The Truth about Kurt Busch
The Kurt Busch You Don't Know.
You've seen the pictures and posts from Phoenix Raceway and the Daytona 500 with Michael Jordan, owner of 23XI Racing. You can Google Kurt's name and find what Wikipedia says.
You might wonder how someone like me ends up in his orbit. Maybe he uses me for court-side seats at Arizona basketball games or field passes to football. Maybe I use him for pit passes to the Daytona 500. There are plenty of people in this world who live by quid pro quo. This is not one of those situations.
Witnessing Michael Jordan and Kurt Busch embrace and hoist the Daytona 500 trophy in person after Tyler Reddick won wasn't just a victory celebration — it was the visible result of thousands of hours of unseen work. The unrecognized heroes who make it possible. The people back in Charlotte are analyzing every fraction of fuel. The spotters in the stands are calling high or low.
To reach the elite level is one thing. To be the best in a world of elite athletes — despite what Stephen A. Smith says — is something else entirely.
Kurt and I met through a mutual friend and bonded over our love of Arizona sports. A close group of us started going to games together — Vegas trips, backyard BBQs, Taco Boys, races. Early on, I began meeting his friends. They were just like me. Normal. Blue collar. They work a 9-to-5 and do their best to get by.
That became even more apparent when I was invited to Kurt's Hall of Fame induction in Charlotte. The invite-only gathering was filled with crew chiefs, lifelong friends, and everyday people who had shaped not just his career, but his character. Not celebrities. People who mattered.
The following night, the celebration brought some of NASCAR's biggest faces — the President of Monster Energy, Bubba Wallace, Tyler Reddick. But the message from every single one of them was the same: Kurt has helped me more than I could ever help him.
Over his career, his ability to genuinely connect with people was never measured in trophies — it was reflected in the company he kept. Yes, there was a younger, more brash version of Kurt Busch. But as he grew, his perspective on life deepened, and so did his circle.
Last summer, I had the privilege of staying with Kurt at Lake Norman. Lyda, his amazing long-time girlfriend, was unfortunately ill, so it was just the two of us for two days. We jet-skied, ate chicken wings, grilled steaks, and he drove me through the neighborhood in a golf cart to find dessert because he didn't have sweets at the house. We shot hoops with the neighbor kids. We bonded.
Everything I thought I knew from Days of Thunder gave way to the real, unfiltered truth of what it means to compete at the highest level of professional sport. I asked questions — I always do around high achievers. I become a sponge. And I shared my own stories with him. My struggles. My recovery. He listened. Really listened.
To this day, I get texts from KB out of nowhere. "I'm proud of you." "You're a great dad." "Your time will come."
He knows my kids. He's met my friends. He flew in from Charlotte — less than 24 hours — to be at my son's birthday party. Not because I asked. Because he wanted to. That is who Kurt Busch is.
You may know him for his 34 NASCAR Cup wins, his Daytona 500 championship, his five Xfinity Series victories, his 2004 NASCAR Cup Series title, and his 2026 NASCAR Hall of Fame induction.
But I — and countless others — know Kurt as something far greater than any trophy can capture: a genuine friend, a good human being, and yeah... maybe an okay race car driver.
It's important to give recognition where it's due. I write more about that in my book, Mental Legacy.
With gratitude, Leave Your Legacy — Rudy