Well, if you can’t join ’em, beat ’em. Within days a plan was hatched to kick Enzo where it’d hurt most: squarely in Le Mans.
Hey, how hard could it be?
All three Fords retired in 1964. All six retired in ’65. And Ferrari won each time.
Hanging American muscle from a pared-to-the-bone British structure created an unwieldy, untrustworthy beast, with two heads: common purpose divided by a common language.
So Lola’s Eric Broadley, whose design provided the basis for GT40, and John Wyer, whose Slough-based team built and ran the cars, stepped away and were pushed aside before the end of 1964 – in favour of a skunk works in Detroit and a chicken farmer from Texas.
Carroll Shelby cultivated a grandiose dislike of Enzo Ferrari. But beneath that Stetson and behind those shades lay similar men: driven and manipulative motivators, successful, but with a whiff of snake oil about them.
Icons. With emphasis on the i. Or perhaps the con.