If the Hungarian Grand Prix served to pinpoint one truism in Formula One, it's the remarkable speed at which fortunes can change. In the space of 12 months the Ferrari team have gone from totally dominating to struggling to score points while their rivals enjoy their moment in the sun. Atlas F1's Richard Barnes analyses why the Hungarian race was the turning point of the season

It's that time of the year again. With the summer vacation officially over in the Northern Hemisphere, thoughts start to turn to the shortening of the days and the approaching autumn. While down south, the disappearance of the morning frosts heralds the warmer months of spring. For motor racing fans both north and south, the change of the seasons also marks the beginning of the end of another Formula One season. With the Hungarian Grand Prix in the history books, the final pieces of the season's puzzle start to come together. For teams, drivers and fans alike, it's a time of reflection, to muse on what could, nay what should have been - if only the reliability had been more consistent, or the engine more powerful, or the tyres more sticky...

For the past few seasons, these questions have been largely moot. Come Hungary, we grew to expect the expected. Michael Schumacher and Ferrari would have already put another dominant championship triumph behind them, and the rest of the season would be spent rubbing in their opponents' humiliation, along with the standard team platitudes that "we shouldn't become complacent" and "there is still room for improvement". But that was then, and this is 2003. If Sunday's Hungarian Grand Prix served to pinpoint one truism in F1, it's the remarkable pace at which fortunes can change.

That shouldn't be surprising. Throughout the field, the margins are so slight that they are barely discernible. Only a few tenths of a second on a 100% lap is enough to separate living legend Michael Schumacher from perennial journeyman Rubens Barrichello. A slight alteration in wing angle can transform a driver from ragged over-driver to precision apex-nailing robot. Yet such is the consistency of effort, commitment and professionalism throughout the grid that, when change does arrive, it usually takes us by surprise.

At Hungary 2002, Ferrari's domination had pitched the F1 circus into crisis. There were dark mutterings that Maranello's unholy alliance with Japanese tyre giant Bridgestone had forged a corporate stranglehold on the sport that would require nothing short of regulatory intervention to dislodge. Even if relative newcomers Michelin were able to resolve their dismal wet-weather performance, curious early graining problems and iffy cold-weather grip, the Ferrari/Bridgestone giant had too many resources at its disposal. As the only team with a bespoke tyre, Ferrari had supposedly paid their way to invincibility.

Former Ferrari driver Eddie Irvine, never one to mince words, stated flatly that Schumacher would go on to accumulate seven WDC titles before retirement. Even ITV commentator Martin Brundle's more sensible stance, that Ferrari were well into the phase of diminishing returns and would soon hit the development ceiling, often sounded more like wishful thinking than realistic analysis.

Now, just a year later, the Ferrari/Bridgestone alliance is still seen as a problem - but this time for Ferrari and Schumacher. With feedback from only one top team, Bridgestone are reckoned to be at an R&D disadvantage, while rivals Michelin have the feedback of Williams and McLaren's impeccable racing pedigree, along with Renault's relaunched championship credentials. It's a pat explanation for the turnaround in Ferrari's fortunes, and appears too simplistic. While it's doubtless true that tyres play possibly the biggest role in sheer performance for any F1 car, Ferrari's problems run deeper.

Since Michael Schumacher's signing launched the new Ferrari era in 1996, the Scuderia has built its success around two regular advantages. The first is that Ferrari's emphasis on reliability would give them a couple of free lunches every season - races where Schumacher was beaten, but ended up outscoring his rivals purely because he made it to the finish while they watched from the pitlane. Indianapolis 2000 was a prime example. With the championship finely balanced, Mika Hakkinen's McLaren expired, handing Schumacher a ten-point advantage that he would not relinquish on his march to the title.

The second advantage was that Schumacher would invariably find himself head to head with a single championship rival, a Villeneuve, Hakkinen or Coulthard. Finishing ahead of that rival, even if both were in the minor points placings, was enough to secure championships. With the guarantee of a compliant teammate, and only one main rival to outwit and outmanoeuvre, Schumacher and Ross Brawn were usually able to manufacture the tactical race situation they needed.

