The late, great motoring journalist Russell Bulgin once coined the phrase "Minardi-cool", to describe the positive vibes felt when supporting a cause unlikely to be the winning one. Minardi-cool is evident in all walks of life. What a shame it is for someone, given the sports pages, a football sticker album, and encouragement from parents, to choose to support an English team like Chelsea or Manchester United. What a wasted opportunity to teach people what Honda like to refer to as the power of dreams. Downsize to the likes of Crewe Alexandra, or my local team AFC Telford United, and supporters can always yearn for more, and speculate over what the future might hold. What do Manchester United supporters dream of? Another treble? When it's all been done before, there is no further to climb. For many followers of Formula One, the same sentiment applies.

Minardi went the way of a long line of other teams in recent history, sold following an offer impossible to refuse, taking its charisma with it and leaving a vague feeling that something was missing. Motor sport followers started searching for another team to support, and many are still searching. To be a real heir to Paul Stoddart's outfit, a team has to have spirit and a sense of fun.

The budgets and goals of F1 teams have been ratcheted up to such a degree over the past ten to fifteen years that now, when one thinks of "the little guy", one person vox-popped for a recent launch presentation was able to cite Williams. Williams is one of the most successful constructors in the sport's history. Support it by all means, but remember the reactive suspension days of 1992 and 1993, and don't call them underdogs. Looking elsewhere for a true minnow, options are thin on the ground. Red Bull may not be owned by a manufacturer, but if Jordan could challenge for the 1999 World Championship with money tight, Red Bull has the resources to win races, even if it is debatable it has the knowledge or group dynamic to do so.

Toro Rosso? Gerhard Berger is a hero to those who loved a winner on the track with a keen sense of slapstick and an eye for the practical joke, but the only fun thing about his team is Vitantonio Liuzzi's dress sense, more Fifty Pence than 50 Cent. Super Aguri is backed by Honda, so lacks Minardi-cool, as it is overseen by a major manufacturer.

The only small squad that can claim truly to be fighting adverse odds is Spyker. As Mike Lawrence commented recently, why it is in F1 is questionable. Somehow, though, that makes the fact that it is there all the more cheering. What is sad is that Spyker will find it incredibly difficult to build and race a car that has a chance of finishing in the top six in the foreseeable future, let alone on the podium. For F1 fans who recall Ivan Capelli's Leyton House March jostling with Alain Prost's Ferrari during the 1990 French Grand Prix at Paul Ricard, or Heinz-Harald Frentzen and Jordan's heroics in 1999, it begs a question. Why does that not happen today, and could it ever happen again?

Formula One has never been socialist. Like most other sports outside of the United States, part of F1's appeal has been that the best are encouraged to get even better. When Ferrari wanted to pay £25m a year for Michael Schumacher's services, that was no problem. But how can the FIA maintain this principle, and also ensure entry to the sport, and success on a limited budget, is an attainable goal?

The key has to be stability in the sport's regulations. Ever since the prohibition of electronic driver aids in 1994, there has been a torrent of new entries in the Formula One rulebook. Nearly everything has been tried. The regulations forced through following the tragedies of 1994 have had a broadly positive effect on the sport, and it is beyond dispute that the circuits and cars have never been safer. Introductions such as higher cockpit sides, tethered wheels, a pitlane speed limit and much more rigorous crash testing of new cars means that it is now far less likely a fatality will occur.