Steve Phelps’ Letter Reveals Why He Walked Away from NASCAR

It was a Tuesday that felt heavy with history. On January 6, 2026, the news rippled through the garage and the front offices alike: Steve Phelps was done. After two decades of steering the massive, often turbulent ship that is NASCAR, the president handed in his resignation.

It ended a tenure defined as much by bold, progressive swings like the Chicago Street Course as it was by the bruising, behind-the-scenes battles that ultimately made his position untenable. For those of us watching the slow burn of the last few months, the announcement wasn’t exactly a shock, but it still hit hard.

Phelps wasn’t just an executive; he was the face of NASCAR’s modernization. But as we learned this week, even the strongest legacies can buckle under the weight of private grievances made public.

Inside The Personal Letter Phelps Sent To The Industry

When a leader of this magnitude leaves, the goodbye note is usually a sanitized press release. But the letter shared by journalist Adam Stern offered a glimpse into the human side of the executive suite.

In his message to the industry, Phelps didn’t sound like a man fleeing a fire, but rather one trying to cement how he wants to be remembered. He called the decision to step down “personal” and “difficult,” phrases that often do a lot of heavy lifting in corporate exits.

But he also took a victory lap, and frankly, he earned the right to.”As a team, we have strengthened this sport and energized our entire NASCAR community,” Phelps wrote. He pointed to the momentum the brand has built, positioning NASCAR as “America’s premier motorsport.” It’s hard to argue with the resume he highlighted.

Under his watch, the sport survived the existential threat of the COVID-19 pandemic getting cars back on track when the rest of the sports world was silent. He pushed for the Clash at the L.A. Coliseum and the audacious street race in Chicago, moves that old-school purists hated but new fans devoured.

When Private Frustrations Became A Public Scandal

However, you can’t tell the story of this resignation without looking at the ugly scars left by the antitrust lawsuit filed by 23XI Racing and Front Row Motorsports back in 2024. That legal battle didn’t just threaten the business model; it exposed the raw, unfiltered animosity brewing at the top. The final straw seemed to be the release of text messages between Phelps and Brian Herbst.

These weren’t just business discussions; they were personal attacks that cut deep into the fabric of the sport’s southern heritage. In the texts, Phelps unloaded on legendary team owner Richard Childress. He called the Hall of Famer an “idiot,” a “dinosaur,” and, most damagingly, a “stupid redneck.”

For a sport that has spent years trying to balance its roots with its future, having the president use that specific slur against one of the garage’s most respected elders was a catastrophe. It wasn’t just an insult, but a clear betrayal of the culture.

Phelps reportedly tried to get ahead of it, reaching out to Childress before the texts were unsealed to explain they were born out of frustration during heated charter negotiations. But once those words hit the internet, the context didn’t matter. The damage was done.

The Fallout That Made Staying Impossible

The backlash was immediate and fierce. Johnny Morris, the founder of Bass Pro Shops and a longtime partner of Childress, didn’t mince words. He called the comments “shockingly offensive” and harmful to his legacy, openly calling for the France family to step in.

When the money starts talking that loudly, leadership has to listen. Phelps tried to weather the storm. He testified in the antitrust case, helped reach a settlement, and tried to keep the focus on the track.

But the shadow of those texts lingered over every handshake and every boardroom meeting. It created a pressure cooker environment where his authority was constantly undermined by his own words.

A Complicated Legacy Left Behind

So, how do we remember the Phelps era? Do we look at the polished executive who came from the NFL and professionalized the sport, guiding it through its most perilous modern moments? Or do we remember the messy end, where the stress of a charter war revealed a bitterness that alienated the sport’s oldest allies?

The truth is, it’s both. Phelps changed NASCAR. He made it younger, faster, and more diverse. He took risks that paid off. But he also became a casualty of the very passion that drives this sport. In NASCAR, respect in the garage is the only currency that matters.

Once that was gone, no amount of marketing wins could save the job. As he walks away, Phelps leaves a sport that is undeniably stronger than he found it, but he also leaves a cautionary tale about what happens when the business of racing gets personal.