grand Prix, and the Federation Francaise du Sport Automobile, a relatively newer organization that was designed to be a more forward-thinking version of the ACF. During the season in question, the FFSA applied to the FIA to host the French Grand Prix, which would have taken that right away from the ACF. The FIA threw out the request, but the young guns in the FFSA had enough sway with the French ministry of sport that they earned governmental recognition as the heads of French motorsport.

The ACF and the FFSA fought over who had the right to sanction the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1967, and the fighting continued through the rest of the year and brought into question which organization should have control over the French Grand Prix as well. It wouldn't have mattered quite so much if the ACF and the FIA hadn't been so intertwined; the teams associated with the Formula One Constructors Association could only stand on the sidelines and watch as the whole drama played out. FOCA and the Grand Prix Drivers Association argued that the CSI should be made independent of the FIA if there was going to be this much in-fighting, with powers distributed more democratically amongst racing enthusiasts from all around the world. Clearly, that didn't happen.

All the while, trouble continued to brew.

Next up came the Spanish Grand Prix in 1970 — a race that almost instantly turned into a farce due to the race organizer's decision to completely overturn the standard rules that generally dictated a Grand Prix.

First, the organizers at Jarama decided that they were going to limit the number of starters to just 16. Then, they created a convoluted qualifying situation where certain practice sessions didn't count toward qualifying, which at the time was standard procedure. One session was reserved for drivers deemed to be the No. 2 driver at the team; those were the drivers who would have to qualify, as No. 1 drivers and former World Champions were guaranteed a starting position. And then, making matters even worse, the fastest six drivers in that No. 2 session would be allowed to enter the race, but the times they set in qualifying didn't count toward any positions. Then, one team manager managed to convince the organizers to extend practice for an additional half an hour for a session that everyone could compete in, and in which their fast laps counted toward their starting position. Unfortunately, not everyone got the memo, and plenty of drivers who thought they'd already set a decent lap didn't go out for a second and lost their starting slots.

Then on Saturday morning, the Commission Sportive Internationale decided that, actually, only the times recorded in the final two of four practice sessions counted toward your starting position. This particularly upset McLaren and Surtees, two FOCA teams, who thought all four sessions would count toward qualifying, and who opted against running in the afternoon sessions to preserve their cars. Now, it turned out that they hadn't run in the only sessions that counted. Ferrari started protesting against FOCA, claiming FOCA had somehow changed the rules, and the FIA ordered one last 10-minute session for drivers to set a fast time.

The chaos wasn't over, though. On Sunday morning, the FIA and the CSI finally decided that they'd comply with the standards set by the Spanish Grand Prix organizers — namely, that the 10 seeded drivers would start the race along with the six fastest qualifiers. But at the start, every driver with a car still running lined up on the grid, prompting organizers to delay the start of the race to usher those final cars out of the way.

See, this is what both FISA and FOCA were talking about when it came to the relative professionalization of Grand Prix races, which is to say — they weren't very professional at all. You could turn up to a track only to discover the race organizers had decided to upend the procedures you were familiar with. That could, theoretically, happen at every single track in a season. And even with every team on site, there was no guarantee everyone would get the same message about potential other rule changes

In Motor Sport Magazine, the race report for the 1970 Spanish Grand Prix ended as such: “Never has a Grand Prix been so fraught with wrangles and complaints, a disease that used to affect sports-car racing, when Grand Prix racing was good clean sport. Since the introduction of big-business interests and the formation of this Association and that Association, with busy little ‘shop stewards,’ Grand Prix racing has gone to the dogs. Let us hope it does not sink any lower, or Formula Ford will be the blue-eyed sport.”

The disastrous race convinced FOCA that it was time to get serious about fighting back against, well, just about everyone involved in Grand Prix racing, starting with the race organizers themselves, but things didn't make much of a change until early 1972. During a meeting among independent team owners, Brabham's new owner, a man named Bernie Ecclestone, made a pitch for why he believed he should be in control.

