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Chapter 1: What historical events led to the creation of NASCAR?
Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of Business Wars ad-free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. It's June 19, 2005. Race day at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Inside a plush motorhome in the paddock, Formula One supremo Bernie Eccleston sits in a leather chair, watching a television mounted on the wall.
Outside, more than 100,000 fans pack the grandstands for the United States Grand Prix. The cars circle the circuit on their formation or warm-up lap. The atmosphere is electric. But Eccleston knows something the fans don't. This race is about to become one of the strangest spectacles in motorsport history. For the last three days, Formula One has been in chaos.
Emergency meetings, heated arguments, last minute negotiations behind closed doors, all over a single component, tires. Teams running on Michelins discovered something terrifying during practice. The high-speed final corner is simply too much for the tires to handle. Cars return to the pits with the rubber shredded after just a few laps. One driver even crashed into the wall.
And when they race today, every car will take that corner more than 70 times at speeds of 200 miles an hour. A blowout wouldn't just end a driver's race. It could end their life. But despite the risk, F1 officials have refused to install extra curves to slow the cars at the crucial turn. They reason that doing so would penalize the teams that don't use Michelin. So the track is staying the same.
Eccleston leans forward in his seat as the cars approach the end of the formation lap. 20 cars sweep toward the final corner. Then, one car peels off into the pit lane. Another follows, and another, and another. In total, 14 cars drive into the pits. Mechanics roll them straight into the garages. Every team using Michelin tires has withdrawn from the race.
Out in the grandstands, a dawning realization spreads through the crowd like a shockwave. Cheers turn to booze. Some fans hurl drinks and programs towards the track. Others simply stand there in stunned disbelief. The starting lights flicker above the grid. Just six cars remain, sitting alone on the vast straight of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The starting lights go out, and the race is on.
The smallest grid in Formula One history. charges toward the first turn. Eccleston watches his screen for another moment. Then he shrugs. The race has started, so he won't have to pay out for a cancellation. He stands, straightens his jacket, and walks out of the motorhome. The boos from the grandstand echo across the paddock as he heads for a waiting car.
In a few minutes, he'll be on his private jet. Formula One has stumbled in America before. But to Eccleston, this feels different. Like the final straw. For years, he's fought to crack the U.S. market. But America already has its racing king, NASCAR. With packed speedways every weekend, celebrity drivers and massive television audiences, NASCAR owns American motorsport.
Formula One may be the world's most popular racing series, but in the US, it's always been the outsider looking in. As his car pulls away from the speedway, Eccleston makes a decision. He's done chasing America. Formula One doesn't need it. NASCAR can have it. But Eccleston's decision won't be the final word. Formula One will try again. And when it does, it won't just challenge NASCAR.
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Chapter 2: How did Bernie Eccleston influence the rise of Formula One?
You ring the bell and you get your DNA in the game. From there you can eat straight to your throat. A very exciting opening for all of the M&M's. Via Play Total. DNA customers at a price. Soon we'll hit the networks to Tötterö. Oh my, what a carnival. This is so much fun. So much fun.
Life is.
From Audible Originals, I'm David Brown, and this is Business Wars. On any given Sunday, millions of fans tune in to see which driver will take the checkered flag in America's favorite motorsport, NASCAR. For decades, it's been the undisputed king of the track. Loud V8 engines, packed ovals, drivers trading paint at 200 miles an hour.
But outside the United States, another racing series reigns supreme, Formula One. It's glamorous, high-tech, wildly popular around the world. Yet while the rest of the globe thrills to Grand Prix, the U.S. has long seemed immune to its appeal. Until now. Boosted by a hit Netflix show, Formula One is exploding in popularity, selling out races in Austin, Miami, and Las Vegas.
Its drivers are now as recognizable as their NASCAR peers. But how did F1 change gears and finally start challenging NASCAR's dominance? To understand, we need to go back to where this battle all began. Back to a time when racing wasn't about glory or fame, but about survival. This is Episode 1, Start Your Engines. It's a still night on the back roads of rural North Carolina in the late 1930s.
