Chase Briscoe didn't wreck anybody to make his point this week. He just went on a podcast and said the thing every driver in the Cup Series garage already knows but almost ****** ody puts on the record: NASCAR's disciplinary process has a don't-ask-don't-tell problem, and it keeps turning the sport's biggest stars into bad actors every time a fresh wreck gets reviewed.
The remarks came on the Rubbin' is Racing podcast, days after NASCAR closed the books on two separate Chicagoland Speedway incidents without issuing a single penalty. Briscoe's issue isn't that NASCAR lets drivers settle scores on the racetrack - he's fine with that part. His problem is what happens after the checkered flag, when a driver who obviously wrecked somebody on purpose has to stand in front of reporters and call it a racing incident, because that's the price of staying out of the penalty report. "Everybody knows you're lying about it," Briscoe said, describing the bind NASCAR's own process puts drivers in.
He's not wrong about the bind. He's also sitting on more supporting evidence than he probably realized, because NASCAR has spent this entire season demonstrating, in exhaustive public detail, what actually earns a driver a fine, and intent alone has never been enough.
Rewind to Texas Motor Speedway in early May, before any of the Chicagoland drama existed. Ryan Preece got frustrated with Ty Gibbs, announced his intentions over his own team radio, and turned Gibbs into the outside wall about half a lap later. NASCAR's response was swift and public: a $50,000 fine and a 25-point penalty, among the stiffest behavioral penalties handed out all year. NASCAR's vice president of racing communications walked through the reasoning himself: officials reviewed the team radio, the in-car video and the car's SMT telemetry data, and the combination of Preece stating his intentions and then following through on them was enough to cross into what the rulebook labels actions detrimental to stock car racing. RFK Racing appealed. The National Motorsports Appeals Panel upheld the penalty in late May, and Preece was left admitting it no longer mattered what he thought, the fine and the points were staying gone.
This wasn't Briscoe's first brush with NASCAR's points ledger this year either. His own speeding penalty back in March already put a dent in his playoff cushion, which makes his willingness to needle NASCAR's officiating now feel less like a driver picking a random fight and more like someone who has personally paid the price of the system he's describing.
The remarks came on the Rubbin' is Racing podcast, days after NASCAR closed the books on two separate Chicagoland Speedway incidents without issuing a single penalty. Briscoe's issue isn't that NASCAR lets drivers settle scores on the racetrack - he's fine with that part. His problem is what happens after the checkered flag, when a driver who obviously wrecked somebody on purpose has to stand in front of reporters and call it a racing incident, because that's the price of staying out of the penalty report. "Everybody knows you're lying about it," Briscoe said, describing the bind NASCAR's own process puts drivers in.
He's not wrong about the bind. He's also sitting on more supporting evidence than he probably realized, because NASCAR has spent this entire season demonstrating, in exhaustive public detail, what actually earns a driver a fine, and intent alone has never been enough.
Rewind to Texas Motor Speedway in early May, before any of the Chicagoland drama existed. Ryan Preece got frustrated with Ty Gibbs, announced his intentions over his own team radio, and turned Gibbs into the outside wall about half a lap later. NASCAR's response was swift and public: a $50,000 fine and a 25-point penalty, among the stiffest behavioral penalties handed out all year. NASCAR's vice president of racing communications walked through the reasoning himself: officials reviewed the team radio, the in-car video and the car's SMT telemetry data, and the combination of Preece stating his intentions and then following through on them was enough to cross into what the rulebook labels actions detrimental to stock car racing. RFK Racing appealed. The National Motorsports Appeals Panel upheld the penalty in late May, and Preece was left admitting it no longer mattered what he thought, the fine and the points were staying gone.
This wasn't Briscoe's first brush with NASCAR's points ledger this year either. His own speeding penalty back in March already put a dent in his playoff cushion, which makes his willingness to needle NASCAR's officiating now feel less like a driver picking a random fight and more like someone who has personally paid the price of the system he's describing.
3 months ago
