There’s a situation that has developed in NASCAR that no one wants to talk about. It’s not the Next Gen car. It’s not short track package woes. It’s not even Ross Chastain playing bumper cars again. No, friends, it’s far more serious.
I’m talking about the invasion of the Chases.
Right now, there are seven active drivers named Chase. That’s not counting the army of retired Chases, part-time Chases, or the eleven drivers who just had the last name Chase like that was going to be subtle. Twenty-nine drivers in NASCAR history named Chase. Twenty-nine.
That’s more than the number of debris cautions we all pretend not to roll our eyes at.
Look at the grid. There’s Chase Elliott, of course—America’s stock car sweetheart, walking merch machine, and the only guy who could wreck you and still get cheered for it. Then there’s Chase Briscoe, the dirt-track throwback who looks like he could sell you a John Deere or win Martinsville—sometimes both in the same weekend.
But wait, we’re not done: Chase Purdy, Chase Montgomery, Chase Cabre, Chase Pistone (still sounds like a NASCAR-themed cologne), and probably a few more Chases in the ARCA pipeline as we speak, just waiting to become Chase No. 30, No. 31, and No. 32.
And the weird part? Most of them aren’t even from the South. These Chases come from Indiana, California, Arizona, Alabama, Georgia (ok, two Southern), and Illinois. NASCAR didn’t grow a crop of them in a North Carolina cornfield—they’re just… appearing.
So what’s going on? Is “Chase” the official name of American racing ambition now? Did every middle-class couple between 1995 and 2005 just collectively decide, “Our son will have a name that evokes either speed or a tax audit!”?
And let’s be real—“Chase” isn’t even a name. It’s a command. It’s what your dog does when it sees a squirrel. Or what your toddler does when they steal your phone and sprint into traffic. It’s not something you should shout from the stands unless it’s followed by “…down that lead pack!”
Now imagine Mike Joy trying to call this circus:
“Chase is chasing Chase, while another Chase is close behind. That’s Chase Briscoe chasing Chase Elliott, but Chase Purdy is closing in. Chase him, Chase!”
It’s not a broadcast. It’s a verbal tornado; less of a race call and more like a Dr. Seuss book with beer.
And you know what? We love it. Because “Chase” is NASCAR now. Not because the name means anything—it doesn’t—but because it feels right. It sounds like something that belongs at the wheel of a Camaro, not sitting in geometry class.
So if you’re expecting a baby boy in America and you want him to have a shot at Daytona glory, forget Aiden. Forget Brayden. Forget Jaxon with an X.
Name him Chase.
Give him a fire suit at birth.
And start saving for go-karts.
Because sooner or later, this kid is going to need a number, a sponsor, and a pit crew. And if the trend holds, he’ll also need a second Chase to race against.
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.