He’s called the Mad Dog for a reason—because he is a foaming-at-the-mouth, no-prisoners kind of mad dog who shows no mercy when drivers fail to perform for Red Bull and its satellite team, Racing Bulls. The Mad Dog is notorious for verbally executing underperforming drivers who fail deliver from day one, and metaphorically burying them in a nameless grave. Many drivers have endured the Red Bull boot camp; many have never been heard from again—all orchestrated by the Mad Dog.

Yet, I’ve never fully understood his exact role at Red Bull. He primarily delivers cutting, stinging critiques of drivers he himself put through this brutal boot camp, which is akin to a Russian gulag. Job titles seem irrelevant to the Mad Dog; his role is more like a hitman—burying bodies to cover his own mistakes.

After all, the Mad Dog is responsible for hiring drivers based on his observations and recommendations. When they fail, he fails—which presumably explains why he launches verbal scud missiles at the very failures he propagated. His future, as of now, is “up for evaluation”—corporate speak for “Thanks for everything, now get the hell out of here.”

And you know what? I’d genuinely be sad to see the Mad Dog leave F1. At 82, he’s still as ferocious as ever, and without him, Formula One would be far too professional, far too polished. He generates headlines, provokes disbelief, and reminds everyone that chaos still exists in this meticulously controlled environment.

When he eventually departs, sooner rather than later, the Mad Dog will revert to peacetime mode—back to ordinary citizen status as Dr. Helmut Marko. But until that day comes, he remains the untamed, title-less loose cannon in an arena controlled by polished PR clones whose job it is to make the world of F1 a more boring place.