It's time for troubled scion Brian France to let Nascar go
Nascar’s CEO always came off like he wanted no part of the family trade. As the season winds down, they’d be better off without him
Brian France did not ask to be born into stock car racing’s first family. He did not ask to be the face of America’s most anachronistic sport. He did not ask for the mission of making Nascar great again. No, this is a life that holds him in thrall: it is not the path that he chose.
Or at least that’s what the 56-year-old CEO and chairman of Nascar would have you believe, ever since his arrest on suspicion of driving while intoxicated and illegal possession of a controlled substance back in August. The affair has hung over what has otherwise been a historic Nascar season (three drivers have combined for 20 of 35 wins). As police in New York’s Sag Harbor tell it they pulled over France for blowing through a stop sign and found him to be in an impaired state. It is alleged his blood-alcohol level returned a reading of 0.18, more than twice the New York state limit. An on-the-spot search dredged up five oxycodone pills. It was enough to land France in jail for the night.
The headlines alone should have finished him. His pink and puffy mugshot should have been the coup de grâce. What’s worse, this was not the first time France was in the news for the wrong reasons. In 2006 he hit a tree while driving in Daytona Beach, Florida. A witness said France was driving at a “very reckless speed” and “fell over his own feet” after he got out of the car. France would blame the accident on a failed attempt to drink a soda while driving, and police believed him. There were allegations France had been given special treatment in an area known as a Nascar stronghold, but a subsequent police investigation did not result in any further action.
For most any other boss of a major sports league, one of these scandals would have proved far too embarrassing to survive. (Surely the bigwigs at Toyota, a Nascar manufacturer, cringed when they read that France was pulled over in a Lexus again.) The notable exception is Jim Irsay’s 2014 arrest on suspicion of intoxicated driving. Like France, Irsay, the owner of the NFL’s Indianapolis Colts, was nabbed with prescription drugs on his person. For his indiscretion, Irsay spent a year on probation and paid a $500,000 league fine. He’s kept a relatively low profile ever since.
France? He’s on indefinite leave and is expected to remain so until his case is adjudicated. (He entered a not-guilty plea in September.) A full return to work is not out of the question. All France needs is a green light from Nascar’s board of directors, the governing body’s interim CEO and the CEO of the publicly traded company that owns and operates most Nascar venues. And given that those last two people are, respectively, France’s uncle (Jim) and his sister (Lesa France Kennedy), one would have to think he has this in the bag.
Still: it would not be a surprise if he actually chose to stay away. France has always come off like the rebel scion who wants no part of the family business. He treats his responsibilities as chairman and CEO like a no-show job. If anything distinguishes his 15-year tenure, it’s his knack for operating as far outside the confines of Nascar’s traveling circus as possible. He seldom weighs in on week-to-week matters publicly and doesn’t make a habit of attending races. On the Sunday evening of his fateful traffic stop, France could have easily been at a road course showcase some 250 miles away in Watkins Glen. He is not his grandfather (Bill France Sr) or his father (Bill France Jr), the predecessors who not only turned a legacy of bootleg racing into a multibillion-dollar industry but also savored the ride. Clearly, Nascar isn’t the thing that gets France out of bed in the morning. So why stay the course?
To be sure, the job isn’t what it used to be. Nascar’s television ratings are in free fall. Less-than-robust attendance has compelled some tracks to rip out grandstands. They are grim realities that Nascar likes to counter with facts and figures about fans’ social media engagement. Never mind that tweets don’t fill seats.
The marquee names who drove the sport’s popularity in the late 90s and early 2000s have retired. In March, Lowe’s announced they were cutting off Jimmie Johnson, a seven-time champion that the hardware store chain has been bankrolling for the past 17 years. In September, Furniture Row Racing, the one-car team that captured last year’s Cup series championship and is poised to repeat when Nascar stages its season finale at Homestead-Miami Speedway on Sunday, announced it is closing up shop at year’s end. “I would have to borrow money to continue as a competitive team,” said owner Barney Visser, “and I’m not going to do that.”
Suddenly, an heirloom corporation that’s been passed down from father to son for three generation appears to be nearing the end of the line. Back in May, Reuters reported that the France family, which holds the controlling interest in Nascar, was quietly exploring the possibility of selling their majority stake. A month later Forbes corrected the record, noting that the family was actually looking to sell a minority interest and still intended to keep control of the business. Really, on this much seems clear: it’s unlikely that France will profit as much as his kinfolk. According to court documents related to France’s separation from his ex-wife, he doesn’t have an ownership stake in Nascar.
Not that France, should worry too much: according to those court documents, France was worth $554m in 2005. And if his fortune has dwindled since, he could make a tidy living as a consultant. After all, he did spearhead a new era of driver safety (there hasn’t been a death in a national series race since 2001), trigger an influx of racial and gender diversity, and negotiate the lucrative long-term television deal that’s currently holding Nascar together. Or he could start a foundation. Or he could just chill out and wallow in his inheritance.
Either way, it’s a clean break, one that benefits the sport and the man. Without France, Nascar can tackle its existential crisis without distraction; it can end a legacy of mixed messages that run the gamut from putting alcohol ads on cars to preaching diversity while retaining a fanbase that regularly drapes itself in the Confederate flag.
Without Nascar, France can speak uninhibited, as he did in a 2016 campaign rally for Donald Trump. “[Trump] wins with family,” France said. “Any of his children, you’d be proud to have then as part of your family. That’s how I judge a winner, how somebody manages that family and raises that family.” France wouldn’t have to worry about how his support will blow back on the company. If indeed France is battling addiction, then he should do himself a favor see to his health in private. (Recently, Trump, who calls France a friend, reciprocated the support, saying the beleaguered Nascar exec “is going to be in great shape.”)
Really, France should give Nascar the space to move on. There is a backlog of career executives that could seamlessly take over from France. (Some could well find themselves being promoted into a job they’re doing already.) More to the point: this seems like an occasion for France to snap himself out of his obvious midlife malaise. It may be the last chance that France gets to go his own way.