Well, it was less of a pitch for control, and more of a very clear illustration of what he felt the group could do better. In that March meeting, as FOCA boss Andrew Ferguson laid out his plans for the international travel schedule that year, Bernie Ecclestone presented a counter offer. He'd found a transport company called Cazaly Mills & Co. that would cut the crews a much better deal — and which just so happened to provide Ecclestone with a handsome commission for getting crews on board. As Formula 1's calendar continued to expand, FOCA teams were very interested, and before long, Ecclestone had wrested control of the group.

The life of Bernie Ecclestone is worth its own episode of “Deadly Passions, Terrible Joys,” but we do need a brief history of the man to really understand how his role at FOCA evolved. Born on October 28, 1930, Ecclestone's first career was trading automotive parts during World War II, which turned into a gig selling used cars and motorcycles. His shrewd sales techniques saw him stash away enough money to begin his own racing career, and, when he realized that wasn't going to be a particularly lucrative career path, he took up management for Stuart Lewis-Evans and Jochen Rindt. Both of those drivers ultimately died in gnarly racing accidents, after which time Ecclestone turned his attention to team leadership in 1972.

So, here we are. It was 1972, and two months later, heading into the Monaco Grand Prix, things really started to kick off. FOCA had managed to convince all of the European race organizers to guarantee a grid size of 25 cars at the start of the season, and things were looking good. Even the CSI had telegrammed FOCA to confirm all the details of the European races, which did in fact confirm 25 cars.

But the Automobile Club of Monaco had a new chairman, Michael Boeri, and he was interested in limiting the grid to just 20 cars as opposed to the expected 25. FOCA teams learned of this reversal of fortunes two weeks before Monaco, during the Spanish Grand Prix weekend. Even in an era where various race organizers took plenty of different approaches to hosting events, Monaco was always granted extra care and special dispensations — and Boeri pointed to a line in the CSI rulebook that mentioned expanding the size of the grid, but only to 20 cars. If that was good enough for the CSI, Boeri said, then it should be good enough for FOCA.

Word filtered through that Boeri was basically just being used as a front for the CSI, and that this was another attempt by the CSI to exert control over the sport of Formula 1.

FOCA was having none of it, and with Bernie Ecclestone at the helm, they were more powerful than ever before. FOCA stated that its teams would not race unless 25 cars were allowed. Point blank. Jacques Blanchet, a representative for the CSI and also the president of the FFSA, was forced to intervene by hashing out details with FOCA's Max Mosley. Mosley spoke French and had a legal background, and he was one of the founders of the March Engineering race team. Ecclestone schemed with Mosley, and Mosley made FOCA's case to Jacques Blanchet. Incredibly, the CSI bowed to their demands, and 25 cars were allowed to start the 1972 Monaco Grand Prix. And it was a good thing, too — at least for BRM racer Jean-Pierre Beltoise, who took his one and only Formula 1 win in the wet race.

Of note here is the fact that the CSI was forced to publicly address the boycott threat, and they claimed FOCA actually wasn't even interested in the grid positions, but in boycotting the introduction of deformable-structure safety regulations for 1973. Those deformable safety structures were basically just small pads of foam that had to be added to certain areas of the car in hopes of protecting things like the fuel tank in the event of a crash. It was a thinly veiled attempt to turn the narrative against FOCA, and Ecclestone didn't let it happen. But it will come into play soon — particularly when you consider that Jacques Blanchet was soon dropped from his presidency of the FFSA, in favor of Jean-Marie Balestre.

If you're thinking, “Wow, with Ecclestone in charge, things are really coming together!” — well, hold on a second. That fall, Ecclestone presented race organizers with his next demand: They wanted more prize money, and they wanted a more equal distribution of funds between those teams. As you might imagine, this didn't sit well with the CSI, which responded by creating a new body called Grand Prix International to be headed by a Dutchman named Henri Treu. GPI's whole purpose was negotiating with FOCA on behalf of the race organizers.

