Sadly, it looks almost certain that the clumsy Italian-Brazilian hybrid Franco Morbidelli will be unceremoniously booted out of the MotoGP circus at the end of the season. This is devastating news for our team here at MGPNews — statistically speaking, we rely on the zany antics of Morbidelli for over 73% of our ‘jokes’. Without him, we might actually have to start writing about racing.
So is this the end of an era? Are the days of uncontrolled giggling at Franky’s uncontrolled capers finally hurtling toward a dignified conclusion?
Maybe not! Step forward… and immediately fall over, Marc Marquez! Here are five indisputable reasons why the Spanish Antichrist could effortlessly fill the gravel-scarred, repeatedly-repaired boots of Franco Morbidelli.
He once was good
It seems almost impossible to believe that Morbidelli was once good. No living soul can actually remember this mythical era, but Wikipedia claims the seat-hogging Ducati rider once finished second in the world championship. Honestly. Go ahead, look it up — we’ll wait while you question your entire understanding of reality.
This arse-sized rip in the multiverse apparently occurred during the ‘covid years’, when humanity was too busy stockpiling bog-roll and arguing about masks to notice MotoGP existed.
Just like Morbidelli, Marquez was once good. Great, in fact — a six-time champion who made the rest of the grid look like they were riding shopping trolleys. But unlike Franky, whose peak lasted roughly as long as a mild cough, Marc’s dominance actually required multiple surgeries to dismantle. Now it appears his time at the top is finished, much like the majority of his original arm cartilage and several of his more optimistic career predictions.
He crashes a lot
Morbidelli crashes. A lot. He crashes into other riders, into thin air, in testing, in practice, and probably in his dreams. His operating system is Windows Vista running on a potato. The VR46 rider’s finest moment came at the end of last season when he rear-ended Aleix Espargaró on the grid like a distracted Uber driver, fell off, and broke his hand. Poetry in motion. Absolute cinema.
Marquez also crashes a lot. And recently it’s reached performance-art levels. The donkey-shoving Spaniard has turned high-sides into an extreme sport, often resulting in his shoulder relocating to another postcode or his eye attempting a solo escape. This season the crash count has skyrocketed as Marc desperately tries to recapture the blistering pace he had before his body started filing for emancipation.
He’s hogging a Ducati
Franco, for reasons no scientist has yet explained, has enjoyed a plum factory Ducati ride for multiple seasons. Giving the Italian waif a race-winning motorcycle is roughly as effective as handing a flamethrower to a depressed raccoon. To this day, Morbidelli remains one of the few Ducati riders in history who has never actually won a race for the Bolognese empire. A truly remarkable achievement in mediocrity.
Marc is now doing the exact same thing, except it’s a full factory Ducati. Everyone with functioning eyes knows Pedro Acosta should be on that bike, but sadly there were no vacancies for the super-stoat, so he remains chained to his red-and-blue KTM prison sentence. Unlike Morbidelli, however, Marc is still comfortably out-performing his teammate. Even if that teammate happens to be the devalued ex-champion Pecco Bagnaia.
He crops up when things get messy
In normal, orderly race conditions, Morbidelli has a higher chance of stroking the Pope’s bare arse than landing on the podium. But when chaos reigns — like that Jerez sprint — blind, stupid luck swoops in like a guardian angel with a drinking problem and shoves the otherwise terrible Franco forward. His Jerez podium remains the high-water mark of random lottery success.
Speaking of that Jerez sprint… we simply cannot ignore Marquez the elder’s chaotic masterpiece.
Then came the race. As every yellow-clad fan remembers with seething, lifelong rage, the Antichrist binned it while leading (see previous section), allegedly cheated according to Zarco and 120% of Italy, remounted his wet bike like a deranged rodeo clown, and somehow emerged victorious. Pure, unfiltered Marquez sorcery.
They hate U2 and James Corden
Okay, we have zero evidence for this, but we’re 99% sure they both do. And honestly, that’s good enough for us. Birds of a feather and all that.
