Commentaries – Competition Plus

WHAT I AM THANKFUL FOR WITH FUNNY CAR BUDDY HULL

Bobby Bennett — Thu, 27 Nov 2025 13:31:56 +0000

To know Buddy Hull is to know the spirit of a Texas racer through and through — bold, determined, loyal, and fueled by a work ethic as strong as the nitro he burns on race day. Hull has earned his place in drag racing the same way he built his team: with sweat equity, quiet confidence, and a deep appreciation for every opportunity this sport has given him.

He represents the kind of racer Texas produces often but celebrates rarely — a hands-on builder, a straight shooter, and a competitor who doesn’t back down from challenges, whether financial, mechanical, or personal. Hull has worn every hat it takes to keep a nitro program alive: driver, owner, recruiter, motivator, and believer. And through each challenge, he carries himself with gratitude rather than ego.

What makes Hull stand out isn’t just his determination, but the heart behind it — the way he treats fans like family, partners like teammates, and the sport like a privilege. He understands how fragile opportunity can be, which makes his appreciation run even deeper.

In our annual tradition, Buddy Hull steps forward for this year’s What I’m Thankful For series to share the people, moments, and blessings that continue to fuel his Texas-born passion for nitro racing.

I am THANKFUL for…. My Family — Madi and Maverick

My wife and my son are my foundation. Everything I do — in business, in racing, in life — ultimately leads back to them. They’re my purpose, my motivation, and my greatest blessing.

I am THANKFUL for…. The Opportunity to Build a Legacy Through My Businesses

I’m grateful that I get to continue building something that carries my name. Vertex Contractors is more than a company to me — it’s a vision and a mission I get to bring to life every day.

I am THANKFUL for…. Racing and the Life It’s Given Me

Racing isn’t just what I do; it’s part of who I am. I’m thankful I still get to strap into a Nitro Funny Car, compete at the highest level, and live a dream that most people only imagine.

I am THANKFUL for…. The People Who Believe in Me

Sponsors, partners, friends, and supporters — I’m grateful for every single person who chooses to stand with me, especially when the road gets tough.

I am THANKFUL for…. My Team at Vertex

I’m thankful for the people who show up every day and push the mission forward. Leaders like Ryan and Van, and everyone on the team who buys into the vision, make all the difference.

I am THANKFUL for…. The Ability to Provide for My Family Through Multiple Passions

I don’t take it for granted that I get to build a successful construction company and race professionally at the same time. That’s a blessing few people ever get.

I am THANKFUL for…. My Health and Safety After a Tough Racing Season

2025 came with some close calls and some hard hits. I’m thankful I was able to walk away, recover, and come back stronger. This includes the NHRA Safety Safari, Dr. Surface and the medical teams at the tracks. These professionals keep all drivers safe, and I am truly thankful for their efforts.

I am THANKFUL for…. My Personal Growth as a Leader and a Man

I’ve grown this year — as a father, husband, business owner, racer, and leader. I’m grateful for the lessons that shaped me.

48-HOUR SALE! Odd-lots, short-lots, closeouts & display shirts — all priced to move! Get authentic https://t.co/jcAfIG1TiW gear for as low as $10
When they’re gone, they’re gone!
https://t.co/ZWQRwUgEQb #DragRacing #NHRA #CompetitionPlus #PEAKSquad #Sale… pic.twitter.com/UOWDUKCRSP
— Competition Plus (@competitionplus) November 6, 2025

I am THANKFUL for…. The Platforms I’ve Built — From Social Media to Talkin’ Funny Cars

I’m thankful that people care about what I say, support what I’m building, and follow this journey. The reach, the impact, and the conversations mean more than people realize.

I am THANKFUL for…. The Future Ahead

Most of all, I’m grateful that 2025 wasn’t an ending — it was the setup. I’m heading into 2026 with momentum, clarity, and a stronger team than ever.

BOBBY BENNETT: TWO PATHS, ONE PURPOSE: WHY NHRA AND IHRA MUST COEXIST FOR DRAG RACING

Bobby Bennett — Wed, 26 Nov 2025 12:45:05 +0000

Drag racing fans can be a fickle bunch. They clamor for change, yet revolt when they get it.

For years, many have called for competition to challenge the NHRA’s long-standing dominance. Then, when someone like the rejuvenated IHRA steps up with a fresh idea, those same voices complain because it doesn’t match their personal vision of what drag racing ought to be.”

That contradiction has been part of this sport’s DNA for decades. But in 2026, drag racing stands at a rare crossroads — two major sanctioning bodies, each carving their own lane, each vital to the sport’s future.

The IHRA’s decision to run eighth-mile across all national events wasn’t a stunt. It was a business move — a deliberate choice to build a product that fits its audience, not chase NHRA’s.

They’re not pretending to be the “major leagues.” They’re aiming to be a high-energy entertainment experience that just happens to include drag racing. For that, they deserve credit.

And let’s be honest — for them to pull off a six-race schedule, five with nitro and one with doorslammers, deserves more than a passing nod. Each event improved as the season went on. The fans will eventually show up. Wisely, they chose to develop the entertainment first.

Different isn’t bad. Different is healthy. The IHRA has taken its share of heat for daring to be different, but its effort to put more butts in the stands should be applauded, not mocked.

No, the IHRA isn’t where it wants to be yet. But every movement starts with a decision to stop copying and start creating.

The “good ol’ days” people love to reminisce about? Those were built on multiple sanctioning bodies — NHRA, AHRA, IHRA — all chasing the same dream. They always competed, and rarely they cooperated. The difference was, back then, they at least tried to avoid stepping on each other’s schedules.

Today, overscheduling is a way of life. Everybody wants a piece of the same weekend, the same audience, the same attention span. It’s easy to forget that drag racing only wins when the sport itself grows, not when one logo “beats” another.

A rising tide really does lift all boats. Two healthy sanctioning bodies make drag racing stronger.

I want to see both NHRA and IHRA become wildly successful — so much so that their combined growth pushes drag racing to levels none of us could have imagined.

We’re still fighting a battle that started between two men who aren’t even here anymore. Wally Parks and Larry Carrier are long gone, yet the rivalry they built continues to divide fans and the team members of each series who should be celebrating the same sport. It’s time to stop.

There’s room for more than one sanctioning body. There always has been.

Scott Woodruff — IHRA’s self-described “make-stuff-happen” man — gets it. He’s not chasing titles or corporate polish. He’s chasing progress.

And so is NHRA President Glen Cromwell, in his own way. Both men have proven they can make things happen, and if they can find common ground, drag racing’s future will be brighter than its past.

Fans love to talk about the Hatfields and McCoys. But that story doesn’t have to repeat itself. As Woodruff said recently on the CompetitionPlus POWER HOUR, NHRA and IHRA can coexist — and they will coexist.

History shows cooperation is possible. In the old days, behind the headlines of rivalry, there were quiet conversations between Steve Gibbs and Ted Jones — discussions about how to make drag racing better for everyone.

That same spirit can exist again. A strong NHRA and a strong IHRA don’t cancel each other out; they elevate the sport together.

If NHRA runs 1,000 feet, fine. If IHRA runs eighth-mile and that’s what their racers and fans want, fine. The rulebook differences don’t matter nearly as much as the passion that drives both sides of the tree.

