The 1977 Hardie-Ferodo 1000 at Mount Panorama (now known as the Bathurst 1000) went down in Australian motorsport history as the Ford formation double.
Allan Moffat, driving a Ford Falcon XC with co-driver Jacky Ickx, took victory despite brake failures in the closing laps. Colin Bond, in the sister car with co-driver Alan Hamilton, reduced the gap dramatically, briefly taking the lead at the final corner before slowing, prompted by a sign from the team principal reading “Formation Double.” This act of deference secured the team’s victory, but it has long been a point of personal reflection for Bond, a Bathurst winner in 1969 and 1973.
On October 10, 2025, during an event at Bathurst to launch his autobiography, Full Tilt, the 84-year-old Bond openly expressed his regret over his decision. He described it as “one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done” and simply “a stupid thing to do,” explaining in retrospect that it undermined his career path. Bond believed a win could have positioned him to lead Ford’s racing program, including its rally efforts, especially as Dick Johnson was still emerging as Ford’s star. “Looking back on it, letting him win, I felt like everything would be fine the following year.
If I hadn’t done that and won the race, there would have been a chance I could have run the Ford team for a while… So yes, it was a stupid thing to do!” Bond noted that his two-year contract (with one year remaining) initially gave him a sense of security, but ultimately backfired.
Immediate Impact and Reactions
Bond’s candid remarks, made just days before the 2025 Bathurst 1000 weekend (October 16-19), quickly attracted media attention, fueling nostalgia for one of the race’s most iconic moments. At the event, organizers presented Bond with a photoshopped image swapping car numbers to show his No. 2 Falcon as the winner, a lighthearted nod to his “what if” mentality.
Reportage from outlets such as Speedcafe.com portrayed it as a stark revelation from a motorsport legend, sparking controversy among fans. On X (formerly Twitter), Speedcafe’s post about the event garnered over 800 views in a matter of hours, with users sharing videos of the 1977 finish and debating team orders.
The timing added to the poignancy: an independent report two days earlier revealed that Moffat, now 87, is in advanced stages of dementia and has no memory of the 1977 triumph, or even his racing career. Friends like Phil Grant confirmed, “No, he doesn’t remember the double,” turning Bond’s regret into a bittersweet tribute to a shared legacy Moffat can no longer access. This contrast generated empathetic responses on social media, with posts lamenting the “cruel” erasure from motorsport history. There was no backlash; on the contrary, it humanized both drivers, with fans praising Bond’s loyalty and commiserating with his hindsight.
Bond’s deference in 1977 had tangible consequences, as the 1978 season was a disaster, plagued by underfunded teams and second-hand tires, leading Ford to withdraw its support at the end of the year.
Bond left the team and took legal action against Moffat for unpaid prize money, straining their relationship. His statement echoes these repercussions, highlighting missed opportunities—such as leading Ford’s rally program—that could have redefined his post-driving career.
The 2025 comments had no new consequences, but they reignited the debate over team orders in Supercars, especially amid the current scrutiny (e.g., penalties for ignoring directives). Conclusions and Broader Reflections
Bond’s confession cements the end of 1977 as a double-edged sword in motorsport history: a triumph of teamwork that cost personal glory, now amplified by the cruelties of time, such as Moffat’s illness. It serves as a warning about the hidden price of sportsmanship: loyalty secured a double, but lost individual immortality, reflected in Bond’s unfulfilled “what ifs?”
For the motorsport community, it fosters appreciation for forgotten sacrifices, fueling pre-race anticipation in 2025 and honoring fading eras. As Bond reflects in Full Tilt, such regrets add authenticity to legends, reminding us that even “stupid” decisions define legacies. There have been no disputes or changes in historical narratives, but the story endures as a poignant reminder: racing isn’t just about crossing the finish line first, but also about negotiating the boundaries between self and team.
