SSF Insider Vol.14

Pole Position Is Overrated: S2K Does It Again

At Autopolis, a track where overtaking is about as easy as convincing a cat to take a bath, Larson did everything right. He took pole position by the microscopic margin of 0.014 seconds over SuperS2K, which in racing terms is the difference between genius and “almost genius.” Naturally, everyone assumed the race was effectively over. Pole at Autopolis? Thank you very much, see you on the top step.

Except, of course, this is Scorpio Super Formula, where logic is treated more like a suggestion than a rule.

Because while Larson was busy being very fast over one lap, Apex Motorsports were quietly preparing something far more sinister: a race plan that actually worked. As the lights went out, Larson held the lead as expected, looking composed, in control, and entirely on course for a straightforward victory. Behind him, however, S2K and Ryan aka Drift King were doing something rather less visible but far more important: they were looking after their tyres. And this is where the race stopped being fair.

Because while everyone else was pushing, sliding, and gradually turning their tyres into expensive rubber confetti, Apex simply… didn’t. They made their tyres last longer. Much longer. Uncomfortably longer. The kind of longer that makes engineers from other teams stare at their data and quietly question physics.

What followed was less of a battle and more of a slow-motion takeover. S2K edged ahead, Ryan followed, and Larson, the man who started on pole and was supposed to disappear into the distance, suddenly found himself going backwards, helpless against a strategy that was both simple and devastatingly effective.

By the time the chequered flag waved, the gap was not just significant, it was 39 seconds. Thirty-nine. At a track where passing is rare, and margins are usually measured in tenths, Apex had somehow turned the race into a demonstration.

The result? A familiar sight. S2K wins again. Ryan finishes second again. Larson settles for third again.

It’s the exact same podium as Fuji, which is either a sign of growing order… or the beginning of a very predictable nightmare for everyone not wearing Apex colours.

Because right now, while others are fighting for positions, Apex Motorsports appear to be fighting a different battle entirely - one against the concept of competition itself.

Simpulse: Strength in Numbers… or Just More Chaos?

At Autopolis, Simpulse decided that subtlety was no longer part of the plan. Two drivers? Not enough. They turned up with four: Supa, Guzman, Sam and newcomer Grez, which sounds less like a racing team and more like a small invasion force. The intention was clear: overwhelm the competition. The execution, however, was… open to interpretation.

Let’s start with Supa, because with him, there is always something to start with. Qualifying looked like it was going horribly wrong, with the man who once led the championship languishing down in 12th, presumably wondering where it had all gone wrong. And then, in the dying moments, he did what Supa tends to do - produced a lap out of nowhere and dragged the car up to P6. Crisis averted. Temporarily.

The race, however, brought us back to familiar territory. Supa found himself in yet another on-track disagreement with his old “friend” Grammenos, a relationship that now has all the warmth of two magnets forced together the wrong way. The stewards, clearly tired of watching this particular soap opera, handed Supa another 5-second penalty, marking the second race in a row where his enthusiasm has slightly exceeded what is considered socially acceptable in wheel-to-wheel combat.

And yet, despite all of this - the penalty, the scraps, the general sense of controlled disorder - Supa still managed to claw his way back to P4, salvaging valuable points like a man cleaning up after his own party. It was, in many ways, impressive. It was also, once again, unnecessarily complicated. More concerning, however, is the trend. After Mount Panorama, Supa led the championship. After Fuji, he dropped to second. Now, after Autopolis, he sits third. At this rate, by mid-season he’ll be conducting interviews from the midfield and calling it “character building.” It’s not a pattern you want to continue unless your goal is to explore every possible championship position one by one.

As for the rest of Simpulse, the story doesn’t get much brighter. Guzman delivered a steady but unspectacular P7, doing exactly what was required and nothing more, while Grez and Sam rounded out the field, completing the team’s ambitious four-car lineup with results that were… present.

The bigger picture is where it starts to sting. Simpulse have now lost second place in the teams’ standings to FoxHound, which means their bold expansion hasn’t quite translated into dominance. More cars, it turns out, do not automatically equal more success. Sometimes they just mean more things can go wrong at once.

So the question now is simple: can Supa, and Simpulse as a whole, regroup? The speed is clearly there. The intent is undeniable. But unless they can string together a weekend without penalties, scraps, or strategic self-sabotage, they risk becoming that team everyone enjoys watching… but nobody takes seriously in a title fight. And in this championship, that’s a very dangerous place to be.

FoxHound: Clever, Calculated… and Still Not Enough?

While some teams arrive with four cars and leave with questions, FoxHound turned up to Autopolis with fewer numbers and a rather dangerous idea: quality over quantity. With Ekro absent, the pressure was on, but as it turns out, you don’t actually need a small army if the people you do have know what they’re doing. Enter Vader.

Now, this is a man nobody quite knew what to expect from. His previous SSF appearance last season lasted about as long as a polite conversation at a family dinner - one round, one DNF, and not much else to talk about. So when he reappeared on the grid, there was curiosity, certainly, but not exactly expectation.

