Passionate fans are the backbone of NASCAR. The rivalries, debates, and unwavering loyalty to favorite drivers keep the sport alive. But there’s a fine line between being a devoted fan and being so blinded by bias that logic goes out the window. Nowhere is this clearer than in reactions to on-track incidents, where many fans seem more interested in blaming drivers they already dislike than looking at the facts.
A prime example came during the 2025 Daytona 500, when Ricky Stenhouse Jr. attempted a late block on Joey Logano with 15 laps to go. While that might not sound like much, seasoned fans know that Daytona’s 2.5-mile track can turn 15 laps into an eternity, especially when moves are still being made right up to the finish line. Replays from every angle confirmed Stenhouse moved down from the top lane to block Logano. Logano lifted to avoid contact but was being pushed from behind, which filled the gap Stenhouse wanted. Forced to jump back up, Stenhouse missed his timing and cut back into the middle, where Logano was already committed and didn’t let up. Contact followed, and the wreck became inevitable.
Despite clear replays and unanimous commentary from the broadcast booth pointing to Stenhouse’s late block as the catalyst for the wreck, a wave of fans flooded social media to put the blame squarely on Logano alone. Why? Simply because they don’t like him. This wasn’t about facts. It was about bias.
It happened again in the Zero Sugar 400 at Daytona. Fans rushed to blame Bubba Wallace for the “big one” that eliminated playoff hopeful Alex Bowman, along with Kyle Busch, Austin Cindric, Noah Gragson, Stenhouse, and others. Few acknowledged the aggressive pushing from Kyle Larson that left Wallace unstable and trying to square up; something that race commentators and replays clearly highlighted. Wallace arguably receives more hate than any other driver. And while his past behavior contributed to it, many fans ignore his progress, choosing instead to dwell on old controversies or diminish his achievements. Acknowledging growth would interfere with their narrative.
Denny Hamlin is another example. With 54 Cup wins, three Daytona 500s, three Southern 500s, and a Coca-Cola 600 victory, his résumé demands respect. But because he lacks a championship, many fans refuse to give him credit. Social media is full of the same tired jab: “You still don’t have a championship.” Yes, Hamlin has made aggressive moves and controversial comments, but he’s not responsible for every single incident he’s involved in. Still, a large contingent of race fans insist otherwise, using social media to bash him at every turn. It’s no longer about racing, it’s about scoring points in online arguments. The current 23X1 lawsuit with NASCAR has made matters worse when it comes to blacklash for Hamlin, particularly from fans that fail to understand what the core of the lawsuit is actually about.
Chase Elliott, the sport’s most popular driver, faces a different kind of backlash. Critics say he lacks personality, while ignoring that being low-key and reserved IS a personality… it’s just not one they happen to like. Elliott carries himself much like his father, NASCAR legend Bill Elliott: quiet, humble, composed. Other drivers like Chris Buescher, Erik Jones, Josh Berry, and even the now-retired Martin Truex Jr. share this demeanor, but rarely face the same criticism. The difference? Tribalism. Elliott’s popularity fuels resentment from fans unwilling to recognize his talent.
Austin Cindric faces accusations of nepotism due to his father’s past role at Team Penske. Fans ignore his racing pedigree and peer respect, instead clinging to the “silver spoon” narrative, dismissing any evidence that contradicts it.
This is the frustrating part of NASCAR fandom. Instead of viewing incidents objectively, many fans let emotion dictate judgment. If a disliked driver is involved in a wreck, they must be at fault. If a favorite does the same thing, it’s justified. The inconsistency is staggering… almost as inconsistent as NASCAR’s officiating.
At the end of the day, passionate fans are what make NASCAR thrive. The debates, rivalries, and loyalty are what make the sport compelling. But when passion turns into blind hatred or unshakable bias, it stops being about racing. It’s okay to have favorites and okay to have rivals. But if fans refuse to see things objectively or reject clear evidence just because it challenges their narrative, then the real conversations about “racing” suffer.
by Laurie White