A lone Ford V8 barrels through the darkness, its suspension rattling over rutted dirt and loose gravel. The trunk and back seat are packed tight with bottles of liquor. Prohibition ended nationally in 1933, but across the South, hundreds of counties remain dry, which means there are still plenty of thirsty customers ready to pay for alcohol smuggled across county lines.
Suddenly, lights flare in the rearview mirror. A sedan surges out of the gloom, its engine howling as it closes the gap. The bootlegger has no doubt who's inside, federal agents, and they're not here to play nice. A muzzle flash bursts from one of the windows and a gunshot echoes through the night. The bullet tears into the dust behind the Ford.
The bootlegger floors the gas pedal and the Ford's engine roars as the car lunges into the next bend. The driver wrenches the wheel through a tight turn, tires spitting gravel into the ditch. The Feds try to follow, but they're outmatched. The bootlegger knows every blind corner, every ditch, every hidden turnoff along these rural roads. Behind him, the headlights begin to fade.
Then suddenly, the bootlegger veers off the road and pulls into a weathered wooden garage. A man steps out of the shadows and slams the heavy doors shut. Seconds later, the feds roar past, chasing a ghost down that empty road. It's another clean getaway. Across the dry counties of the South, scenes like this one are routine.
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Chapter 3: What challenges did Formula One face in the American market?
$240 in cash, plus a case of beer, a bottle of rum, a case of motor oil, and a box of cigars. Even France himself is competing for the purse. When the race ends, he crosses the line in second place, just behind a gun-toting bootlegger named Smokey Purser. But instead of pulling in to celebrate, Purser speeds away, shouting that he'll be back later to collect his winnings.
France watches him go, suspicion creeping in. Modifications to cars are strictly forbidden, and Purser's sudden exit looks a lot like a man trying to hide something under the hood. So, France strips Purser of the victory and declares himself the winner. Protests erupt from the other drivers who claim the whole thing's a fix.
To calm things down, France quickly rules himself out too and awards the win and prize to the third-placed driver. But France is still the day's biggest winner. His race has drawn 5,000 paying fans. When he counts the cash later that night, France has cleared nearly $2,000, which is over $45,000 in today's money. Along the way, he's learned something important.
There's money to be made in stock car racing. Nine years later, December 14th, 1947, at the Streamline Hotel in Daytona Beach, Cigarette smoke curls beneath the ceiling of the hotel's top floor cocktail lounge. The room is packed with stock car racing pioneers, champion drivers, car owners, mechanics with grease under their fingernails.
At the center of it all stands France, who is now one of stock car racing's leading promoters. He calls the meeting to order. Fellas, what we've got right now ain't a sport. It's a mess. A few men nod. France sweeps a hand across the room. Promoters skipping out on prize money. Drivers getting cheated. Every track making up its own rules. A driver near the front raises his hand.
Hell, that's racing, Bill. Always has been. Bad eggs don't last long. We run them out of town. France shakes his head. We shouldn't have to. We got the drivers, we got the cars, and we got the fans. Ordinary working folks who love this kind of racing. What we don't have is somebody running it right. Someone near the back of the room calls out. Hey, what about the American Automobile Association?
The AAA? All they care about's the Indianapolis 500. To them, we're just a bunch of hillbillies racing junkyard cars. No, we don't need those uptight northerners. We need our own association. One set of rules, guaranteed purses, a real championship. You really think we can pull that off ourselves? Well, all we can do is try. Let's break into groups. Drivers over here, owners at that table.
Mechanics, y'all go by the bar. Let's figure out what it'll take to make this thing work. The conversations stretch on for three long days. Rules are debated, schedules argued, prize guarantees hammered out. But slowly, something new begins to take shape. The National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, NASCAR.
But while most of the men in the room are focused on when and where races will run, France is focused on securing control of the new organization. The others barely notice. They think they're building a cooperative. But France knows better. And by the time anyone realizes they've handed the future of stock car racing to one man, it's already too late to stop him.
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Chapter 4: How did the 2005 United States Grand Prix become a controversial event?
France may be an autocrat, but he's also a visionary. When the first NASCAR-sanctioned race takes place on Daytona Beach two months later, it's still a rough-and-ready affair. Around 14,000 fans line the beach to watch battered coupes thunder along the 2.2-mile sand and highway course. But France is imagining something far bigger.