At the end of the day, drag racing is drag racing. It’s fire, noise, and speed — whether the letters on the wall read NHRA or IHRA.

So show up. Support both. Cheer for the sport, not just the logo. Because the only thing worse than two sanctioning bodies fighting for the future would be a world where neither survives.

NHRA vs IHRA. The rivalry goes way back! Find out how this competition got very personal back in the day. https://t.co/Hnb8Rf2VZr
— Competition Plus (@competitionplus) November 22, 2025

BOBBY BENNETT – IT USED TO BE MY PLAYGROUND: A LOVE LETTER TO A LOST DRAG STRIP

Bobby Bennett — Sun, 19 Oct 2025 12:30:58 +0000

To anyone who grew up at a drag strip that’s now gone, this one’s for you. To those who remember the smell of burnt rubber, the sound of open headers echoing through the pines, and the thrill of Saturday nights spent chasing dreams—your memories are sacred ground.

For me, that ground was the Spartanburg International Dragway on Canaan Road in Spartanburg County, South Carolina. Developers have since erased every physical trace of it, turning the land into subdivisions where homeowners have no idea their backyard once sat on a quarter-mile of history.

But for those of us who lived it, that drag strip wasn’t just a patch of asphalt. It was our church, our classroom, and our proving ground. It was where Spartanburg’s drag racers built not only engines but legacies—38 world championships by 18 different drivers, all tracing their roots back to a place that now exists only in memory.

When I drive through that area today, it’s hard to imagine the noise and chaos that once filled the air. Children play in yards where the burnout box once smoked, and joggers run past the faint traces of the return road. Yet if you listen closely enough, on a quiet evening, you can almost still hear the echo of a high-winding small block cutting through the Carolina night.

Built in 1963 by Paul Clayton Sr., Spartanburg Dragway wasn’t the kind of facility that would have impressed outsiders. The pits were dirt. The return road was cracked and broken. The lights were dim by modern standards. But to a kid growing up a mile away, it was a cathedral.

“I could hear the small-block Modified Production cars winding out through the gears on Saturday nights,” I told The Spartanburg Herald-Journal in an interview years later. “That sound pulled me in. I didn’t need a ticket; I just needed to be close enough to hear it.”

That sound wasn’t just mechanical—it was magical. It called to every kid within earshot who dreamed of going fast, of building something, of belonging to a brotherhood that only the drag strip could create.

Back then, drag racing had a heartbeat that pulsed through small-town America. Spartanburg was no different. The legends came—Butch Leal, Hubert Platt, Ronnie Sox, Roy Hill, and even Don Garlits versus Shirley “Cha Cha” Muldowney. For a kid with a notebook and a dream, it was better than any amusement park.

When those cars came to town, it felt like the center of the drag racing world had shifted to Canaan Road. You could feel the anticipation building as trailers arrived, the smell of high-octane fuel floating in the humid summer air. It wasn’t just another Saturday—it was a happening.

The dragway’s concession stand had its own kind of fame. The chili cheeseburgers, greasy and perfect, set the bar for what track food should be. I’ve been chasing that taste ever since.

And that smell—burning rubber, hot oil, and VHT traction compound—it was as comforting as cookies baking at my grandmother’s house. It meant racing was underway. It meant someone was about to chase glory.

Watching Bob Earnheart’s high-winding ’67 Corvette in Modified Production was, to my young eyes, a symphony. “That sound,” I said, “was everything I wanted to be when I grew up.”

When the lights came on and the control tower glowed against the Carolina night, I imagined I was watching from the grandstands of Orange County International Raceway. You just had to see that glass tower on a summer evening to believe it.

And while the facility may not have matched the famous West Coast strips, in my imagination, Spartanburg was every bit their equal. We didn’t see cracks in the pavement or faded paint; we saw opportunity.

Spartanburg Dragway was more than a track—it was a training ground. Future champions cut their teeth there before going on to rewrite the history books.

You had to see Gene Fulton blow the rear end out of a borrowed D/Modified Production car one Saturday night, then return a week later and win with another borrowed car. That kind of determination was the essence of the place.

You had to see Tommy Mauney, Charles Carpenter, Michael Martin, and Blake Wiggins—names that would later define Pro Modified—make their early passes there. They didn’t know it then, but they were laying the foundation for one of drag racing’s most explosive classes.

And you had to see a young Quain Stott driving Scott Duggins’ father’s Vega in Super Pro, long before either of them became world champions. That was Spartanburg’s magic—it made believers out of dreamers.

The track was a launch pad, not just for cars, but for people. It built confidence, humility, and perseverance—traits that carried Spartanburg racers to 38 world championships across multiple series.

For those of us who came from that little strip, the wins and losses weren’t measured in trophies. They were measured in friendships, lessons, and memories burned deep into our souls.

As a kid, I used to write about those drivers in a handwritten magazine I’d sell to racers in the pits. I didn’t know it then, but I was already chasing my future—telling the stories of people I admired. They believed in me because we all believed in Spartanburg Dragway.

That strip gave me my direction in life. It shaped my career and my understanding of what makes drag racing special.

It also taught me that greatness isn’t defined by facility size or corporate backing—it’s defined by passion. And there was no shortage of that in Spartanburg County.

Even now, decades later, I see that same drive in racers from the region. It’s like the old strip left behind a kind of DNA—something that keeps pushing us all forward, even when the track itself is gone.

When I last visited what was left of the dragway, I ignored the “No Trespassing” signs and walked through what used to be the pits. The fences were still there, overgrown and rusted, like old guardians standing watch over the ghosts of our youth.

There wasn’t a section of ground that didn’t stir a memory. Every footstep felt like flipping through the pages of an old photo album—one filled with noise, laughter, and a kind of hope that only existed under the track lights.

Standing in the middle of what used to be the starting line, surrounded by brush and silence, I realized how much the place had meant. It wasn’t much by modern standards, but to us it was everything.

If you’ve ever lost a local track, you know the feeling. That sense of loss cuts deep, but it’s balanced by gratitude for having been there in the first place.

The past may be overgrown and paved over, but the memories still roar louder than any bulldozer. They remind us that while developers can build houses, they can’t build what that place gave us—identity.

Today, houses line Canaan Road where the burnout box once smoked. Driveways sit where legends launched. The people who live there may never know that a world of horsepower and history once roared beneath their feet.

But that’s okay. Because those of us who were there remember. We remember the smell, the sound, the feeling of belonging to something bigger than ourselves. We remember the nights when the lights flickered on and the drag strip became our world.

Spartanburg Dragway is gone, but its spirit lives on in every racer from the Upstate who ever dreamed of going faster. It lives in the 38 world championships born from that patch of Carolina clay. And it lives in all of us who still close our eyes and see that glowing tower, that packed staging lane, that endless stretch of blacktop where dreams once took flight.

My years in drag racing tell me it wasn’t much of a track. But my heart says it was the greatest drag strip ever built.

It used to be my playground. And even now, when I close my eyes, I can still go back there.

BOBBY BENNETT: WHY THE “GOOD OLD DAYS” AREN’T BETTER THAN TODAY

Bobby Bennett — Thu, 02 Oct 2025 06:30:34 +0000

You simply cannot present this argument in 600 words or fewer. It’s a long read.