Or, as Denis Jenkinson described it in Motor Sport Magazine, “Yet another association has been formed, this time by the Grand Prix race organisers and circuit managements, and it is called “Grand Prix International”. In spite of flowey words and political phraseology this is yet another Trade Union, formed so that its Shop Steward can attend meetings of the CSI and combat the activities of the other powerful Unions, such as the Formula One Constructors Union and the Grand Prix Drivers Union. Of course, it could happen that all these specialist groups could work together for the overall benefit of the sport, but it is unlikely, and the words boycott, strike, industrial action and bloody-mindedness will no doubt figure high on the Agenda. It is only fair that the Grand Prix organisers should have their own man on the spot, for in the past decisions have been made by Constructors and Drivers groups and the race organisers or the circuit management have been presented with a fait accompli, which they did not always agree with. Eventually, there will be so many committees, associations and unions, that meetings will occupy everyone full time and there will not be any time for actual racing, and that could solve a lot of the problems of today”

What transpired were some fairly sneaky tactics on the part of the GPI. It started off attempting to negotiate individually with each of FOCA's teams, trying to offer enough of them deals that it would force the collapse of the whole union. That didn't work; the teams remained a united front. Henri Treu was only prepared to offer them a 12.5% increase in prize money, not the 100% increase they'd asked for.

GPI's next step was to return to the CSI with a proposition: Much like they'd done in 1952 when there weren't enough actual F1 cars to justify a season, the CSI stated it wanted to open up the grid. So, in 1973, Formula 5000, Formula 2, and USAC cars would all be invited to play during a Grand Prix. The thinking here was that the FOCA teams could be drowned out by flooding grids with additional talent.

In Motorsport Magazine, Denis Jenkinson wrote, “The organisers made it known that they hope they can keep the World Championship to the existing Formula One, but the concession granted by the CSI is a sort of insurance policy to make sure they can run their races in spite of any pressures the Formula One teams might try and bring. The whole affair would appear to be a lot of hot air, but Formule Libre Grand Prix racing would be popular with a lot of people, and Dan Gurney would no doubt be interested in joining in with his USAC-Eagle team. An unusual part of the whole fracas was that the GPDA never got a word in anywhere and were never mentioned in the discussions.”

The teams were understandably irate as this discussion continued into early 1973. They claimed that if the CSI didn't back down, they'd quit racing, full stop. But what really made a difference was Philip Morris.

Through its Marlboro brand, Philip Morris was sponsoring BRM for a hefty paycheck each year, and the company didn't want this battle between the CSI and FOCA harming the sport where it had invested plenty of money — both into BRM as well as into individual races.

All the while, FOCA was ironing out incredibly lucrative deals to compete in overseas races, adding yet another layer of complexity to an affair that only got wilder when Mosley and Ecclestone brought out their best argument yet.

By allowing non-F1 cars to enter its Grands Prix, FOCA argued, then the CSI was undermining all of its posturing about safety.

Remember the deformable-structure regulations for F1 cars in 1973? Those structures weren't required on cars from other series. How could the CSI have its safety stance taken seriously if it was going to allow blatantly unsafe cars to enter F1 events?

It was the death blow to the GPI, which dissolved soon after. And in 1973, FOCA only began to grow as, one by one, race organizers signed the big-money deals presented to them by Ecclestone.

I want to take a moment here to point out that it can be easy for us to look at FOCA as the good guys in retrospect, and it's also pretty easy for us to imagine that everyone had a stake in this fight — but that wasn't the case. A lot of people, like journalists and engineers and mechanics, just wanted to go racing. Yes, sure, they wanted to be paid for doing so, but this concept that Grand Prix racing should be profitable was very new. Until this point, you were almost expected to be involved more for the love of the game than for anything else, and the people that were there for the love of the game saw an inherent threat in their livelihood with this rift tearing the sport apart. And it definitely didn't help that Bernie Ecclestone, the negotiator of these deals, made sure he earned a percentage of any money channeled into FOCA.

But the fight would keep going, and it would keep getting worse.