Throughout the 50s and 60s, he moves NASCAR away from improvised venues and toward purpose-built speedways. Grandstands hold tens of thousands of fans, and steep banking allows cars to reach breathtaking speeds. Teams become slick professional operations with full-time drivers supported by mechanics and pit crews. To attract big money sponsors, NASCAR also needs respectability.
So France buries its bootlegging past. And in 1971, he strikes a groundbreaking deal with tobacco giant R.J. Reynolds. Its Winston cigarette brand becomes NASCAR's biggest sponsor, injecting millions of dollars into the sport. More companies follow, all eager to get their brands in front of race fans. every race car becomes a moving billboard.
Sponsor money is plowed back into the sport, modernizing tracks, building comfortable facilities to increase its appeal to middle-class fans. And that, in turn, attracts even more sponsors. In 1972, France hands leadership of NASCAR to his son, Bill France Jr. Almost immediately, France Jr. takes the next big step in the sport's evolution, television.
He strikes deals with ABC and CBS to broadcast some NASCAR races nationwide. ABC only shows the start and end of races, and CBS doesn't air them live. But the broadcasts do introduce millions more Americans to the sport. And in 1978, CBS signs a deal to broadcast entire races live. It's February 18th, 1979, at Daytona International Speedway in Florida.
And for the first time ever, a NASCAR race is being broadcast live across the nation. In the Northeast, a massive snowstorm has blanketed much of New England and New York. Millions of Americans are stuck inside, flipping through the channels. And an estimated 15 million households land on CBS's coverage of the Daytona 500. For many viewers, it's their first taste of NASCAR.
And it's a spectacular introduction. As the final lap begins, the cameras track a tight battle at the front. Donnie Allison leads. Cale Yarborough follows. Engines scream down the long back straight at nearly 200 miles an hour. Neither driver is willing to live. The cars drift closer, and then they collide.
As the two leaders spin onto the grass, the rest of the field blasts past in a blur of noise and speed.
At the front of that charging pack is Richard Petty. Those watching at home are now on the edge of their seats as Petty storms over the line with Daryl Waltrip practically glued to his rear bumper. But the drama isn't over. Back on the track, Allison and Yarborough are out of their wrecked cars and trading blows.
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Chapter 5: What were the key differences between NASCAR and Formula One's racing styles?
Through dozens of intimate and revealing interviews with those who knew Springer best, I examined Springer's lifelong struggle to reconcile his TV persona with his political dreams and aspirations.
Named one of the best podcasts of the year by The New Yorker and Rolling Stone, Final Thoughts Jerry Springer is a story about choices, how we make them, how we justify them to ourselves, and how we transcend them, or don't. Listen wherever you get your podcasts, or binge the whole series ad-free right now on Audible. Start your Audible subscription in the Audible app.
It's September 5th, 1970, and the qualifying race is underway for the Formula One Italian Grand Prix at Monza. Standing in the paddock, 39-year-old Bernie Eccleston reads his newspaper. He's a self-made man who made a fortune selling used cars.
Now, at this time, he's not head of Formula One, far from it, but he's using his wealth to indulge his love of fast cars by carving out a place in Formula One as a business advisor who helps guide drivers' careers. All morning, the circuit has been alive with the screams of cars running flat out as drivers chase the fastest qualifying time.
But as Eccleston flips the page, he pauses and looks up from his newspaper. Something feels wrong. Takes him a moment to realize what it is. The engines have stopped. The track has fallen eerily silent, which can mean only one thing, an accident. Someone nearby mentions the driver who's crashed is Jochen Rindt, the Austrian driver who's on the brink of becoming world champion.
Eccleston doesn't wait for details. He pushes past officials, slips through a police cordon, and sprints onto the track, his heart hammering as he runs. Eccleston is Rindt's business advisor, and in quiet moments between the races, the two have talked about starting their own teams. When Eccleston reaches the crash site, his heart sinks. An ambulance is already pulling away, lights flashing.
