There’s karma, and then there’s Texas-sized karma—the kind that shows up wearing snakeskin boots, packing heat, and settling scores like it’s still the Wild West.
During Sunday’s driver intros at Texas Motor Speedway, Denny Hamlin—who, to much of the NASCAR fanbase, ranks somewhere between Darth Vader and a parking ticket—strutted onto the stage and threw down a “horns down” gesture. Now, in any other state, that might get you a few eye rolls. In Texas? That’s just shy of challenging someone’s mother to a duel at high noon. The boos came in like a dust storm—loud, relentless, and probably audible in Guadalajara.
Hamlin, of course, just smiled.
That wouldn’t last.
On lap 21, a harmless spin from Noah Gragson brought out the race’s first caution. Everyone on the lead lap headed for pit road…everyone except Hamlin. Why? Because just as the field was rounding Turn 3, both his crew chief and spotter started talking over each other on the radio, creating the audio equivalent of blender soup.
“Come back with that,” Hamlin said. More static.
“Guys, you’re both talking. Let’s go, give me one call.”
Finally, a single word broke through: “Cowboy. Cowboy.”
And here’s the thing—Hamlin knew what that meant. It was the prearranged code to pit with the leaders. The problem? It came too late. By the time he could react, the field had already committed to pit road, and Hamlin was stuck out there like the last guy to show up at a surprise party—confused, alone, and about to get burned.
They tried to salvage it. As the field came to the green, Hamlin pitted for fuel to stretch it to the end of Stage 1. But just to put a bow on the chaos, NASCAR slapped him with a speeding penalty.
Still, it was early. Plenty of time. He’s won at Texas three times before. He could claw his way back.
But karma wasn’t done yet—not by a long shot.
On lap 74, while running a forgettable 22nd, the No.11 Toyota suddenly lost power. Hamlin recycled the engine, hoping for a reset. Instead, it got worse. “I think I’m blowing up,” he radioed. Moments later, it wasn’t a theory—it was a barbecue. The engine detonated in spectacular fashion, coughing fire and smoke like it had been personally offended. His day? Done.
“I tried to keep it running just enough so they can diagnose it,” Hamlin said afterward. “It’s tough to say what it was, but they’ll take it back and find out.”
Any warning signs?
“It just missed for about three-quarters of a lap. Other than that, nothing.”
And just like that, Hamlin’s day was done. Last place. Dead last. And with it, gone was one of the most quietly impressive streaks in modern NASCAR: 21 straight races finishing on the lead lap, one of the longest in series history. Poof.
“We used to go years without a blown engine,” he said. “Now it’s two or three seasons in a row. I think we’re just trying to squeeze more power, but this one definitely caught us off guard.”
Or maybe it didn’t.
Because in Texas, if you step onto the stage, throw down the horns, and challenge the house… don’t be surprised when the house calls your bluff—and raises you a fireball and a blown engine.
Greg is the author of "The Nuts and Bolts of NASCAR: The Definitive Viewers' Guide to Big-Time Stock Car Auto Racing" and has been published in major publications across the country including the Los Angeles Times, the Cleveland Plain Dealer and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He was also a contributor to Chicken Soup for the NASCAR Soul, published in 2010, and the Christmas edition in 2016. He wrote as the NASCAR, Formula 1, Auto Reviews and National Veterans Affairs Examiner for Examiner.com and has appeared on Fox News. He holds a BS degree in communications, a Masters degree in psychology and is currently a PhD candidate majoring in psychology. He is currently the weekend Motorsports Editor for Autoweek.