Growing up a Dale Earnhardt Jr fan, there were two things my grandfather instilled in me right away: Chevrolet only, and f**k Kyle Busch. It was non-negotiable, and I heeded his advice. 

For the short time I was invested in NASCAR as a 10-year-old, the guy that stole Jr’s win at Richmond was my most hated. 

Candyman be damned, if a Jr win wasn’t possible, seeing that big baby Busch lose and pout about it was next on the list. He was my Los Angeles Lakers. My San Francisco 49ers. Then I fell out of the sport. 

In 2020 with most of my favorite pastimes shut down, I gravitated toward NASCAR yet again. The spark that was once there could be ignited, and it was back to regularly scheduled programming as a Kyle Busch hater. 

As a more mature fan in comparison, Kyle’s continued antics and brash personality didn’t bug me as much. He wasn’t that rabbit to chase anymore with Jr being retired, so he started to assume a new figure as the years rolled on, one of respect, but I won’t go around saying I wanted him to win. 

On the other side of things, I had slowly become a fan of his older brother, Kurt, who started running races for my favorite team at 23XI. The Busch Brothers are no saints, and Kurt was almost a peek into what would come for Kyle’s legacy. Hate him once, respect him later. What was once the loudest boos you could imagine for both, became bows and cheers full of respect. 

See that’s the thing with Kyle Busch. He could spin out your driver, cry on the radio, and be the most stuck up media darling possible, but that god damn talent. He walked the walk and talked the talk, for all the bullshit Kyle Busch would put you through, it didn’t matter. You’d see him wheel a racecar and go “Damnit that son of a b**ch is fast”. 

Besides the on track results, Busch became more than a hotheaded enemy of the sport. He became a figure of appreciation and respect. A father, husband and teammate that would stop whatever he was doing to help his people. Kyle Busch became not only a racecar driver, but a real respected man. 

So when it was announced that Busch would switch from Joe Gibbs Racing to Richard Childress, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to say how ironic it was that he’s racing for RCR, and how he may never win again. 

Then he won again 

and again 

and another time. 

Kyle Busch took my laughs and shoved them in my face like a cold M&Ms pie. This man could wheel anything. 

2024 and 2025 were not what was expected after such a huge breakout season with his new team. Victories came close, but something would go wrong. As the seasons trudged on, Kyle Busch went from competing for wins to competing to finish ahead of his teammate, Austin Dillon. 

Even as deep as into this season, nobody truly gave up on Kyle. Many attributed it to the team, the circumstance, but never the driver himself. The man who broke his leg and came back to win a championship? Nah, he’s still got it. 

And these last few weeks seemed like that was the case. Multiple top 10 finishes and a nice truck win at Dover (His 69th, as he pointed out). Kyle was quoted in victory lane, 

“You don’t know when it’s gonna be your last”

A week later Kyle Busch was reported to have a severe illness and was admitted into a hospital in Concord. 6 or so hours later, he had died. 

The weight is still something I can’t comprehend. It’s as if you feel the entire industry’s grief on your shoulders, the immense weight of such a loss. 

You see, when we’ve lost active drivers in this sport, it seems to be the ones you simply never imagined could leave us. Alan Kulwicki, Neil Bonnett, Dale Earnhardt. Men that felt bulletproof. Kyle Busch is no exception. 

Once again, Superman has left us without a goodbye, without grace, and the pain that’s felt is as palpable as it can be. 

Kyle Busch created a generation of kids who loved him, and he equally created an entire other half that loathed his guts. Despite it all, I respected him so much. 

To this day when I play a game like Gran Turismo or Asseto Corsa, I bring my obnoxious American driving style to the grid and piss everyone off. “Rubbings racing, buddy” is a common phrase i’d throw out. 

I loved it, every second of it. I loved the vitriol and I loved the feeling of giving someone the bumper who expects neat racing. In a way, I channeled the energy of Kyle without even realizing it. 

But that’s why this hurts so much. We haven’t just lost a driver, we’ve lost a personality and a racer that encapsulates everything that makes this sport different from most motorsports. The edge, the no bullshit attitude, the grit. We’ve lost a man that was one of the last drivers to represent a bygone era. 

That’s why I truly am unsure if I can ever make sense of this. 

Kyle Busch is forever NASCAR, and we will forever carry Rowdy’s energy, because that’s what defines this sport. 

Forever 8.