That changed rather quickly.

Vader delivered a drive that was not just solid, but quietly brilliant. Starting on soft tyres, while everyone else opted for the more conventional approach, he immediately looked like he was either a genius… or about to regret his life choices. The early pit stop onto hards dropped him down the order, which only added to the confusion. But then, as the race unfolded, something remarkable happened: it worked. While others struggled with degradation and strategy headaches, Vader simply kept going. Lap after lap, position after position, climbing back through the field with the sort of calm efficiency that makes you wonder why more people don’t try it. By the final lap, he was right on the tail of Grammenos, and in a move that was as decisive as it was well-timed, he made the pass stick, securing P5 - not far behind the rather more established figure of Larson.

For a driver with one previous DNF to his name, it was quite the statement.

And it mattered. Because thanks to Vader’s performance, FoxHound now sit second in the team standings, which, on paper, sounds like a job well done. Progress. Momentum. Something to celebrate. But let’s not get carried away.

Second place is nice. Respectable. Comforting, even. But it’s also 38 points behind Apex Motorsports after just three rounds. Thirty-eight. That’s a suggestion that you are not currently in the same fight. So the real question is this: is second place actually good enough for FoxHound? Is this where they want to be? Because coming into the season, they were talked about as a genuine threat, the team that could take the fight to Apex and shake up the order.

Right now, they’re not shaking anything. They’re watching. Vader’s performance proves they have the tools. The strategy worked, the pace was there, and the execution was sharp. But unless that turns into something more consistent, something more aggressive, FoxHound risk becoming the best of the rest.

Scorpio eSports: Running the Show… Into the Ground?

There is something wonderfully ironic about Scorpio eSports at the moment. This is, after all, the team that effectively runs the championship, sets the stage, invites the guests, and makes sure everything looks presentable. And yet, when it comes to the actual racing, they seem to have misplaced the script entirely.

At Autopolis, there were signs of life: faint, but noticeable. Grammenos delivered his best result of the season with a P6, which, given his recent adventures involving injuries and on-track disagreements, counts as a solid, respectable performance. No drama, no chaos, just points. The kind of drive that quietly says, “I’m still here,” even if nobody is quite sure what to do with that information.

Then there was the return of PayMay, stepping in for the mysteriously absent Alex Strobel, who, we are told, decided that a family vacation was more important than racing. A bold strategic call, one assumes, though it does raise questions about timing. Nevertheless, PayMay, the only Scorpio driver to have won a race last season, famously conquering Le Mans in conditions that resembled a washing machine, was back. And for a while, it looked promising. Running comfortably in the top five, PayMay was on course for a result that would have been more than respectable after such a long absence. A quiet, competent comeback. The sort of performance that suggests unfinished business.

And then, naturally, everything went wrong. On lap 34, his wheel decided it no longer wished to be part of the operation and promptly disconnected itself from the car. Just like that. No warning, no negotiation, simply gone. The result was a loss of over half a minute, dropping him down to P8, and turning what could have been a triumphant return into a mechanical shrug. Combine that with the overall results, and Scorpio now find themselves in fourth place in the team standings. Last. Which is, frankly, not what you expect from a team that is, in many ways, the backbone of the entire championship. Naturally, this did not go unnoticed by AMS' Melmut Harko, who, when asked about Scorpio’s situation, delivered his usual blend of honesty and mild emotional damage.

“They organise the championship very well,” he said. “Maybe they should also try to compete in it.” A pause. “It is interesting. They build the stage, but forget to perform on it.”

Harsh? Yes. Accurate? Also yes. Because right now, Scorpio eSports, as a team, are stuck in a rather uncomfortable position. They have the experience, the infrastructure, and the occasional flashes of pace. But until they can turn that into consistent results, and keep all five wheels attached in the process, they risk becoming the most well-organised underperformers in the paddock. Which is not a title anyone actually wants.

Desert Storm Arrives: Newcomers Shake the Grid

Just when you thought the SSF grid couldn’t get any more unpredictable, two new names appeared - not quietly, not cautiously, but with the kind of intrigue that makes everyone lean forward just a little bit. Orca and Raed Alrifaai, both flying the flag for Saudi Arabia, stepped into one of the most brutally competitive private championships in GT7… and, crucially, did not embarrass themselves. Which, around here, already counts as an achievement.

Now, qualifying told a slightly confusing story. Raed looked immediately at home, putting the car P8 on the grid, a result that raised a few eyebrows and suggested he might be one to watch. Orca, meanwhile, was… less spectacular, quietly settling at the back like someone who had perhaps taken a wrong turn on the way to the grid.

But races, as we know, have a habit of rewriting narratives. When the lights went out, Orca transformed from background extra to main character in a surprisingly compelling subplot. While others tripped over strategy, conditions, or their own ambition, he simply kept going, avoided trouble, and picked his moments. The result? A very respectable top 10 finish on debut, crossing the line in P10, just behind the ever-reliable veteran RyBird, who continues to operate with the emotional range of a metronome. Raed, on the other hand, had the pace (that much was clear), but also had a couple of spins, which in SSF is roughly equivalent to voluntarily setting your race on fire. Despite the speed, he had to settle for P11, which feels like one of those results that looks fine on paper but will quietly annoy him for days.

