Narrator: Imagine being on the verge of the biggest deal of your life. For weeks, executives from the Ford Motor Company, one of the largest corporations on Earth, have been in Modena, Italy, hammering out the final details to purchase Ferrari, the most legendary name in racing. The price is set. The contracts are drawn. All that remains is a signature from the company’s founder, Enzo Ferrari. But in the final moments, Ferrari pauses. He points to a single clause—one that would cede ultimate control of his racing division to Ford—and unleashes a torrent of insults, calling the Ford executives clowns and their factory an ugly monstrosity. He storms out, leaving the deal in ashes. When the news reached Henry Ford II in Michigan, his response was simple and chilling: "All right. We'll beat his ass. We're going to race him."

This personal vendetta, born from a failed business deal, is the explosive catalyst at the heart of A. J. Baime’s book, Go Like Hell: Ford, Ferrari, and Their Battle for Speed and Glory at Le Mans. It chronicles how corporate pride and immense resources were weaponized to settle a score on the world’s most dangerous racetrack.

Narrator: The Ford-Ferrari war was not born from a simple competitive desire, but from a deeply personal and public humiliation. In the early 1960s, Ford, led by Henry Ford II, wanted to inject excitement into its brand. Lee Iacocca, a rising star at the company, saw an opportunity: buy Ferrari. The Italian marque was a racing icon but struggled financially. An acquisition seemed like a perfect match. Ford would get instant prestige, and Ferrari would get the financial stability to continue his true passion: racing.

The negotiations in the spring of 1963 were a clash of worlds. Ford’s team of executives arrived in Italy with binders and accountants, prepared to absorb Ferrari into their massive corporate machine. Enzo Ferrari, however, was not just an industrialist; he was a constructor, an artist whose life was his racing team. He was willing to sell his road car division but insisted on maintaining absolute control over Scuderia Ferrari, his racing stable. The final contract, however, included a clause requiring him to get budget approval from Ford for major racing expenditures. For Ferrari, this was an intolerable insult. He abruptly ended the negotiations, declaring that his integrity could not "work under the enormous machine, the suffocating bureaucracy of the Ford Motor Company!" The message delivered back to Henry Ford II was not just a rejection, but a slap in the face. It was this personal slight that transformed a business strategy into a personal crusade. Ford would not just compete with Ferrari; he would crush him at the one place he reigned supreme: the 24 Hours of Le Mans.

Narrator: The rivalry was a perfect study in contrasts, embodied by the two men at the top. Enzo Ferrari, known as Il Commendatore (The Commander), was a reclusive and complex figure, haunted by the tragic death of his son, Dino. His company existed for one reason: to fund his racing obsession. His factory in Maranello was a workshop of artisans, building cars with an almost mystical devotion. Ferrari was a master of psychological warfare, pushing his drivers to their absolute limits, sometimes with fatal consequences. He ruled his small empire with an iron fist and an artist’s temperament.

Across the Atlantic was Henry Ford II, "The Deuce," the grandson of a legend, presiding over a global industrial behemoth. For Ford, racing was not a passion but a tool—a high-octane marketing campaign. His company was a world of committees, market research, and immense financial power. Where Ferrari was driven by personal pride and a love for the sport, Ford was driven by market share and brand image. This fundamental difference in philosophy shaped their entire approach. Ferrari built cars to win races, selling a few to the public to pay the bills. Ford built cars for the masses and decided to go racing to sell more of them. This clash of a passionate artisan against a calculating industrialist set the stage for a battle of not just cars, but of ideals.

Narrator: With the command to "beat Ferrari's ass," Ford launched one of the most ambitious and expensive projects in automotive history: the creation of the Ford GT40. The goal was to build a car from scratch that could not only compete with Ferrari at Le Mans but endure and win the 24-hour marathon. Ford established a new division, Ford Advanced Vehicles, in England, and assembled a team of brilliant minds, including engineer Roy Lunn and team manager John Wyer, who had previously led Aston Martin to victory at Le Mans.

