NASCAR’s Hall Of Fame Class Of 2026: A Strong Ballot, Still No Smokey

It’s that time of year again—when the NASCAR Hall of Fame dusts off its velvet ropes, pulls out the golden ballot box, and reminds us that no matter how many trophies you’ve hoisted or how many rules you’ve bent (or outright lit on fire), you still might not get in.

NASCAR released its 2026 Hall of Fame nomination Monday, and right on cue, the internet exploded. Some folks are cheering for Kurt Busch’s debut on the Modern Era ballot. Others are ready to crown Randy LaJoie. And the rest of us?

We’re just sitting here wondering how in the hell Smokey Yunick still isn’t on the list.

Let’s start with what NASCAR did get right. The Modern Era ballot looks like a solid Saturday night at Talladega: chaotic, nostalgic, and full of people you’d either want to race or have a beer with. In Busch’s case, maybe both.

Kurt Busch, 2004 Cup champion, Daytona 500 winner, and one of the most complex characters to ever strap into a stock car, joins the Hall of Fame ballot for the first time. Love him or loathe him, Kurt’s resume is bulletproof. He won in Fords, Dodges, Chevys, and Toyotas—usually while the team around him was halfway on fire. He beat the best of the best, including his own brother. And over time, he turned from hothead to elder statesman, becoming one of the most respected voices in the garage.

Also new this year is Randy LaJoie, who was building Xfinity trophies before they called it the Xfinity Series. A two-time champion with a thick accent and thicker neck brace, LaJoie is the kind of old-school wheelman who could find speed in a wheelbarrow. His name belongs on this ballot. No argument there.

You’ve also got Greg Biffle, criminally underrated, quietly conquered two national series and came this close to taking the Cup title in 2005. Jeff Burton is back, the “Mayor,” a guy who talked like Ned Flanders but drove like a short-track brawler when it mattered. And Harry Gant, the man who somehow got cooler as he got older. Seriously, the guy was winning races at age 51 with sideburns that could cut glass.

The crew chiefs are well-represented, too—Tim Brewer, Harry Hyde, and Randy Dorton, whose engines powered some of Hendrick’s greatest moments. Dorton’s influence goes beyond numbers; he’s part of the DNA of modern stock car racing.

The Pioneer Ballot features five names from the roots of the sport. Jake Elder, aka “Suitcase Jake,” was the original no-BS crew chief. He helped put Dale Earnhardt on the map and would’ve been just as comfortable building a car as starting a bar fight. Banjo Matthews built winning cars for anyone with a checkbook and some guts. Larry Phillips, a five-time NASCAR Weekly Series champion, may be the best short-track racer you’ve never heard of. And Ray Hendrick—no relation to Rick—won over 700 races in Modifieds and Sportsman cars and could probably still win in a lawnmower.

Then there’s the Landmark Award, which includes names like Lesa France Kennedy (NASCAR’s behind-the-scenes family power player), Humpy Wheeler (Charlotte’s mad genius), and Dr. Joe Mattioli, who turned a triangle-shaped track in the Pocono Mountains into one of the most unique venues in motorsports.

It’s a strong list. It’s a meaningful list. But here’s the thing:

Where the hell is Smokey Yunick?

We’re not talking about a fringe character. Smokey wasn’t just a mechanic—he was a fire-breathing outlaw who made NASCAR both faster and more fun. He was the kind of guy who looked at a rulebook and said, “Okay, but what isn’t written down?”

This is the man who once showed up with a car that passed inspection—but only because the fuel line was long enough to do laps on its own. NASCAR said he had too many violations, so he yanked the fuel tank out, fired the engine, and drove the car back to the garage anyway.

Smokey built winning Chevys, scared the hell out of tech inspectors, and helped push the sport into the modern era. He was one part innovator, one part mad scientist, and one part middle finger to the system.

If that’s not Hall of Fame material, what is?

Now, sure, there’s a “process.” The Pioneer Ballot is for people whose careers began more than 60 years ago. Great. Smokey qualifies. But somehow, year after year, his name is left off while people with half his impact and none of his legacy get paraded through the velvet ropes. It’s not just an oversight. It’s NASCAR pretending its own renegade history didn’t exist.

Smokey Yunick wasn’t safe. He wasn’t corporate. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to win, and he usually did—whether it was on the track, in the garage, or just in the court of public opinion. The sport needs more of that, not less.

So while the Hall of Fame ballots get passed around the meeting rooms and fan votes pile in on NASCAR.com, just remember this: NASCAR wasn’t built by nice guys with PR teams. It was built by moonshiners, mechanics, grinders, and geniuses who knew that winning meant everything.

Put Kurt Busch in. Put LaJoie in. Hell, put Biffle in.

But it’s time to stop pretending Smokey Yunick was just a footnote. He’s a chapter all by himself.

And he belongs in the Hall of Fame.