What's left of Wren's shattered race car sits on the grass. The front half has been obliterated by the fence. Marshals stand nearby in stunned silence. Then, Eccleston notices something lying in the grass. Rent's helmet. He bends down and picks it up, the smooth white shell smeared with blood. A race official catches Eccleston's eye and slowly shakes his head.
No announcement will come until the race is finished, but the message is clear. Rent is gone. Death is never far away in Formula One. In just 20 years, more than 30 drivers have lost their lives. Still, the loss of his friend leaves Eccleston reeling. He walks slowly back to the pits, the blood-stained helmet still in his hands. The memory of this day will stay with Bernie Eccleston forever.
Eccleston and Rent had a vision for the future of Formula One, but he won't let that dream die with his friend. Eighteen months later, March 1972, it's evening at the Ranch Hotel near Johannesburg, just outside the circuit, hosting the South African Grand Prix. Inside a small meeting room, the bosses from Britain's Formula One teams crowd around a long table cluttered with ashtrays and teacups.
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Chapter 6: How did sponsorship and television deals shape NASCAR's growth?
''Exactly, and that's the problem. You negotiate alone. Promoters play you off against each other. Half of you are practically paying to race.'' Chapman exhales a stream of smoke. ''So, what's your solution?'' We form a cartel, negotiate as one. A promoter deals with all of us or none of us. The team owners exchange puzzled looks. Chapman waves his hand dismissively.
Sounds like a lot of paperwork and endless meetings. Maybe, but I don't mind doing it. Really, I don't mind. You handle the racing. I'll handle the business. Chapman raises an eyebrow. What's your price? Four percent commission. Four? That all? Yeah. Four percent seems fair. Chapman glances around the room. Most of the team bosses are already nodding.
Well, frankly, I thought you'd ask for ten percent. All right, Bernie. You got the job. The team owners relax, relieved to hand over a tedious business chore. To them, it feels like a minor administrative decision. But Eccleston knows the truth. Without realizing it, they've just put him in the driver's seat. What's happening here isn't about racing, folks. It's about bargaining power.
The other team owners see Formula One as a racing championship. They're obsessed with beating each other on the track. It never occurs to them to work together, which means the race promoters can easily play them off against each other. But to Eccleston, Formula One is something else. It's an underexploited commercial opportunity.
He understands why these teams are living on the breadline, and he knows that if they act together, they'll control the sport. and the money. After becoming chief negotiator for the British teams, Eccleston begins facing down the promoters who organize each Grand Prix. When promoters try playing hardball, Eccleston threatens to pull the British teams from their race. The promoters cave.
They depend on the British teams to bring the fastest cars and the biggest stars. Without teams like Lotus, McLaren, and Williams, there will be no crowds to sell tickets to. See, Eccleston doesn't own the cars, the tracks, or the sport itself. Think about that. He controls access to what everyone needs, the teams. That's the choke point.
See, once you identify where value has to pass through, you don't need to own everything, just the gateway. In his first full year in the role, Eccleston pressures race organizers to quadruple prize funds to more than $100,000 per race. By 1978, he'll be forcing promoters to pay more than $360,000 in prize money to host a Grand Prix, almost 20 times what they paid a decade earlier.
But Eccleston isn't all about the money. Mindful of the tragic death of his friend Jochen Rindt, he pushes hard for stronger safety standards across the sport, especially better medical provisions at tracks. Circuits that drag their feet on safety improvements encounter a familiar threat. The British teams won't race.
Bit by bit, Eccleston shifts control of Formula One away from traditional organizers and toward the teams he represents. But not everyone welcomes his growing authority. As boss of the Formula One Constructors Association, Eccleston represents the British teams, but the continental European teams stand outside the cartel. And none resents the British power grab more than Ferrari.
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Chapter 7: What cultural factors contribute to the popularity of NASCAR in America?
Its iconic red race cars have competed in every Formula One season since the championship began in 1950. and its aging founder Enzo Ferrari, views Eccleston as an interloper in his domain. Then there's the motorsport governing body FISA, led by the autocratic Frenchman Jean-Marie Balestre. Balestre sees himself as the ultimate authority in Formula One.