Drag racing fans love to reminisce. Flaming burnouts, match races under the lights, the fire-breathing Funny Cars, the legends hauling their dragsters behind a pickup truck — they all make for vivid memories. It is tempting to believe those “good ol’ days” were the sport’s peak.

But as romantic as the past feels, the truth is that the modern era has surpassed it in nearly every measurable way.

The first step in that conversation is respect. The racers of the 1960s and ’70s built the foundation. They made the sport a spectacle with ingenuity and courage, often working out of small garages and using borrowed parts. That scrappy culture gave drag racing its soul. Nostalgia has its place, and those memories matter.

But nostalgia can blur reality. In the 1960s, Top Fuel dragsters ran the quarter-mile in the seven-second range at barely 200 miles per hour. Today, they cover 1,000 feet in 3.6 seconds at speeds topping 340. The performance leap is staggering. Nitro cars make over 11,000 horsepower, requiring complete teardowns after every run. In the “good ol’ days,” pistons, rods, and even blocks were reused until they finally failed. Now, they are treated as consumables because the engines push physics to the edge.

Safety is another area where the present is stronger. The old days carried an aura of danger because fires and explosions were common, and many drivers paid the ultimate price. Modern cars are engineered to give racers a chance to walk away from 330-mph incidents that would have previously been certain fatalities. The spectacle remains, but survival rate is vastly higher.

All of this advancement comes at a price, though. Developing stronger chassis, safer cockpits and better equipment has added millions to the cumulative cost of running nitro cars — and that’s not counting the go-fast parts. What once was ingenuity with a torch and welder is now engineering with computers and specialized materials, and the bill reflects that shift.

Finances tell a similar story. In 1965, winning a national event might mean a $1,500 paycheck. By the mid-1980s, Don Garlits recalled his Top Fuel program costing nearly $900,000 a year to operate. The champion of the 1985 NHRA U.S. Nationals pocketed $30,000, which would be about $90,000 when adjusted for inflation. Today, it costs roughly $3 to $5 million to field a competitive car for the season.

GET 10% OFF YOUR RACE TICKETS – USE CODE – COMPETITIONPLUS10

That daunting expense has produced an obvious effect; i.e., short fields at NHRA events from time to time. What does one expect when costs have more than quadrupled? It is one of the reasons fans no longer see nitro cars barnstorming the country in match races. Nitro, Pro Stock and even Pro Modified priced themselves out of the exhibition business. The professional show moved from the smaller strips to the national stage, where costs could be absorbed through sponsorships and television.

And then there are those who don’t even go to the races but routinely devalue an event because of what they see in grandstands that are not filled to capacity.

Bear in mind, those grandstands are often more than triple the size of the facilities that defined the sport’s golden age. A crowd that looked like a sellout at York or Lions wouldn’t fill a third of zMAX Dragway or Route 66 Raceway. Smaller venues bursting at the seams looked impressive, but the modern facilities were built to host tens of thousands more people.

One track GM told me that their average national-event attendee watches about nine pairs of cars before moving on. That speaks to a very different audience than the 1970s, when fans often planted themselves in the bleachers for an entire day of racing. Back then, the novelty of nitro thunder and door-car eliminations was enough to hold attention from sunrise to sunset. Today’s fans, with more entertainment choices and shorter attention spans, consume racing in bursts, stepping in and out of the action much like they do with their phones and streaming platforms.

Drag racing has adapted by providing multiple ways to follow the action. Fans can watch live streams, keep tabs with live timing, or refresh the Old Faithful of drag racing websites, dragracecentral.com, for results. Years ago, the most committed fans picked up the telephone and dialed a 1-900 number just to hear Dave McClelland (Castrol GTX Hotline) or Bret Kepner (IHRA Hotline) recap the day’s action. Today, websites like CompetitionPlus.com not only deliver results but also the stories behind them. Race fans have become so spoiled they often take for granted the efforts put in to deliver those stories. Hours of research and reporting go into presenting the facts, only for a social media visitor to comment without even reading them. But I digress.

The explosion of digital media has given the sport more reach than ever before. Social media platforms, especially YouTube, have created a vast library where fans can watch both modern and classic races with ease. A fan who once had to wait weeks for a magazine to arrive in the mailbox can now relive Don Garlits’s catostrophic transmission explosion at Lions or Matt Hagan’s latest Funny Car victory instantly. The accessibility is unprecedented.

Fans themselves live in a different world today. With the click of a mouse or the swipe of a screen, they can watch races in real time from anywhere. Those who complain about a delayed TV broadcast forget what came before. In the 1970s, fans relied on National DRAGSTER to find the date, time and network of Diamond P’s syndicated broadcast. That one-hour show often skipped qualifying and sometimes ignored Pro Stock altogether. On the rare occasions the program included Pro Stock coverage beyond the semifinals, it felt like Christmas morning. And before that, drag racing was featured on ABC’s Wide World of Sports — maybe, if we were lucky, twice a year.

Today, fans have more coverage than they can consume. It is easy to take for granted the ability to watch Stock Eliminator from an NHRA divisional event at 8 a.m. without leaving home. In earlier decades, sportsman racing was something you only saw in person. Remember the Modified Eliminator eliminations from an NHRA Division 2 event in Blaney, S.C.? No fan outside the gates ever saw those runs. Now, the smallest details of the sport are at a fan’s fingertips.

The same applies to independent promotions. Consider Donald Long’s Duck X Production small-tire events. In the past, unless one of the major magazines covered it, most fans would never know those races happened. And even then, coverage often centered more on the reporter than the event itself. Now, events like those have global reach, streamed live to audiences far larger than any bleacher could hold.

And then there is the myth of “the good ol’ days” itself. At one of the more popular nostalgia Funny Car shows years ago — 2005 — in Englishtown, more than 30 cars showed up. It looked like a time machine, but the reality on the starting line told a different story. One car broke on the burnout. The next shut off at 300 feet. Another wouldn’t fire, while the next pair produced a red light and a broken motor. The next Funny Car pair in line fired up, staged, and one of them exploded the supercharger, launching the body straight off 50 feet from the line. A younger racer standing nearby laughed and asked if this was what the good ol’ days were really like. The answer was simple: Yes. Cars looked great, burnouts were spectacular, but side-by-side races were rare and breakage was constant. The nostalgia show proved the reality many older fans either forgot or never admitted.

Pro Stock tells a similar story. People call it the class of close competition, but the facts say otherwise. In the 1970s and even as late as the ’90s, the gaps were massive. The Nos. 1 and No. 2 qualifiers were often a tenth ahead of the rest of the field, and the bump spot could be half a second behind. Remember that famous 1970 Indy final with Arlen Vanke, Herb McCandless, and the Sox & Martin Duster? It’s the one that produced a memorable side-by-side moment, but it was rare — so rare it still gets replayed 50 years later. More often, fields were strung out and first-round matchups were foregone conclusions.

Voices have evolved, too. Dave McClelland and Steve Evans gave the sport its sound and personality. Today, a new generation carries the torch. Of them all, Brian Lohnes, in many ways, blends the qualities of both, connecting modern fans to drag racing’s traditions while adapting to new formats.

