Armed Forces Racing League 2025: “The Hungaroring – The Final Twist in the Knife”

Report by: Dean Bowditch

The Hungaroring. A place where overtaking goes to die, hopes go to wilt, and tyre temperatures go to roast alive in the Central European sun. Round 6 — the grand finale. The last shot. The final thrash of the season before the Phantoms collapse across the finish line and whisper, “Never again… until next year.”

If Spa was romantic — windswept forests, heroic climbs, a lap that breathes — then Hungary is its bitter cousin. Tight. Twisty. Narrow. Like threading a sofa through a bungalow hallway. You can’t hide mistakes here. You can’t even lie about them. The track tells on you instantly.

It’s a place steeped in delicious chaos:

Damon Hill nearly winning in 1997 in an Arrows — an ARROWS — until the gearbox staged an intervention. Ocon stole a win in 2021 while Alonso defended Hamilton like the last lion in the Serengeti protecting the pride. Races here aren’t won. They’re stolen. Borrowed. Wrestled out of the hands of fate. And then there’s us. The Phantoms. Turning up with optimism, traction control, and a dream.

Down into Turn 1, the home of the switcheroo — the move that only works if your tyres, brain and courage all peak at the same moment (mine did not). Then the plunge into Turn 2, that long left-hander where grip goes on annual leave and bad decisions multiply. Turn 3 teases you, dares you to believe you’re fast… before the middle sector reminds you that rhythm is a gift you do not possess.

Hungary demands perfection — every apex, every dab of brake, every millimetre of kerb. What you give it, it takes. What you don’t give it, it fines you four-tenths for. The final corner? That’s not a bend. That’s an exam you didn’t revise for.

The Times:

• Hungarian GP 2025 Pole Position: Max Verstappen – 1:15.982

• Event Top Time: 1:15.074 (Unholy. Illegal. Should be studied by scientists.)

• Best Mighty Phantom Time (me, again the sole survivor): 1:19.307

Four seconds adrift. Consistent, at least — the season-long Phantom theme. At this point, you could set your watch by it.

I strapped in for the session thinking maybe, just maybe, I could pull off something heroic. I fired down into Turn 1. I  was strong, confident and astonishingly competent. I thought: “This is it. This is my moment!”

Then Hungary, in its infinite cruelty, replied: “No it isn’t.”

Through the middle sector, I chased my ghost like a desperate man chasing a bus he’s already missed by thirty seconds. Never ahead, sometimes I was just behind, but almost always wrong. A missed apex here. Too hot into a chicane there. Hope leaking from every split time. By the end, the lap came together… sort of. Enough for a 1:19.307. Enough to say I tried. Not enough for anything resembling glory. But that’s the Hungaroring, it doesn’t grant glory. It grants lessons and most of them painful.

And just like that — the season is done. Six rounds. Six circuits. Six opportunities to prove the Phantoms belonged. And six reminders that belonging is complicated.

We weren’t the fastest, we weren’t the favourites, we weren’t even fully awake some days! But we showed up, we set times, we fought ghosts, apexes, and self-doubt. Above all — we made the best bad laps we could.

The Phantoms didn’t win the championship. In fact, we didn’t come close. But we finished and sometimes finishing is all the victory you get.

The Phantoms may not have conquered the league, but we did leave a dent in it. A small one. More like a scuff. But a dent nonetheless.

Bring on next season.

👻 The Mighty Phantoms

 🛡️ SGT Dean Bowditch