He distrusts the independence-seeking British teams, and he despises Eccleston's growing influence. And he and Eccleston are about to plunge Formula One into civil war. It's May 1980. A heat wave shimmers above the asphalt at Jaramillo Circuit, just outside of Madrid, ahead of the Spanish Grand Prix. Inside the circuit's administrative building, a narrow corridor leads to a small office.
The door swings open and Eccleston steps inside. Behind him walks Max Mosley, boss of the F1 team March. Mosley has become Eccleston's closest ally inside the Formula One Constructors Association. They make an unlikely partnership. Eccleston is the son of a trawlerman, hardened by a tough working-class childhood in London's East End. Mosley comes from the opposite end of the social scale.
He's the son of Oswald Mosley, the controversial former Member of Parliament who founded the British Union of Fascists in the 1930s. Whatever baggage his family name might carry, Mosley is a barrister with a sharp legal mind. And that's exactly what Eccleston needs right now. Across the room sits Jean-Marie Balestre, the imposing president of FISA.
A confrontation has been building between them all week. Before the race weekend even began, FISA fined several drivers from the British teams for failing to attend mandatory briefings. To Balestre, it was a routine disciplinary measure. To Eccleston, it was a display of political muscle. Eccleston threatens a British boycott. For years, this tactic has worked.
When Eccleston threatens to withdraw the British teams, circuits usually fold within hours. But Balestre is not a race promoter, and he does not fold. The discussion escalates quickly into raised voices and angry gestures. Each man believes he is defending the future of Formula One. Then, Mosley snaps. He lunges forward and shoves the heavy desk.
It crashes sideways, scattering Balestre's carefully arranged files across the floor. Papers drift through the air like confetti. The following day, Spanish police show up at the circuit. Eccleston controls the rights to hold the Spanish Grand Prix here. He's also friends with the King of Spain, so, at Eccleston's urging, the police escort Balestre and the FISA delegation from the venue.
At gunpoint. The race goes ahead, but it's no ordinary Grand Prix. Ferrari, Alfa Romeo and Renault side with Balestre and refuse to race. FISA declares the event unofficial. The results will not count toward the World Championship. Over the following months, Formula One spins toward chaos. Sponsors threaten to withdraw their money unless order is restored.
The British teams begin planning a breakaway Formula One series independent of FISA. Yet Balestre remains confident. Most circuits still recognize FISA's authority. Ferrari and the other major European teams stand firmly behind him. Against that, Eccleston's alliance of British teams looks isolated and vulnerable to collapse. But Eccleston and Mosley aren't finished.
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Chapter 8: What future challenges does Formula One face in competing with NASCAR?
On the other side stands Balestre and FISA. They have the backing of the continental European teams and most of the promoters and circuits that host the races. Neither side can destroy the other without destroying the sport itself. But if a compromise isn't found and soon, the outcome could be just as dangerous. Because if no one backs down, Formula One itself could be finished.
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It's March 1981 at the Hotel de Creon in Paris, France. Inside the hotel restaurant, a few doors down from FISA's offices, the men who have spent the past year tearing up Formula One share a tense breakfast. On one side of the table sits FISA President Jean-Marie Balestre. Across from him sits Bernie Eccleston, the shrewd leader of the British teams in the Formula One Constructors Association.
After months of boycotts, canceled races, corporate espionage, and threats, there's finally been a breakthrough. Enzo Ferrari, exhausted by the endless conflict, has helped push the rivals back to the negotiating table. Now, an agreement lies before them. Under its terms, FISA retains authority over the sporting and technical rules of Formula One.
It will oversee the regulations governing the cars, the drivers, and everything that happens on the track. But the business side of the sport is going elsewhere. The Constructors' Alliance, led by Eccleston, will control negotiations with race circuits, promoters, sponsors, and broadcasters. As the breakfast plates are cleared, Eccleston and Balestre each sign the document.
Balestre rises first, extending his hand across the table. Eccleston takes it. Balestre beams, savoring the moment. Then he asks Eccleston for one final favor. He wants the text they've just signed to be known as the Concord Agreement, after the name of FISA's headquarters. Eccleston nods. If Balestre wants to spend the deal as a victory for the governing body, so be it.
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