Still, context matters. This is not a casual Sunday drive; this is Scorpio Super Formula, where even breathing incorrectly into Turn 1 can cost you three positions and your dignity. To arrive here and be competitive straight away is not just encouraging, it’s a strong statement. And for the championship itself, it’s something more. Series organiser Ivan Taranov seemed genuinely pleased, offering a rare moment of warmth in an otherwise cutthroat environment:

“We are sure it means a lot to expand the geography of the championship; we now have two drivers from Saudi Arabia, and it’s always great to see new faces. We welcome them both and hope they are here to stay.”

Which, in SSF terms, is about as close as you get to a hug. Because beneath the chaos, the penalties, and the occasional mechanical betrayal, this is what keeps the series alive: new stories, new rivalries, and new drivers arriving with just enough talent and just enough bravery to throw themselves into the madness.

And if this debut is anything to go by, Orca and Raed haven’t just arrived.

They’ve announced themselves.

Tyre Wars: The Grip Conspiracy Nobody Wants to Admit

Let’s drop the polite tone for a second, because what we are witnessing in SSF right now isn’t “variation in tyre performance.” It’s not “strategic diversity.” It’s not even “interesting engineering contrast.” It’s a full-blown imbalance wrapped in corporate branding. Three tyre suppliers walked into this championship. Only one walked out looking like it understood the assignment.

On paper, it’s brilliant. Yokohama - heritage, authenticity, the spiritual link to real Super Formula. Michelin - the dominant force, supplying most of the grid, the safe, logical choice. And Bridgestone - represented by exactly one team: AMS.

Now here’s where it gets… uncomfortable.

The Yokohama runners? Respectfully… nowhere. The Saudi newcomers and RyBird spent most of their race fighting gravity, physics, and their own tyres, which seemed to age like milk left in the sun. Noble effort, yes, but if tyres are supposed to be a performance platform, this one looked more like a limitation.

Michelin? This is where it gets interesting. Because Michelin has numbers: FoxHound, Scorpio, Simpulse - the majority of the grid. Statistically, they should control the narrative. And yet, lap after lap, their drivers were peeling off into the pits after six laps on softs like it was some sort of pre-agreed ritual. Six laps. That’s not degradation, that’s evaporation.

And then… Bridgestone. AMS. 17 laps on mediums. 10 laps on softs. While everyone else was managing, nursing, and occasionally praying, AMS were simply… driving. No drama, no panic, no sudden drop-off. Just consistent pace, extended stints, and a strategic freedom nobody else even remotely had. Now, you can dress this up however you like. You can say AMS are smarter, smoother, more precise. And yes, they probably are. But this isn’t a one or two lap difference. This is not marginal gain territory. This is a structural advantage. Because tyre life doesn’t just affect how long you stay out, it affects everything. Strategy windows, track position, overtaking opportunities, defensive options. If you can go twice as long on a compound, you’re not playing the same game as everyone else. You’re playing chess while the rest are still figuring out checkers.

So the question becomes unavoidable: are AMS winning because they are the best… or because they have access to something fundamentally better? And don’t think the paddock isn’t asking it. Behind the scenes, the tone has shifted. Less “interesting differences,” more “what on earth is going on?” Michelin teams, in particular, are starting to look like victims of their own popularity - all choosing the same supplier, all suffering the same limitations, all watching AMS disappear into the distance on tyres that simply refuse to die.

One anonymous team member reportedly described it as “racing against a different rulebook,” which is about as diplomatic as you can get before someone starts flipping tables. Yokohama, meanwhile, are stuck in the worst possible position: not controversial enough to be accused, not competitive enough to be relevant. Present, but not powerful. And AMS? Oh, they’re not just winning, they’re controlling the narrative. When confronted, Melmut Harko didn’t deny anything, didn’t deflect: he leaned into it, as always.

“In racing, if you find something that works, you use it,” he said, with the kind of calm that usually precedes chaos. “Others had the same options.” A pause. “They just chose… differently.”

Which sounds reasonable, until you realise what he’s actually saying: the advantage might have been there all along, and everyone else simply didn’t see it.

Or worse… couldn’t access it in the same way. Because that’s the other layer to this. Is this purely a supplier difference, or is there something deeper? A better integration? A closer relationship? A level of understanding between AMS and Bridgestone that others simply don’t have? No one is saying anything openly. Not yet. But give it time. Because if this continues, if AMS keep stretching stints while everyone else burns through rubber like it’s a disposable resource, this won’t remain a technical curiosity. It will become the story. And when tyres become the story in a racing championship, it means one thing: someone, somewhere, has an advantage that’s just a little bit too big to ignore.

Disclaimer: Scorpio eSports and SSF Insider creators use the tyre war narrative for entertainment purposes only, it is known that tyre stickers on cars do not affect performance in GT7 and are just a decorative element.