Don’t get me wrong, the “good ol’ days” were important. They gave drag racing its roots, its personalities and its early magic. But the present is not just an echo of that time. It is the most advanced, competitive and accessible era the sport has ever known. Someday, fans will look back at today with the same rose-colored glasses.

And they may even call 2025 the good ol’ days.

BOBBY BENNETT: FOUR CARS, ZERO DIRECTION – IT’S FACTORY X

Bobby Bennett — Wed, 10 Sep 2025 18:30:46 +0000

Four cars. That’s all that entered NHRA’s Factory X division at the U.S. Nationals, drag racing’s most prestigious event. The turnout underscored the ongoing struggles of a class plagued by short fields, disqualifications, rule missteps, and delays since its debut two years ago.

Despite heavy promotion, only 11 different Factory X cars have made competitive runs. The class has endured a string of missteps that have prevented it from fulfilling its intended role as the future of Pro Stock.

Factory X traces its origins to the Factory Stock category introduced in 2012. That class initially featured supercharged Ford Mustangs, followed by Chevrolet’s COPO Camaros and Chrysler’s Drag Pak Challengers. The emergence of those cars prompted NHRA to reexamine the future of Pro Stock, which was already losing audience support.

For those not in the know, Factory X wasn’t really designed to be a class as much as it was intended to be part of a larger plan to revitalize NHRA Pro Stock. The sanctioning body developed a three-stage plan to update Pro Stock. Electronic fuel injection was scheduled to debut in 2015. In 2016, the class would incorporate drivetrain technology from Factory Stock. By 2017, Pro Stock cars were to be powered exclusively by supercharged Factory Stock engines.

That plan fell apart almost as soon as it began. While EFI finally arrived in 2015, it came only after decades of resistance from teams unwilling to abandon carburetors and lose the performance advantages they had spent years perfecting. The next step, integrating Factory Stock powerplants into Pro Stock chassis, was scheduled for 2016 but stalled after objections from team owners. By 2017, the entire plan was scrapped, leaving Pro Stock unchanged and in deeper need of a refresh.

For those who followed the politics behind the scenes, the collapse of the plan was no surprise. The Pro Stock team owners refused to give up control, blocking NHRA’s attempt to modernize the class. With Pro Stock’s transition blocked, NHRA shifted its attention to building a new division instead, hoping Factory Stock could evolve into something bigger.

The result was Factory X, a series built on modern muscle cars with stock-appearing body panels. The concept made sense: put Mustangs, Camaros, and Challengers on the track in a way fans could recognize, and let the engines provide the performance. For casual observers, it looked like the same cars on the street—only quicker. For racers, it offered a way to stay connected to Detroit’s factory programs.

But once again, execution didn’t match the vision. NHRA mandated the use of stock body panels, yet no aftermarket supplier was producing them. Builders couldn’t find parts to meet the rules, leaving the series hamstrung before it had a chance to grow. The misstep delayed what would become Factory X by more than two years.

By the time the first two Factory X cars were built, the timing couldn’t have been worse. Detroit had already discontinued production of the Camaro and Challenger models on which the class was based. That made the category outdated before it began, much like introducing a racing division for Edsels in the 1960s.

For those trying to keep score, only 11 Factory X cars have been constructed since the class debuted. Thirteen drivers have strapped into those machines, but the cost, complexity, and limited supply of parts have prevented wider adoption. The U.S. Nationals entry list of just four cars was the clearest sign yet that the class lacks momentum.

The struggles extend beyond car counts. Builders faced lengthy delays in receiving chassis and critical components. Supply chain issues slowed delivery, and when the cars did appear, inconsistent rule enforcement and occasional disqualifications further weakened the class. Manufacturer support has also been lacking, since the category’s chosen platforms no longer exist on showroom floors.

Factory X was originally billed as a bridge between Factory Stock Showdown and Pro Stock, offering drivers and teams a logical step up the performance ladder. In theory, it was a class that could showcase supercharged factory engines in modern chassis with recognizable bodywork, preserving brand identity while providing Pro Stock-level competition. In practice, it became a patchwork solution that never gained traction.

The problems echoed earlier frustrations in NHRA’s handling of Pro Stock. EFI had been delayed for years because the strongest teams resisted change, and even when adopted, it came only after long lead times. That same slow-moving culture shaped Factory X. Rules were announced before the infrastructure was ready, parts weren’t available, and the factories behind the cars moved on.

Unlike the cornerstone categories—Top Fuel, Funny Car, Pro Stock, and Pro Stock Motorcycle—Factory X is not a permanent class. It doesn’t carry the same legal ramifications that Pro Stock Truck once presented, when NHRA abruptly discontinued it in the 1990s and found itself in court. Factory X isn’t an official professional category, which gives NHRA more freedom to pivot, but also leaves the class without the permanence or protection of the sanctioning body’s established divisions.

The lack of planning left the class vulnerable from the start. Without strong aftermarket support and with Detroit abandoning the Camaro and Challenger, the backbone of the class had already been cut. The result was a category that looked irrelevant even before its first race.

To better understand how Factory X fits into NHRA’s broader history of class management, I reached out to Hall of Fame announcer and revered statistician Bret Kepner. It’s one thing to have an opinion, but it’s another to form one on facts—especially those not readily available. His insight underscores the importance of grounding this discussion in hard numbers and historical precedent, not just reactionary takes.

In an earlier era, NHRA would have likely taken a different approach. The sanctioning body once had little hesitation in eliminating perceived struggling categories such as Top Gas or Modified when they no longer served the sport. If that standard still applied, Factory X would already be gone, and the parade of protest would be a short one.

With only 11 cars built in two years and the premier event of the season drawing just four, Factory X’s future is uncertain. Many in the pits quietly acknowledge the class may never reach sustainability. Without new manufacturer involvement, stronger aftermarket infrastructure, or significant cost reductions, the model risks fading from relevance altogether.

For those who remember why Factory X was conceived, the disappointment is clear. It was never supposed to be a standalone class but rather the foundation of a revitalized Pro Stock. Instead, it has become a cautionary tale of what happens when planning falters, execution lags, and Detroit abandons the very cars the series was built upon.

At the end of the day, Factory X was supposed to be NHRA’s answer to fading Pro Stock relevance, but instead it has become a mirror of the sanctioning body’s own indecision.

NHRA called it the bridge to Pro Stock’s future, but Factory X may already be a dead end.

BOBBY BENNETT: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR: A WORLD WITHOUT NHRA

Bobby Bennett — Tue, 26 Aug 2025 17:57:07 +0000

They say be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. And when it comes to those who openly root for the demise of the National Hot Rod Association, it’s time to explore what that wish would really look like if granted.

Imagine the drag racing world without NHRA. It’s not the glory days of Lions or OCIR. It’s not a return to some grassroots utopia of innovation and independence. It’s Mad Max with burnout boxes.

Without NHRA, the structure holding this sport together collapses. Tracks would face skyrocketing insurance premiums, if they could get insurance at all. Sanctioning provides leverage. It provides economies of scale. It provides accountability and legitimacy. You think your local outlaw race is dangerous now? Try running that with no governing body, no Safety Safari, and no standards.

Tracks such as Summit Motorsports Park that have built marquee events like “Night Under Fire” will survive in the short term. The best ones always find a way. But even they know the long play would bring unintended consequences. No sanctioning body means no rulebook, no certified safety standards, no licensing process, no sportsman ladder, and no consistent enforcement of anything. We’d be back to a splintered, rudderless sport where everyone makes up their own rules and the weakest links bring down the rest.

