NASCAR Antitrust Lawsuit: His Airness Vs. The France Family Is a Perfect Storm

• In one corner is billionaire and sports icon Michael Jordan who is leading the charge to change NASCAR's business model.

• In the other corner is Jim France, the latest in a line of France family members to lead NASCAR.

• France's response to an antitrust lawsuit slapped on the series by two NASCAR teams might shape NASCAR in ways none of the other Frances even thought about.

The late Big Bill France had a pistol and proudly proclaimed he wasn’t afraid to use it.

People believed him. The NASCAR founder had built a sport from almost nothing doing things his way. If he didn’t invent the phrase “My way or the highway,” he should have.

Bill France Jr. didn’t boast of weaponry, but he took part of his father’s style and bravado and mixed it with a big dose of pragmatism and carried NASCAR through its growing years, ruling as what some might call a compassionate dictator. He listened and learned and heard opposing arguments, but, like his father, it wasn’t wise to cross him.

Now Jim France, Big Bill’s “other” son and the current France atop the NASCAR pyramid, gets his test. And it’s a big one. His response might shape NASCAR in ways none of the other Frances even thought about.

Despite the trials and troubles of making a complicated sport work and dealing with the wild mix of drivers, team owners, track operators and independently-minded individuals with stubborn streaks, the case can be made that the France family has never dealt with the kind of issues that might be on its horizon. That’s because the barbarian at the gate is Michael Jordan, a man not used to taking no for an answer and one who has no issues lighting cigars from flaming $100 bills.

By now, all of the motorsports world knows that Jordan and the 23XI Racing Cup team he co-owns have sued NASCAR. The federal lawsuit—Front Row Motorsports also signed on—accuses NASCAR of “anti-competitive practices” and contends that the Frances unfairly control virtually all aspects of the No. 1 stock car racing series in the world.

Down through the years, this sort of complaint could be heard almost daily in any given NASCAR garage area, but it always fell in line with grumbling about the weather, as in “There’s nothing we can do about it.” Rarely has the France stranglehold on the sport been truly tested, and even then the results typically have been grim.

The best example occurred in 1969 at the opening of Alabama International Motor Speedway (now Talladega Superspeedway). The 2.66-mile track built on a largely forgotten swath of land between Birmingham and Atlanta was Big Bill France’s dream project—a bigger, better, faster version of Daytona International Speedway. Unfortunately, it was too big and too fast for the tire technology of the day. Test speeds crossed 200 miles per hour, and tires couldn’t handle the pressure.

Race week arrived, and the nightmare took full form. Goodyear and Firestone were supplying tires then, and nothing worked. Drivers met in nervous groups around the garage, sharing ideas about what might come next. Clearly, it was too dangerous to race at high speeds. No problem, France said, just race at safe speeds.

This was in direct conflict with everything every driver had been told throughout their racing years. As trouble continued to boil, France wouldn’t back down. We’ll race, he said, whether you’re here or not. Ultimately, most of the leading teams and drivers left, forming an ugly convoy of team trucks headed back to North Carolina, even as fans were arriving from all points.

As France said, they raced anyway. The grid was made up of a handful of Cup regulars and field-fillers from another series, and speeds were controlled by sporadic caution flags. Richard Brickhouse won. He would never win again.

France’s imposing new track had opened under a cloud of darkness. But, he had won. No pistol needed.

Today, such matters often are decided not by determined individuals forcing the hand of others within the framework of a racing garage area but in the messiness of litigation and the high drama of federal court.

What happens next? There could be a backroom (back of the garage?) settlement in which neither party gets what it really wants but settles for something less. Or the case could wind its way to a jury trial, a scenario the suits at NASCAR likely want to avoid if at all possible.

On the heels of Hurricane Helene, which ravaged much of NASCAR Country, it’s a perfect storm.