The initial results, however, were a disaster. The GT40 was breathtakingly fast but dangerously unstable and unreliable. During a test weekend at Le Mans in April 1964, the team's inexperience was brutally exposed. One car spun out at 170 mph, and the other two crashed, leaving Ford with a pile of wrecked prototypes and a mountain of questions. The 1964 and 1965 Le Mans races were public humiliations, with the entire fleet of GT40s succumbing to mechanical failures. The project, which had cost millions, looked like a colossal failure. It proved that money and raw power were not enough to conquer Le Mans; it required a different kind of expertise.

Narrator: After the repeated failures, Ford made a pivotal decision. They handed the entire GT40 racing program to Carroll Shelby, a charismatic Texan, former Le Mans winner, and the only American who had successfully beaten Ferraris with his own cars, the Shelby Cobras. Shelby was everything Ford's corporate committees were not: a hands-on, intuitive, and relentless racer.

When the first GT40 arrived at his shop in California, his lead driver and engineer, Ken Miles, took it for a spin and delivered a blunt verdict: "It's bloody awful." Miles was a brilliant, if notoriously difficult, British-born racer and mechanic. He possessed an almost supernatural ability to understand a car's soul. Together, Shelby and Miles deconstructed the GT40. They focused not just on power, but on durability, brakes, and aerodynamics. They transformed the flawed machine into a true endurance racer. Their work culminated in a stunning victory at the 1966 Daytona 24-hour race, where Ken Miles and Lloyd Ruby drove the GT40 to a dominant win. It was Ford's first major international victory and a clear signal to Ferrari that the "steamroller," as he called it, was finally coming.

Narrator: The 1966 24 Hours of Le Mans was the ultimate showdown. Ford arrived with an armada of eight 7-liter Mk II cars, a massive crew, and the full weight of the company behind them. Ferrari, despite public posturing about being the underdog, brought his new, advanced 330 P3 prototypes. The race was brutal. One by one, the Ferraris broke down under the relentless pace set by the Fords.

As dawn broke, it was clear Ford would win. With their cars running in first, second, and third place, Ford executives, led by Leo Beebe, made a fateful decision. They wanted a publicity shot for the ages: all three cars crossing the finish line together in a dead heat. Carroll Shelby protested, arguing that Ken Miles, who was leading and had been instrumental in the car's development, deserved the win. But the corporate order stood. Miles, furious but loyal, slowed down on the final lap to let the other Fords catch up. The three cars cruised toward the finish line together. But there was a problem: a dead heat was impossible. Race officials informed Ford that because the second-place car, driven by Bruce McLaren, had started further back on the grid, it would have traveled a greater distance in 24 hours and would be declared the winner. In the final moments, McLaren surged slightly ahead, and Ken Miles, who had won Daytona and Sebring, was denied the Triple Crown of endurance racing by his own team.

Narrator: The victory at Le Mans was a monumental achievement for Ford, but it came at a great human cost. Ken Miles was heartbroken by what he saw as a corporate betrayal. He had given everything to the program, only to have the ultimate prize taken from him for a photo opportunity. His story ended in tragedy just two months later when he was killed while testing Ford's next-generation J-car. His death left a void in the racing world and a permanent shadow over Ford's victory.

The rivalry also took its toll on Ferrari. The immense pressure and internal politics, particularly the conflicts between team manager Eugenio Dragoni and star driver John Surtees, led to Surtees quitting the team just before the 1966 Le Mans race. Enzo Ferrari would eventually sell a majority stake of his company to Fiat to ensure its survival. The great war for Le Mans was over, but the lives of the men who fought it were forever changed.

Narrator: At its core, Go Like Hell reveals that the legendary Ford-Ferrari war was far more than a battle of machines; it was a deeply personal clash of egos, cultures, and ambitions, ignited by a spurned business deal and fought with the full force of corporate and national pride. The book’s most powerful takeaway is that the pursuit of glory is a complex and often messy affair, where brilliant engineering and human courage collide with corporate politics and personal vendettas.

This epic rivalry pushed automotive technology to its absolute limits, creating some of the most beautiful and ferocious cars ever built. Yet, it also serves as a timeless and cautionary tale about the nature of victory, leaving us to ask: When the checkered flag falls, what is the true price of finishing first?