This isn’t nostalgia. It’s a warning.

Many of the same critics who cry out for NHRA’s end weren’t there when tracks had oildowns that took 90 minutes to clean up. They don’t remember fans falling through grandstands or getting injured (and sometimes killed) by debris. They don’t remember when television coverage was a grainy afterthought, and news traveled by word of mouth or monthly magazines.

They didn’t see the Wild West era of drag racing — because if they did, they wouldn’t want to go back.

Yes, I’m aware of the rejuvenated IHRA. They’re making a play to return to prominence and bring their brand of professional and sportsman drag racing back to the national stage. But let’s be honest, there’s too little sample size right now to say they can step up to the plate as the savior of the sport if NHRA went away. The enthusiasm is admirable, but the reality is that sustaining a national drag racing organization at scale takes more than vision. It takes infrastructure, manpower, long-term strategy, and consistency — things NHRA has spent 75 years building, refining, and, yes, sometimes stumbling through.

Also realize that many Alternative Sanctioning Organizations (ASOs), such as the PDRA, depend on NHRA infrastructure to function. They race on NHRA-sanctioned tracks, rely on track personnel trained under NHRA systems, and benefit from safety standards that NHRA pioneered. Remove NHRA from that equation, and their path becomes much steeper. These organizations shine in their niches, but they don’t exist in a vacuum, they exist within the scaffolding NHRA provides.

Let me say something plainly: I am not an NHRA apologist. I don’t get paid to be their defender, and I have no interest in sugarcoating reality. I’ve taken the NHRA to the woodshed more times than I can count, and will continue to do so when warranted. But pointing out what they’ve done right doesn’t make me a series lapdog. It means I’m willing to evaluate the full picture. It means I’ll do the work to hear their side, examine the facts, and report on both the cracks and the cornerstones. Because if all we do is throw grenades and refuse to listen, we’re not journalists. We’re just noise.

The NHRA isn’t perfect. But if you think they’re the enemy, you don’t understand who’s really keeping the sport on the rails. Racers — professional and sportsman — benefit from safety innovation, consistent rules, and the infrastructure that comes with 75 years of institutional knowledge. So do track operators. So do fans. Without that, what’s left?

Think about what we’ve already lost. Super Chevy. Fun Ford. Chrysler Classics. NMCA. NMRA. IHRA has died and been resurrected so many times it’s hard to know where the pulse is anymore. Every touring series not named NHRA has eventually run headfirst into the same brick wall: sustainability.

And yet NHRA has survived.

It has survived media upheaval, fuel crises, legal challenges, fan apathy, pandemics, sponsor churn, and yes, its own mistakes. There’s no conspiracy keeping them in power, just the reality that no one else has proven they can do the job better. Or longer.

Still, the NHRA gets mocked. Criticized. Dismissed. Vilified. Even when they do something right, the social media reaction is the same: “Too little, too late.” And yet, they keep showing up. So do the thousands of staffers, officials, volunteers, and fans who love this sport enough to give their weekends — and sometimes their paychecks — to be part of it.

You want change? Great. Demand it. But don’t wish for scorched earth. Don’t root for the institution’s collapse. Because what replaces it won’t be better. It won’t be nostalgic. It won’t be free. It will be dangerous, fragmented, and in the long term, unsustainable.

Without NHRA, you lose not just the big show. You lose the ladder that feeds it. You lose the network of licensed racers. You lose the ability for a sportsman to dream about Indy or Gainesville or Pomona. You lose the system that holds it all together.

And in its place?

A Mad Max landscape of pop-up series, outlaw tracks, unregulated events, lawsuits, injuries, and closures. A thousand voices shouting “this is how we used to do it” while the sport drowns in its own decentralization.

Drag racing fans have never had it so good. We have national television. Livestreaming. Social media exposure. Instant news. Professional production. Safer cars. Better tracks. More accessible heroes. And still, people act like it’s broken beyond repair.

Maybe the sport isn’t perfect. Maybe it never was. But it’s time to ask: is your dissatisfaction worth burning it all down?

Because when you wish for the NHRA to go away, you’re not just cursing an organization. You’re dooming a sport. And if that day ever comes, we’ll all be standing in the rubble together—wondering how we got here, and realizing too late, we had it better than we ever knew.

BOBBY BENNETT: LOGIC AND MORE TECH OFFICIALS COULD HAVE PREVENTED A DEBACLE

Bobby Bennett — Tue, 24 Jun 2025 21:50:59 +0000

When I saw the Kalitta Motorsports official statement come across my desk in the newsroom, I was particularly impressed when team General Manager Chad Head stepped up and accepted the consequences of his team’s situation. I could say actions, but for it to be an action, there had to be a deliberate or unintentional act. Truly, this was an NBN (nitro being nitro) scenario.

“Some of the bolts rattled loose during the run and fell into the belly pan,” Team Kalitta General Manager Chad Head said. “The bolts were in place before the run, but some were not in place after because they came loose and fell into the belly pan. That’s on us.

“We respect NHRA as the sanctioning body and understand that safety is always the most important thing. We certainly apologize to our corporate partners, the race fans, and our fellow competitors. We did not win yesterday’s race, but we’re moving on and are now focused on the next race.”

It was perfectly stated and to the point.

Almost 24 hours after Head’s statement of apology, I am still waiting for the NHRA to issue their letter of apology. No, I am not asking them to apologize for doing their job.

What I am asking is for their bean counters to apologize for living on the cheap when it comes to ensuring the tech department has the resources to do their job. NHRA’s budget-makers have done it for years, and once again, a racer and a team have had to pay for their over-frugality.

Having a properly staffed tech department would have been paramount to preventing the debacle, which I have labeled the 24 Hours of NHRA Top Fuel race. Imagine for a moment if the NFL or Major League Baseball decided to cut two officials from a game, and you will get the point I am trying to make here.

Three more tech officials in the staging lanes could have properly vetted that all cars racing in any round had all bolts in the bellhousing. Such a pre-run inspection could have gone a long way to prevent what happened on Sunday.

I am not the most astute technical expert in drag racing mechanics, but I am confident that having bellhousing bolts in the dragster bellypan provides no performance advantage.

What I do know, thanks to the expertise of a retired veteran nitro tuner, is these bolts are essentially a 5/16, which a crewman can only tighten so much without damaging or pulling out the threads. Forget adding thread inserts; the entire bellhousing will need to be returned to the manufacturer for recertification. So, as I understand it, these bolts have a maximum of 25-foot pounds to tighten. However, to be on the safe side, I am told many stay in the 10-pound range.

This unnamed drag racing legend said they used to put tape over the bolts as an added factor of assurance. I wouldn’t suggest trying this out of fear of getting dinged for an unapproved alteration to a part.

So, was NHRA’s ruling heavy-handed?

Yes and no.

Yes, because logic says this was not a deliberate act. It’s kind of like penalizing the guy who blew his Funny Car to smithereens after winning the race and then disqualifying him for not making weight at the scales. He can’t help it because he had parts blown into the next county; no more than Langdon could help prevent bolts from vibrating out of the bellhousing.