Formula 1 in the mid-1970s

Over the next few years, FOCA's influence continued to grow. Yes, prize money kept on increasing, but that was only one small part of what the organization became involved in. It soon set out to tackle things like safety at the tracks, race scheduling, sponsorship, and promotional activities.

In one particularly illuminating case, Ecclestone negotiated a move away from Spa-Francorchamps, which had degraded drastically in terms of safety. He organized an alternating deal between two other tracks in the country, Nivelles and Zolder, to satisfy the political inclinations of the Flemish and Walloon regions of the country — but when drivers complained about how much they hated Nivelles, Ecclestone didn't hesitate to nix the deal and move the Belgian Grand Prix wholly to Zolder. Even the CSI couldn't manage to wrangle enough political control to move back to Nivelles in 1976. The tides had turned, and there was a new boss in town.

Ecclestone began to negotiate contractual deals with as many tracks as possible that would lock them into hosting a Grand Prix for three years in a bid to guarantee a little stability for the calendar — and when the Canadian Grand Prix organizers decided they didn't want to work with Ecclestone in 1975, he organized a boycott of the race. The event found backing from Labatt, and it returned for 1976 in a better position to pay travel fees. He even threatened to boycott the 1976 Japanese Grand Prix — aka, the event that would decide the contentious title between Niki Lauda and James Hunt — because the organizers struggled to find the money to pay for the teams’ travel.

The CSI found themselves outwitted and unsure of how to reclaim power. When the Canadian GP organizers reached out to the CSI to help keep the race in 1975, there was nothing it could do. The former leader of the CSI, Prince Klemens von Metternich, stepped down, and a Belgian man named Pierre Ugeux stepped up.

Ugeux was an interesting pick. He didn't come from a motorsport background, but he did speak both German and French which theoretically would give him more leverage in making deals.

One of his first acts came in November of 1975, when he introduced something called the Brussels Agreement. This agreement would set a fixed price that European race organizers would have to pay to appear at events in 1976. After some negotiation, the FIA and FOCA agreed to a fixed sum of $275,000 — which would be about $1.5 million today when adjusted for inflation. While Ugeux was pleased with what he considered a success, recently elected FFSA president Jean-Marie Balestre took personal offense to the way Bernie Ecclestone simply decided that the sum should be raised from $270,000 to $275,000.

Next up on Ugeux's agenda was to attempt to reintroduce the GPI — but it turned out that no one wanted to bite. The Royal Automobile Club, which organized the British Grand Prix, was particularly annoyed with the fact that the CSI wanted to try to create this kind of union and went so far as to point out that FOCA's legal advisor Max Mosely said a consortium of race organizers would violate the Treaty of Rome. Signed on March 25, 1957 and brought into effect on January 1, 1958, the Treaty of Rome strove to create a common market among select countries. This is the act that introduced a common currency, for example, and allowed for the free movement of goods, people, and services between the member nations. It also introduced antitrust laws, which prevented the formation of a monopoly, which is likely the violation the RAC was referring to.

But Ugeux was determined to find another way around this. Instead, he formed something called the One Hundred Thousand Dollar Club, which included powerful organizers of the German, Argentinian, and Monaco Grand Prix. The name was a reference to a bond that would have to be paid by any organizer that broke ranks with the group. This organization would transform into something called World Championship Racing, and Uguex appointed former Marlboro director Patrick Duffeler to the board.

Duffeler was the man who had negotiated the transfer of Marlboro's sponsorship from BRM to McLaren, and he had been personally offended by Ecclestone. See, Marlboro was disappointed by the way BRM had performed and wanted to move to a bigger, more impressive team. For a while McLaren looked like it'd be the best fit, but McLaren first had to end a conflicting sponsorship deal with British American Tobacco. When it didn't look like McLaren could make that happen, Duffeler and Ecclestone hammered out a rough deal for Marlboro to move to Brabham.

