NASCAR loves to tout its inclusivity, opening the Cup Series garage to drivers from other racing disciplines in a bid to expand its audience. The logic is simple: bring in a star from IndyCar, IMSA, or Formula 1, and their fans will follow, boosting TV ratings and ticket sales. It’s a noble idea—on paper. But in practice, it’s a disaster for the regular drivers who live and breathe this sport week in and week out. These full-time competitors aren’t just racing for wins or points; they’re fighting for their livelihoods. When an outsider with little stock-car experience wrecks their day—or their season—the unfairness becomes glaringly apparent.
Take the most recent example from Phoenix Raceway on March 9, 2025. Catherine Legge, a British driver with a resume in open-wheel and sports-car racing, decided to “try her hand” at NASCAR’s top level. She’d never driven a Cup Series stock car before, and it showed. In a pre-race interview, Legge candidly admitted she was there to “learn” and hoped to be invited back. Learning? In a points-paying race that could make or break a regular driver’s year? That’s a luxury the full-timers don’t get. NASCAR approved her entry anyway, likely banking on headlines—she became the 17th woman to compete in the Cup Series, the first since Danica Patrick in 2018. But here’s the thing: if we’re up to number 17, maybe it’s time to stop treating it as groundbreaking or history making and instead question the decision-making. And just to be clear, I’m a woman making that statement.
Legge’s lack of preparation was evident from the jump. She spun on lap 3, blaming a “tight” car she “didn’t expect.” Miraculously, no one was collected. But her second incident was a gut punch. Washing up into Josh Berry, she clipped him and instantly spun directly into Daniel Suarez’s path. Suarez, running sixth at the time, had a shot at a win—or at least a points haul that could’ve steadied his season after being wrecked in the last few races. Instead, his day was trashed. For Suarez, his team, and his sponsors—who’d love to see their car in victory lane—that’s inexcusable. Legge’s subpar equipment and minimal prep time only compounded the issue, yet NASCAR green-lit it for the sake of a story.
“Nothing against her,” Suarez told his wife Julia Piquet. “You know how I am. I hope girls make it in the sport. I hope. It’s nothing wrong with her. What is wrong is NASCAR. They cannot allow somebody with no experience to run in the Cup Series — plain and simple. He stated that he anticipated she would spin toward the inside lane; however, she remained in the racing groove. Thus, he chalked up the miscalcuation to her lack of experience.
This isn’t an isolated incident. Look back to Indianapolis Motor Speedway in August 2023 during the road course race. Mike Rockenfeller, a decorated driver from the 24 Hours of Le Mans, entered the Cup Series race as a one-off. Despite that his inexperience caused him to become part of the lapped traffic, he steadfastly refused to yield while battling Ricky Stenhouse Jr. for the lucky-dog position. For Stenhouse, regaining the lead lap position would affect his outcome and points standing. For Rockenfeller, getting back onto the lead lap essentially meant nothing other than potentially being able to say he finished on the lead lap. Additionally, that duel stalled Chase Elliott, who was chasing Michael McDowell for the win. Although Elliott had a faster car than McDowell and was charging hard, he lost precious seconds navigating around Rockenfeller who was determined to hold him off, blocking him at every turn. Consequently, McDowell held on for victory. Post-race, Rockenfeller apologized, admitting he didn’t fully grasp the etiquette of the series. But apologies didn’t restore Elliott’s shot at the win, the extra points, or his playoff hopes. Elliott missed the postseason that year, a failure that was arguably sealed by Rockenfeller’s’ lack of knowledge. And all because NASCAR wanted a cameo from an outsider.
Then there’s Helio Castroneves at the 2025 Daytona 500. The IndyCar legend and four-time Indy 500 winner brought undeniable star power—but not stock-car savvy. During the Duel qualifying races, he was caught in a wreck through no fault of his own. His reaction? He opted for full throttle while in mid-spin, worsening the damage when he crashed and taking himself out. Had that happened in the 500 and collected a regular driver, it could’ve derailed their season opener. His inexperience behind the wheel of a Next Gen car was painfully clear. Ironically, he was another driver that openly admitted to using Speedweek and the Daytona 500 to “learn.”
Contrast this with NASCAR’s denial of Mike Wallace running the Daytona 500 in February, citing his lack of recent stock-car experience—despite his prior Daytona starts and superspeedway wins. Yet Legge, with zero Cup Series laps under her belt, got the nod at Phoenix. The double standard reeks of opportunism, prioritizing publicity over fairness.
The ripple effects are brutal. Regular drivers aren’t just racing for trophies; they’re auditioning for more sponsors, for their next contract, or sometimes to retain the seat they’re in. A damaged car or a DNF due to an outsider’s mistake tanks their points and their standings. Sponsors don’t care about “learning experiences”—they want exposure in victory lane. Meanwhile, these guest drivers often walk away unscathed in terms of career impact. For them, it’s a fun detour. For the regulars, it can be a nightmare.
NASCAR defends this as a way to grow the sport. But at what cost? The Mike Rockenfellers and Catherine Legges of the racing world temporarily might draw a few curious eyeballs, but they’re not sticking around to build the fanbase. The real loyalty lies with the regular drivers—the ones investing their lives in this series.
It’s time for NASCAR to rethink this open-door policy. If they want cross-discipline stars, fine—put them through rigorous stock-car training and simulator time first. Mandate a proving ground, not a points race, for their debut. Stop treating the Cup Series like a publicity stunt and start respecting the drivers who make it what it is. Because right now, the only thing expanding isn’t the audience—it’s the frustration of everyone who actually belongs on the track.