1985 Italian Grand Prix

Race

Missing from the grid was popular West German driver Stefan Bellof who was killed a week earlier in a World Sportscar Championship race at the Spa Circuit in Belgium . With his funeral set for the day after the Italian Grand Prix the Tyrrell team only ran the one car for Martin Brundle feeling it would be disrespectful to Bellof to bring a driver in to replace him for the race. Members of the Tyrrell team, including team boss Ken Tyrrell , attended Bellof's funeral the next day.

Also missing were the West German Zakspeed team because their driver Jonathan Palmer had broken his leg when he also crashed his Porsche 956 at the 1000 km of Spa the weekend before, though Palmer's accident came in practice. With only a week until the Italian Grand Prix and no spare driver the team was forced to miss the race, but would return at the next round, the re-scheduled Belgian Grand Prix with the 1985 Formula 3000 champion Christian Danner (also of West Germany) replacing Palmer.

Senna's pole position is often cited as one of his greatest moments. [ 1 ]

Qualifying

Pole position went to Ayrton Senna; his 5th pole of the year. His average speed was 152.487 mph (245.405 km/h).

Quick Facts

1985 Italian Grand Prix Race 12 of 16 in the 1985 Formula One World Championship

1985 Italian Grand Prix nan

1985 Italian Grand Prix Race details

1985 Italian Grand Prix Date

1985 Italian Grand Prix Official name

1985 Italian Grand Prix Location

1985 Italian Grand Prix Course

1985 Italian Grand Prix Course length

1985 Italian Grand Prix Distance

1985 Italian Grand Prix Weather

Table 1

Pos	No	Driver	Constructor	Q1	Q2
1	12	Ayrton Senna	Lotus-Renault	1:27.009	1:25.084
2	6	Keke Rosberg	Williams-Honda	1:26.161	1:25.230
3	5	Nigel Mansell	Williams-Honda	1:26.960	1:25.486
4	7	Nelson Piquet	Brabham-BMW	1:25.679	1:25.584
5	2	Alain Prost	McLaren-TAG	1:27.576	1:25.790
6	11	Elio de Angelis	Lotus-Renault	1:27.098	1:26.044
7	27	Michele Alboreto	Ferrari	1:27.552	1:26.468
8	15	Patrick Tambay	Renault	1:28.578	1:27.020
9	8	Marc Surer	Brabham-BMW	1:27.799	1:27.153
10	28	Stefan Johansson	Ferrari	1:29.001	1:27.473

Table 2

Pos	No	Driver	Constructor	Laps	Time/Retired
1	2	Alain Prost	McLaren-TAG	51	1:17:59.451
2	7	Nelson Piquet	Brabham-BMW	51	+ 51.635
3	12	Ayrton Senna	Lotus-Renault	51	+ 1:00.390
4	8	Marc Surer	Brabham-BMW	51	+ 1:00.609
5	28	Stefan Johansson	Ferrari	50	+ 1 Lap
6	11	Elio de Angelis	Lotus-Renault	50	+ 1 Lap
7	15	Patrick Tambay	Renault	50	+ 1 Lap
8	3	Martin Brundle	Tyrrell-Renault	50	+ 1 Lap
9	18	Thierry Boutsen	Arrows-BMW	50	+ 1 Lap
10	25	Philippe Streiff	Ligier-Renault	49	+ 2 Laps

Table 3

Pos	Driver	Points	Unnamed: 3
1	Alain Prost	65	nan
2	Michele Alboreto	53	nan
3	Elio de Angelis	31	nan
4	Ayrton Senna	23	nan
5	Stefan Johansson	21	nan
Source: [3]	Source: [3]	Source: [3]	Source: [3]

F1ABY Commentary

What does it truly mean to chase a shadow, to relentlessly pursue a fleeting moment of supremacy on a track that has devoured so many dreams? Alain Prost, a sculptor of calculated aggression, molded his McLaren into a weapon, a reflection of his own meticulous approach. Fifty-two seconds. A gulf carved out not just by speed, but by a man acutely aware of the dance he was performing – a dance of precision, of control, of quietly, devastatingly, claiming his destiny. Nelson Piquet, a volcano of raw emotion, and Senna, a tempest of ambition, offered resistance, yet the French driver remained unmoved, a fortress of calculated risk. The Haas debut, a hesitant bloom amidst the established order, spoke volumes about the shifting tectonic plates of this sport. Perhaps, this victory wasn’t merely about Monza; it was about the quiet, inevitable rise of a champion.

The scent of high-octane fuel and simmering ambition hangs heavy over Monza, a palpable testament to the relentless pursuit etched onto every driver’s soul. Alain Prost, a sculptor of victories, was already shaping his destiny, carving out a championship that would forever define his name, and today’s race was a crucial brushstroke in that monumental portrait.

F1ABY Trivia

The air at Monza tasted of burnt rubber and ambition – a familiar cocktail. Prost, a ghost in his McLaren’s papaya hues, simply *was* the circuit, a honed extension of the MP4/2B’s aggressive geometry. Fifty-two seconds. A chasm carved by 660 horsepower, a brutal testament to TAG’s relentless pursuit of torque, leaving Piquet and Senna to chase shadows. The Haas Lola, a nascent presence, attempted to disrupt the established order, its Hart 415T wrestling with a tire compound not yet fully attuned to the brutal demands of the Autodromo Nazionale.

The air at Monza hung thick with the scent of high-octane fuel and simmering tension – a familiar perfume for this circuit, a place where legends were forged and reputations shattered with equal fervor. Nelson Piquet, a man sculpted from steel and ambition, wrestled with the Brabham, a machine often perceived as temperamental, yet possessed of a raw, ferocious power. Fifty-two seconds. A gulf that underscored Prost’s control, a statistic that felt almost…clinical, considering the volatile nature of the season.

F1ABY Tales

The rain hadn’t relented, a greasy curtain clinging to the asphalt of Monza. Senna wrestled the Lotus 97T, a furious, white-knuckled dance against the track’s relentless grip. Piquet, beside him, spat a mouthful of water, a grimace etched across his face – the Brazilian knew, instinctively, that Prost was building a wall. A surge of power, a brief flash of blue, and the Frenchman was gone, swallowed by the spray and the burgeoning lead. That Hart engine, a beast unleashed, was carving a path through the storm, and Prost was already shaping his destiny.

The rain, a sullen grey smear across the asphalt, mirrored the mood in the McLaren garage. Alain Prost, a study in contained frustration, meticulously adjusted the flex of his gloves, a ritual born of years spent battling the unpredictable. He wasn’t merely preparing for the track; he was meticulously constructing a shield against the relentless pressure, the simmering rivalry with Senna, the knowledge that this, his final victory of the season, hinged on a single, decisive moment. The Hart engine, a beast of a thing, roared in the background, a constant, insistent reminder of the power he commanded. Young Jarvis, still damp from the pre-race drizzle, offered a nervous smile, a boy amongst giants. Prost offered a curt nod, the slightest flicker of something akin to sympathy. This Monza, this rain, this battle – it was all a crucible, wasn't it? He was, after all, shaping himself into something…more.