Logic should tell NHRA that this was not the same thing as a person bypassing a safety device.

But let’s also consider NHRA’s defense. Their precedent has always been to disqualify the run when they discover a safety violation.

In Langdon’s incident, NHRA deemed the missing bolts as a safety infraction. What happens when there’s a safety infraction? The run is disqualified. But in this case, it was the first time it happened in a final round. If NHRA had deviated from this, they’d have had to go back to every DQ driver and reinstate them over the years.

However, if NHRA’s Tech had checked the bolts in the staging lanes and did a random tightness test, logic would have determined this happened during the run, much like an exploded Funny Car at the scales. However, they couldn’t because there weren’t enough resources for them to do so.

So this brings us to the next issue. Why did drag racing have to wait 24 hours for a race under review for what should have been an open-and-shut case? No one can answer this question, and we will likely find out who broke into the Wayne County Pro Stock shop before we receive a clear answer to why this review took so long to conclude.

The bottom line is that NHRA must do better in providing its tech department with the resources to do the job they are tasked with.

If drag racing is to always maintain its integrity of its product, there are two aspects which NHRA can never skimp on. Those are the sanctity of its timing system and a robust tech team that provides fair competition across the board.

A corporation the size of NHRA will always need upper management to ensure money is constantly flowing in. It also needs to have more technical officials who can perform simple tasks, such as checking bolts and other items, to ensure a team doesn’t have a hard-earned win taken away from them because of something that could have been caught or addressed beforehand.

When NHRA Drag Racing’s institutions lose their credibility, there’s little chance it will return.

BOBBY BENNETT: WHAT IS EXACTLY WRONG WITH NHRA PRO STOCK? NOT A THING

Bobby Bennett — Mon, 16 Jun 2025 16:19:27 +0000

To hear some talk on social media, one could easily conclude that NHRA Pro Stock is the scourge of the earth.

There are too many Camaros, some argue. There are too few manufacturers. Pro Stock is a KB-Titan — Elite battleground, they contend. It’s boring, not like it was back in the good ol’ days.

As someone who grew up watching Pro Stock through the so-called good ol’ days of Bob Glidden, Bill Jenkins, Butch Leal, Lee Shepherd, and Frank Iaconio, I have concluded what is wrong with the so-called factory hot rod division.

There’s not a thing wrong with NHRA 500-inch Pro Stock. It’s got full fields, close racing, and, at times, controversy to grab the headlines of the major drag racing publications. Then again, Pro Stock Truck had the same “problem” and got unceremoniously kicked to the curb.

I’ve written numerous articles on Pro Stock that detail how the class evolved into its current state, why the Camaro became the dominant brand, and how it reached this point.

I find it humorous that the biggest complaint is the evolution of Pro Stock. One didn’t simply flip a switch and Pro Stock end up the way it is. Like a frog in a boiling pot of water, the drag racing community clamors for those old days when rarely anyone spoke up when it was changing before their eyes. For those who don’t understand the frog analogy, a frog sits in a pot of lukewarm water sitting on the stove. He doesn’t realize how hot the water is until it’s too late and in a full boil.

From the onset, let’s state one fact. Wally Parks did not want a Pro Stock division back in the late 1960s. He even went as far as to state his opinion in a Motor Trend interview on the subject. As he saw it, the alphabet version of Super Stock offered a better return on investment (ROI) to the OEMs. In the October 1969 interview, Parks said, “Under no circumstances will we ever run a heads-up Pro Stock class or a heads-up Super Stock class.”

Even more interesting, Parks didn’t even refer to the category as Super Stock, much less Pro Stock. He coined the term Gas Funny Cars.

As Parks put it, “This heads-up gas funny car (Super Stock) class is becoming so out of touch with what is actually produced. There’s no way in the world we’re ever going to do anything like that. We have a great product. We’re going to concentrate on that.”

Twelve weeks later, the typical lead time for a printed magazine, Parks changed his mind and embraced Pro Stock. The OEMs needed something new since the new fuel Funny Cars were not moving the needle as much as these overachieving Super Stockers were.

If anyone has been around this sport for any length of time, they are very much aware that NHRA doesn’t sit idly as others steal headlines.

The unheralded United Drag Racers Association and, shortly after that, the American Hot Rod Association’s heads-up Super Stock classes began to fight their way up the food chain into the professional ranks.

Before the 1970 season, AHRA announced the 10-race Grand American Series, the first championship-paying points series in drag racing. The AHRA’s Jim Tice reportedly approached the NHRA’s leading Super Stock racers, many of whom were already racing the loosely regulated AHRA Pro Stock class, with a proposal of big appearance money for exclusivity.

Now, the leading factory drivers — Ronnie Sox, “Dyno” Don Nicholson, Butch Leal, and Bill Jenkins, all of whom were reportedly the object of Tice’s desire to dominate the market — had serious leverage over NHRA in forcing it to create not only a Pro Stock division but one with stricter rules.

At the time, AHRA’s “Pro Stocks” were already deep into the nine-second zone. Then, at Indy in 1969, these leading drivers met with NHRA, informing them that AHRA had made bold financial propositions and intended to go where the money was. Who could blame them?

In the October 31, 1969, issue of NHRA’s National DRAGSTER, NHRA announced their new Pro Stock class for 1970 as part of the sanctioning body’s “Super Season” of drag racing.

If one wants to draw a line where things began to change, or a better word – evolve – it was this moment.

Pro Stock began as a universal seven-pounds-per-cubic-inch class. Still, when Chrysler’s factory team dominated with a 12-3 final-round record in its first two seasons, the NHRA’s tech department began a bid to make the class “equal.”

NHRA allowed Bill Jenkins to run a subcompact in the class, which did not come with the engine combination produced in the Chevrolet Vega he debuted in the 1972 season.

The real world was shifting towards subcompacts, and the new rules allowing their inclusion altered the image of the class from elevated Super Stockers to something more akin to Gassers and Altereds.

Soon, a score of Chevrolet Vegas and Ford Pintos replaced the heavier Camaros and Mustangs. If there was one subcompact that came into NHRA Pro Stock that filled the spirit of the class, it was the Gremlin, which could be purchased from the factory with a V-8.

Jenkins’ Vega also opened another Pandora’s Box for Pro Stock. By 1973, the teams that were onboard did so with Pro Stock cars that were built on full-on tube chassis. Then came the Lenco, which increased the cost of operating a Pro Stock car but also made the cars more efficient. A race-ready Pro Stocker of that era was valued at about $10,000, equivalent to about $72,000 today. The Lenco was an increase of $4,000, equivalent to approximately $28,810 in today’s economy.

Then, the NHRA’s tech department had to level the playing field between the subcompacts and the full-size Dusters and Demons. All of a sudden, what appeared to begin as a universal seven-pound class now had different rules for different combinations.

There was a different weight break for a Pinto than a five-year-old Mustang. A four-door Maverick got a different weight break than a Vega. If this weren’t complex enough, you didn’t want to have the same combination as Bob Glidden or Sox & Martin because you couldn’t beat them at their game.

The enterprising IHRA, which had followed the NHRA in terms of policing the Pro Stock division, decided it was time to simplify the class. Then-IHRA VP Ted Jones introduced the “mountain motor” aspect of the Pro Stock division which allowed for as many cubic inches as one could fit between the fenders. IHRA wanted to simplify Pro Stock to the point, any American-made naturally aspirated engine could be used with any manufacturer.