Both advantages have been neutralised in 2003. Williams and McLaren have both produced near-flawless reliability, and on Sunday Schumacher had to compete against up to seven other drivers with comparative or better machinery - three of whom are still very much in championship contention. No team strategy, however innovative, will cover all those bases. And for once, Barrichello's failure proved a blessing to his German team leader. For, had Barrichello's left rear suspension not failed so spectacularly, Schumacher would probably have scored no points at all on Sunday.

The problems extend beyond mere mechanical issues to the driver himself. After the third successive GP of qualifying behind Barrichello, and the fifth successive race in which the German has failed to lead on even a single lap, Schumacher is looking bemused and browbeaten. The initial supposition, that Barrichello was running lighter fuel loads to move him up the grid and disrupt the frontrunners, proved unfounded on Sunday when Barrichello pitted just one lap before Schumacher. Even if Schumacher had opted for a slightly harder tyre compound than his teammate for the previous three races, the performance difference between the two should not have been so pronounced. Schumacher has never suffered such a bleak patch during his career - not even during the early years at Benetton, nor in the unreliable and inconsistent 1996 Ferrari.

The next most logical explanation is that Schumacher, out of sheer force of career habit, is sacrificing some performance to ensure reliability down the stretch, in the expectation that Raikkonen and Montoya will record the occasional DNF and gift Schumacher the championship on reliability alone. If that was the approach, then it hasn't worked and we can expect a change in Italy.

Whatever is affecting the reigning champion, he cannot afford to let another disappointing race slip by. F1 drivers thrive on momentum. Schumacher had it earlier in the season, until brother Ralf broke his rhythm on home soil at Nurburgring. Now, with Montoya rampant on the back of seven straight podium finishes, Schumacher faces the conundrum of breaking his main rival's momentum. The support of the home crowd will slice a few tenths per lap off Ferrari's times at Monza, but the tifosi's passion alone will not suffice.

After the expected season low point at Hockenheim, Ferrari were expected to bounce back in Hungary, another favoured Schumacher circuit. With the revival amounting to being beaten by a Jaguar and lapped by a Renault, Ferrari are suddenly and truly in crisis. A year ago, most were pessimistic about the opposition's ability to beat Ferrari as long as Schumacher stayed with the team. Now, most are equally pessimistic about Ferrari's ability to find short-term answers to the Michelin advantage.

With barely two weeks of running before Italy, Bridgestone will throw every conceivable combination of tyre shape, compound and profile at Ferrari - and probably a few that hadn't even been conceived just a few weeks ago. Ferrari president Luca di Montezemolo, team boss Jean Todt, Bridgestone's technical manager Hisao Suganuma and Schumacher himself all remain outwardly upbeat about the team's chances for the final three races of the season, and all are urging for renewed effort and commitment from the entire team. Despite all the pep-talking, there seems to be a dearth of constructive ideas. It took Michelin several years to forge a slight performance advantage. It's going to take more than two weeks, even with all four Ferrari drivers testing at two different circuits, for Bridgestone to turn that situation around.

For both Juan Pablo Montoya and Kimi Raikkonen, the championship is suddenly there for the taking. Although neither would have doubted their own credentials for a second, most of the sport's observers would have felt that Schumacher and Ferrari were too consistent, too strong and too experienced - until Hungary. If either Montoya or Raikkonen earns the historical credit for deposing the most successful and dominant champion in the sport's history, they will look back on Hungary as a key watershed during the season, the race when the previously unthinkable became the eminently achievable.

However, that is not the long term view that historians will take. Hungary 2003 was not about Kimi Raikkonen, Juan Pablo Montoya or even the 2003 championship. It was about the change of seasons. Historically, the Hungary event may well symbolise either the beginning of the end of the dominant Schumacher era at Ferrari, or the beginning of 22-year-old Spaniard Fernando Alonso's ascent to superstar status, or perhaps even both.

The final three races of the year will further define the significance of the Hungary result. Even with Ferrari looking downcast and flustered, and facing the wrath of the Italian press, it is still too early to dismiss the Schumacher challenge. In 2000, Schumacher looked similarly beaten at Spa, when Mika Hakkinen's stunning overtaking move relegated the German to second place in the race and extended his lead in the championship - after Schumacher had appeared to have the championship sewn up by mid-season. Four GP, four successive victories and one Drivers' Championship title later, Schumacher might have been tempted to state, like Mark Twain, that reports of his demise had been greatly exaggerated. Who'd bet against him doing it again?