According to Duffeler, Ecclestone made a suggestion during their meeting that he be compensated somehow for going to all the trouble to fly out to Switzerland to make the deal. Obviously that didn't sit well with Duffeler, who saw the whole affair as being mutually beneficial without the need for any extra palm greasing.

McLaren, though, returned Duffeler's calls to say they'd foisted its BAT sponsorship to a third car, so the main team could inherit the Marlboro sponsorship. Duffeler quickly signed the deal, and the preliminary arrangement with Ecclestone was thrown out. As a result, Brabham started 1974 with plain white unsponsored cars, relying on pay drivers to get the car from track to track.

Bad blood still simmered between the two men, and Duffeler was ready for round two.

His first order of business was to form a new body named World Championship Racing, or WCR. This body was formed on behalf of the race organizers that were part of the One Hundred Thousand Dollar Club. WCR intended to organize three-year deals with FOCA as a way to exert some control and stability over Formula 1, and Duffeler sent his proposal off to FOCA right away.

But FOCA never responded.

Seriously: They said nothing. They refused to engage with the WCR. And with the first race of the 1977 season taking place on January 9 in Argentina, someone needed to figure something out, fast, before only a handful of cars turned up in Buenos Aires.

Juan Manuel Fangio and Juan Manuel Bordeu served as the organizers for the Argentine Grand Prix, and they didn't hesitate to tear into FOCA for their hard-headed behavior. FOCA's response was swift: Fine. We just won't turn up. Good luck!

Somehow, word had got out about the One Hundred Thousand Dollar Club — namely, that only some race organizers had agreed to the terms. That meant Bernie Ecclestone was free to approach all the other organizers to hammer out deals with them. And there were some organizers, like those of the Belgian Grand Prix, who agreed to work with both the CSI and with FOCA.

Tensions were high, because the 1976 season was full of chaos. While James Hunt and Niki Lauda were battling on the track for a championship, their teams — McLaren and Ferrari, respectively — were doing battle through the CSI in the form of protests. Ferrari would allege that McLaren was cheating, and demand the race result be thrown out; McLaren would adamantly deny it had done anything wrong, and that, actually, Ferrari had violated the rules. Almost every time the CSI ruled on something, that ruling ended up in court, and the CSI found itself having to flip its rulings throughout the season.

It was maddening, and as F1 headed into 1977, it looked as if there would be no choice but to split F1 into two different series. That's right: Formula 1 was free-falling right into its very own Split.

The British press started to slam both FOCA and the WCR; as I mentioned before, the press was annoyed that this petty squabbling over money and power was actively harming the Formula 1 World Championship, and those reporters started to demand accountability from both parties. No more finger pointing. No more fighting. Own up to the fact that you're both being a pain in the ass.

And then in mid-December, Bernie Ecclestone met up with the CSI and agreed to run the Argentine Grand Prix under WCR's terms. It was a critical meeting, and Ugeux wasn't present, which meant everyone else in the WCR had to scramble to alert the Argentine organizers that an event was actually going to happen in a few weeks’ time.

Did that mean the WCR won? Uguex certainly seemed to think so — after all, Ecclestone had folded! He agreed to the organization's terms!

F1 bounced from Argentina to Brazil, then to Kyalami and California. The races went off without a hitch. No one was arguing. Uguex could rest on his laurels, pleased that he'd been able to tame the beast that is Bernie Ecclestone.

But when Formula 1 returned to Europe, Ugeux was in for a shock. He had assumed his victory in Argentina meant Ecclestone had given up — but in reality, it had only bought the FOCA boss more time to continue negotiating with European race organizers. When the circus arrived at the Spanish Grand Prix in May, Ugeux was shocked to find the WCR butting heads with FOCA once again as the terms of the various race deals became clear. And it was also clear that FOCA wouldn't hesitate to boycott WCR-affiliated events like the German Grand Prix.