As was the case in the early days before Pro Stock existed in NHRA, other series grabbing the headlines drew NHRA’s attention and forced a reaction. In April 1980, Rickie Smith made the first official seven-second run in the large-displacement Pro Stocks, and drivers like Warren Johnson, Ronnie Sox, and Pat Musi were outshining NHRA’s refined competition.

NHRA avoided going the IHRA’s route of unlimited displacement and instead capped it at 500 inches. This allowed a measure of crossover from a class that had become extremely segregated for five years. As the drivers began to refine their combinations by racing two or three series, the competition got tighter and tighter.

Then, the Pro Stockers, built on the foundation of steel roof and quarters, started to get more refined in other areas like aerodynamics, where chassis builders began to take on their interpretations of what made better race cars. They massaged the original body lines to the point there could be three different versions of a Firebird roll through tech.

In 2000, NHRA got away from the templates like it had already done with Funny Car and moved to the “box standard.” Thus the one-piece body became a part of the NHRA’s Pro Stock DNA. It also left Pro Stock racers at the mercy of running only what the manufacturer approved.

So what is the box standard?

It’s common knowledge that not all body designs were created equal. Yet brand-loyal racers and factory-backed teams were forced to play the hand dealt them, even at the risk of losing. The inherent dynamics in nose overhang, the front end overhang, in widths or lack of width or height, or laid-back windshields, as opposed to other brands or other body styles, were just a few of those issues. The body style that better served the purpose often became dominant.

So, if you wonder how Pro Stock got to the point where the cars they were built to resemble looked like nothing more than a fiberglass shell with an airbrushed identity, there you have it. The one thing about the box-standard is that a body style could be run only with the permission of the manufacturer. Back when it was a steel-roofed quarters build, racers didn’t have to worry about infringing on trademarked designs.

NHRA’s subsequent major adjustment was to eliminate hood scoops and carburetors, adopting electronic fuel injection in 2016. Whether stated publicly or not, NHRA’s move was intended to draw attention back to the class for the OEMs. By the end of the season, Chrysler announced its departure from Pro Stock, leaving only Chevrolet. That participation didn’t last long, either.

With the class waning into extinction, Pro Stock team owner Richard Freeman corralled the stakeholders of the class into finding a way to make the technology once guarded so fiercely that NHRA forced the teams to back their cars into the pits. Freeman and Greg Anderson, then the driving force behind Ken Black Racing, made it easier for customers to rent a competitive Pro Stock combination.

Of all the moves intended to make the class better and increase participation, this was one.

Now that we’ve built the platform for how we got here, let’s address the issues some race fans throw out there as what is wrong with the class.

THE ELITE/KB-TITAN MONOPOLY – It’s not really a monopoly as these are the two leading teams, making it available for more racers to compete in Pro Stock. If Freeman and Anderson hadn’t done what they did and instead hoarded all of the horsepowers to themselves, Pro Stock would be dead, period.

Pro Stock was essentially the gray hair, no hair club with a few young punks (a play on Warren Johnson’s comment in Denver). Because of the so-called monopoly, the class is much younger and more competitive.

THE PRO CAMARO ARGUMENT — Right now, the Camaro gives the best chance to win, period. The bodies are easily accessible, even though the Camaro ceased production at the end of 2023. In fact, the only remaining coupe or sedan Chevrolet produces, the Malibu, will cease production at the end of the year.

Even then, if Pro Stock wanted another Chevrolet make in the show, it would require permission from the manufacturer. It would also need a wealthy person — one with money to burn — to take the car through the wind tunnel and get someone to craft the carbon fiber into a box-standard body.

THE CARPET DOESN’T MATCH THE DRAPES BEEF — Some will argue that in 2018, when NHRA announced the engine manufacturer didn’t have to match the body style, it eventually killed the notion of a factory hot rod class. I have news for you: When NHRA went to 500-inch engines, the carpet drapes were adopted. Yes, there might have been so-called “factory pieces,” but the GM, Chrysler, or Ford designs were all aftermarket created in the machine shop under the guise of a particular manufacturer.

Again, going back to Jenkins Vega, this was Pro Stock’s version of cosmetic surgery.

REPLACE THEM WITH PRO MODIFIED! — Pro Modified is exciting and volatile, the kind of thing that makes a class popular with its unpredictable nature. However, if you look closely, the level of competition and, to a degree, predictability, is drastically on the rise. What the Lenco did for Pro Stock in the early 1970s, the automatic transmission is doing for Pro Modified. Mark my words: Within the next decade, Pro Modified will be so refined and competitive that the level of competition will surpass Pro Stock. Pro Modified is already expensive, but nothing like what’s coming.

REPLACE THEM WITH FACTORY X — Of all the debates, this one is the most laughable. From the very beginning, this concept had a chance. On Day Two, it crashed and burned. What NHRA failed to realize is that the overwhelming majority of racers don’t consider themselves in the entertainment business. The day NHRA held teams to the edict of a steel roof and quarters when nothing comes from the manufacturers, it basically shot the price to the moon and back. It added more manpower hours, which in turn increased the cost of the scenario. Do away with Pro Stock and replace it with Factory X, and NHRA will essentially have an eight-car field, making it difficult to fill. Pro Stock routinely fills the 16-car field.

IN CONCLUSION

Pro Stock is not a casual-fan class. It is for the diehard drag racing fan who can appreciate close drag racing with a unified weight, regulated body dimensions, and a naturally aspirated engine.

Its racers are not entertainers, at least not behind the wheel. There are finely-tuned, well-trained drivers with one vision, and that’s to win in the most convincing fashion. They will do so with what gives them the best chance to win. And if that’s a Camaro with a Chevrolet engine, then so be it.

We can all argue there’s not enough variety, but when there’s no OEM support, what’s the racer to do? Folks can deny it all they want, but if they want to win and do so by the most cost-efficient option, then a Camaro it will be.

So there you have it … as one who has almost five decades in the sport, Pro Stock has evolved into an eliminator where more than three of the same drivers have a chance to win.

Drag racing fans will always have an opinion, and with the advent of social media, they are not afraid to voice those freely. However, if one offers an opinion without at least taking the time to study how it came to be, then it only lends credence to the old saying:

“Sometimes it’s better to remain silent than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.”

BOBBY BENNETT: MAYBE IT’S TIME TO REPLACE TOP ALCOHOL NAME WITH PRO COMP

Bobby Bennett — Wed, 28 May 2025 17:55:59 +0000

Drag racing sometimes comes full circle. In watching the recent additions to the Top Alcohol Funny Car division, and most recently, both categories, we are watching two iterations of the old Pro Competition eliminator. To understand how Top Alcohol Racing got to this point, we must look back to the early days of this class.

For those born after 1981, here’s a brief history lesson. In 1974, NHRA launched a new top-of-the-food-chain sportsman drag racing category called Pro Competition, shortened to Pro Comp, where the quickest classifications of Competition Eliminator were elevated into a melting point of categories that ran heads-up.

In Pro Comp, there were supercharged, alcohol-burning dragsters (AA/DA), A/Fuel Dragsters (A/FD), supercharged-alcohol Funny Cars (BB/FC), and the wildly popular AA/Altereds, essentially watered-down AA/Fuel Altered but on alcohol. There were other classifications, but these were the primary players.

NHRA, faced with parity issues in Pro Comp, was continually fighting to keep the Alcohol Funny Cars as a viable entity against the Alcohol Dragsters. In 1982, the NHRA split Pro Comp into two categories: one for Dragsters and another for Funny Cars, with the Dragsters getting custody of the Roadsters.

The Pro Comp Dragsters and Funny Cars qualified and raced separately, but the winners in each category met in a final round-off. However, when the dragsters won eight of the 11 final rounds, the two categories finalized their divorce.

The newly created Top Alcohol Dragster division had four classifications available, which also included the injected-nitro cars. However, the dominance of the AA/DA combination inspired the alcohol reference. The Funny Cars had only one combination.

That brings us to where we are today.

Top Alcohol Dragsters have two primary combinations: the injected-nitro dragster and the blown alcohol dragsters (B/AD, formerly AA/DA). Starting in 2026, a supercharged nitro option will be available.

The Funny Cars will now have three viable combinations, two of which are nitro-fueled.

This evolution leads to an observation from someone who watched Pro Comp run its course and now Top Alcohol. Maybe NHRA, with its infusion of more nitro options in classes branded for Alcohol, should also rebrand the name.

I propose NHRA rebrand the Top Alcohol divisions as Pro Comp Dragster and Pro Comp Funny Car. The class was always the elevation from Comp Eliminator, anyway.

Unless something changes in the Funny Car, the NHRA would be justified in making it one Pro Comp class again.

In my opinion, NHRA has gone above and beyond in the last couple of years to stimulate growth amongst the Top Alcohol Funny Car division.
Remember, the NHRA could have dropped the class and cited a lack of participation. It would have been easier.

But for all the cries that NHRA doesn’t care about drag racing, exhausting every option to keep a waning class in competition goes against this very claim.

Two years ago, the NHRA introduced the injected-nitro Funny Car combination, and while the series intended to increase participation in the class, it didn’t have the desired impact. In fact, at the NHRA Finals, there were only 11 entries. Before the pandemic, at the same event, there were only 13 entries.

The problem is the class has been on a steady decline.

The immediate argument is the cost of running the cars doesn’t equal the purse. Let me ask this. When was the last time it did? And, for that matter, has it ever been that way in any of the classes? Drag racing has been and will always be expensive. The higher one goes, the more expensive it is to play.

I believe that 2026 will be a turnaround year for the so-called Top Alcohol Funny Car division. With the introduction of the new Del Worsham supercharged-nitro combination into the mix, this could be the final chance to breathe new life into the class.

I’ve heard that there are cars being built for the new supercharged-nitro Funny Car class, and a few of the injected-nitro cars are still being constructed.

So that’s where we are. Unless the 2026 infusion of more nitro into the Funny Car portion works, there won’t be a need for NHRA to split a proposed Pro Comp division into two separate entities. It’ll just be Pro Comp.

Then it will be 1974 all over again, albeit with less Funny Cars.

A LESSON LEARNED ABOUT MEMORIAL DAY

Bobby Bennett — Tue, 27 May 2025 17:48:08 +0000

There’s nothing “happy” about Memorial Day.

I rarely prefer to write commentaries, so when I do, it’s something which I feel strongly.

Let me say, I am in absolute appreciation for anyone who has served our country. Additionally, I am in awe of those who have served on the battlefield. However, I do have a special place in my heart for those who served our country bravely in a war where they had zero chance to win.

Vietnam Veterans are my heroes. They were drag racing’s solid hold on the 18 to 24-year-old market when drag racing could be found in popular television shows as part of network television storylines, significant media and even cartoons.

Veteran drag racing journalist and Vietnam veteran Dave Wallace said it best when he pointed out Vietnam had more of a detrimental on the future of drag racing than anything. If I might be so bold to conclude; even more than the Conoronavirus.

Drag racing experts and historians believe that in 1962 – 1966 no other form of motorsports enjoyed a faster evolution of innovation, performance, and popularity than drag racing. By 1967, this growth slowed dramatically.

“That’s where all the gearheads were,” Wallace explained in a 2019 CompetitionPlus.com article. “They were mainly blue-collar, not headed to college. For every person in a combat zone, there were at least two support personnel members somewhere. You take over 2 Million people out of the blue-collar community, and that was most of your gearheads.”

I was born in 1967, too young to understand what Vietnam was all about. I was only four-years-old when I would sit with my grandfather watching the news with Walter Cronkite. There were Army men on television which captured my attention, and there were often mentions of the place called Saigon.

Fast forward to my teenage years, I became more aware of just what those young men went through. I knew there would be a day when I could make a difference.

That day came in 2007 when I was blessed to work with the Vietnam Veterans tribute dragster driven by Melanie Troxel. I was the point man for the program and was able to work with the Vietnam Veterans of America to bring at least ten Vietnam and Vietnam-era veterans to each NHRA national event.

Our goal was not only to welcome them to the drag strip, a place many of them used to attend religiously before Vietnam. I did have multiple occasions where those events were the first time they returned to their first love.

I learned so much from those gentlemen, who were willing to speak of the hell they endured. The heartbreak of going off to fight battles they weren’t allowed to win and returning to a country where wearing their uniforms was not a matter of pride.

It breaks my heart.

I’ve tried to go out of my way when I see a Vietnam vet wearing a hat of their service to say to them, “thank you.” I was only a baby in 1967, but if I was born in 1947, I would have been wearing the hat too.”

And for at least one season in drag racing, the dragster which merely said: “Welcome Home” coupled with the POW/MIA logo I am convinced made the most profound statement.

I even got a chance to visit The Wall in Washington, DC., and couldn’t help but notice the painstaking detail someone had put into a ’55 Chevy gasser model, and placed at the bottom of a panel. That hit me almost as hard as reading the 58,220 casualties listed in the memorial. It illustrated what drag racing meant to at least one brave soul.

I met I figure as many as 400 Vietnam veterans that season which made a point to tell me about their friends who loved drag racing who never made it home; some of whom were still missing in action.

One of the more important meetings I had was in 2007 at the NHRA Summernationals in Topeka, Kan., just days before Memorial Day. I met with a former member of Special Forces whose scars and rough talk admittedly intimidated me. He spoke candidly and yet got to the point about his service in Vietnam. It didn’t take him long to pick up on my nervousness.

I will do my best to paraphrase some of the conversation.

“I just want you to make sure what my friends and brothers did is never forgotten,” he said. “We did what was asked of us, and sometimes it wasn’t pretty. Have the memories stayed with us? Some things as hard as you try to block out, never leave. You just learn to deal with it.”

I’m sure this could apply to any theatre of war, past or present. But with all due respect, the others received a welcome home. These guys had to wait almost thirty years after the fact.

“Life isn’t fair,” he added.

“Happy Memorial Day in advance,” I nervously responded.

“There’s nothing happy about Memorial Day,” he countered.

“The only happiness you get is the pleasure of having known those guys you called brother. They were once in a lifetime friends.”

Their presence represented the real glory days of drag racing, not when it was affordable to run without a sponsor.