The CSI was at an impasse. The F1 season was well underway, with a compelling championship battle shaping up between Jody Scheckter, Mario Andretti, Niki Lauda, and Carlos Reutemann. While, sure, it could try reigning with an iron fist and demanding FOCA agree to its terms, it was just as likely that FOCA would fracture off and do its own thing. Ecclestone had the CSI right where he wanted it, and he pounced on the opportunity to once again renegotiate FOCA's contracts with race organizers to get an even better financial windfall.

World Championship Racing was dead before the year was out, but there was still one more political battle playing out on track — and this one had to do with technology.

The 1977 F1 technology battle

While 1977 was a pivotal year for the political tensions between FOCA and the CSI, it was also a massive year for technological innovation. Both FOCA and the CSI had teams in their corners introducing groundbreaking technology.

On FOCA's side was Team Lotus, which had just introduced the innovative Lotus 78. This car was the first in Formula 1 to take advantage of ground effect. Basically, ground effect creates an area of negative pressure between the floor of the car and the road. This negative-pressure area then sucks the car down further, creating more downforce than you can get with a wing. And if you're familiar with racing, you know that downforce is critical to keeping your car on track. When the Lotus 78 managed to finish a race, it won. Unfortunately, it was also extremely unreliable and retired just as much as it won, depriving Lotus of the championship.

Other FOCA teams like Williams soon hopped on board, and it looked as though an aerodynamic revolution was afoot.

Over on the CSI's side was Renault. Formula 1 had largely moved to 12-cylinder engines at that time, but when Renault entered four Grands Prix in 1977, it did so with a 1.5-liter turbocharged engine. That engine was a hot mess for its first few years of existence, but it was clear from the outset that once the technology was refined, it would be formidable.

The problem was that it was as expensive as it was rare. Most of the FOCA teams were using off-the-shelf Cosworth engines they could snag for a reasonable price; after all, even though they were making decent money by that point, their income paled in comparison to the money that a big automaker like Renault could spend working on its turbo tech. Ferrari and Alfa Romeo saw the benefit of what Renault was doing and began pursuing turbos themselves, but that would still be a few years down the road.

Effectively, you have two different threads of innovation happening here, with both the garagiste and the grandee teams trying to find an edge. The FOCA-affiliated teams couldn't afford to build their own engines, but they could work on developing an aerodynamic edge through ground effect. And CSI-affiliated teams like Ferrari had already long prioritized engine power over aerodynamics. When Renault introduced the turbo, it was clear that that would be the natural next step for the teams that could afford to pursue that technology themselves.

We've already seen that new FIA boss Pierre Ugeux was simply unable to stand up against the wheelings and dealings of men like Bernie Ecclestone. The FIA realized that if it was going to maintain its integrity and control over the sport, it was going to have to be prepared to get down and dirty.

Meanwhile, FOCA began to understand that it exerted a ton of control over Grand Prix Racing, but if it wanted to take the sport to the next level, it would have to do more. We're talking more professionalization, better technology, and big-name sponsor and television deals. Negotiating those deals would mean Ecclestone would need even more power, and that he'd need to exert that power over the FIA.

And this is only the beginning of a battle that would span well into the 1980s, pitting the FIA against a consortium of its own teams in every realm, from finances to TV rights to technology. If you think Formula 1 is political now, then get ready — this is where those politics truly began to come into their own. It set the tone for every other battle in the sport — and if you're a fan of modern F1, you'll see hints of this tension between drivers and their sanctioning body lingering even today.

Bibliography

• Poachers turned gamekeepers: how the FOCA became the new FIA

• Motor Sport Magazine, Continental Notes, August 1967

• Motor Sport Magazine, Continental Notes, December 1967

• Motor Sport Magazine, 1970 Spanish Grand Prix race report: Stewart the matador

• Motor Sport Magazine, Continental Notes, December 1972

• Motor Sport Magazine, Continental Notes, January 1973

• Motor Sport Magazine, Continental Notes, July 1977

• Atlas F1, Back to the Future: The FIASCO War, Part 1

• Atlas F1, Back to the Future: The FIASCO War, Part 2

• Atlas F1, Back to the Future: The FIASCO War, Part 3