The Ford Problem: Is Manufacturer Loyalty Holding Teams Back?

For decades, Ford has been a cornerstone of NASCAR’s identity, carrying a legacy of championships, powerhouse organizations, and fan loyalty that helped define the sport’s competitive balance. But in 2025, the Blue Oval finds itself teetering between reverence for its past and the harsh realities of its present. The struggles Ford has endured in the NASCAR Cup Series this year go far beyond weekly box scores and inconsistent playoff runs. They reflect something more structural: a manufacturer strategy built heavily on loyalty, legacy teams, and tradition, a formula that once worked but now seems to be holding Ford back in a sport increasingly defined by flexibility, innovation, and deep pipelines of talent.

The collapse of Stewart-Haas Racing serves as the clearest case study. For Ford, SHR wasn’t just a flagship operation; it was the flagship, the program upon which much of its Cup identity rested. Its sudden implosion has not only thinned Ford’s competitive depth but also exposed just how shallow the bench behind it really is.

Unlike Chevrolet and Toyota, both of which have invested in broad ecosystems, Ford now looks like a house built on a small foundation. The question isn’t whether Ford is struggling; it undeniably is, but whether its unwavering loyalty to legacy structures has prevented the manufacturer from evolving fast enough to survive the demands of modern NASCAR.

The SHR collapse: a flashpoint moment

Stewart-Haas Racing’s demise wasn’t entirely unpredictable. Mounting financial concerns, inconsistent performance, and internal restructuring had been gnawing at the once-dominant organization for years. But what shocked the industry was the ripple effect its closure had for Ford. Overnight, the manufacturer lost four Cup Series charters, a crop of recognizable drivers, and one of its premier pipelines for talent and technical development.

For Chevrolet and Toyota, the loss of a large team partner would be damaging but manageable. Chevy’s sprawling alliance system, anchored by Hendrick Motorsports, Richard Childress Racing, Trackhouse, and, in part, Spire Motorsports, creates natural depth. Toyota, though smaller in numbers, has refined its lean approach by creating a funnel between Joe Gibbs Racing, 23XI Racing, and its wide-reaching support of young drivers in the Truck and Xfinity Series.

When a seat opens, Toyota has names ready to step in, often developed in its own ecosystem, polished and tested for Cup readiness. By contrast, Ford’s model left them scrambling. The manufacturer had no ready-made replacements to absorb SHR’s outgoing assets, no deep farm system to immediately promote next-gen talent, and no proven alliances waiting in the wings to fill the void. SHR wasn’t just a partner; it was a structural pillar. And with it gone, Ford’s entire balance shifted.

To understand Ford’s current predicament, you must consider its long-standing identity in NASCAR. More than its competitors, Ford has stitched its reputation to loyalty to legacy organizations and to brand devotees who have carried their allegiance across decades. Teams like Penske, Wood Brothers Racing, and SHR became synonymous with Ford’s competitive narrative, celebrated more for continuity than for constant recalibration. That loyalty is both admirable and admirable-looking until it isn’t.

In the modern era, NASCAR has become less about static partnerships and more about fluid ecosystems. Drivers no longer automatically rise within single-team ladders; they are scouted, tested, and often rotated through systems designed for efficiency. Technical alliances reshape year to year depending on performance and capability. Manufacturers bank not just on legacy partners but on cultivating adaptability across their portfolios. Ford’s loyalty, by contrast, can look like inertia. Its reluctance to aggressively court emerging teams that don’t fit the established mold has left gaps in its roster.

Consider Trackhouse, one of the most explosive new entrants into NASCAR over the past five years. It partnered with Chevrolet, which embraced its unorthodox vision and gave it the tools to grow. Ford, meanwhile, was absent from those conversations, staying tethered to traditional relationships until SHR unraveled under its watch. Similarly, the manufacturer has not created meaningful depth in the Xfinity or Truck Series, meaning that when drivers leave or teams fold, Ford often reacts instead of proactively reshaping. That reactive strategy has left the manufacturer scrambling to fill gaps with mid-tier talent, while its rivals bring up polished prospects primed for stardom.

The modern landscape of NASCAR

Today’s NASCAR is unforgiving to manufacturers and teams unwilling to adapt. The Next Gen car, designed in part to level the competitive playing field, demands constant innovation in strategy, setup, and alliance management. Success isn’t just about pouring resources into one flagship team anymore; it’s about creating networks of technical collaboration where information flows from top programs to emerging ones, seeding future strengths.

Chevrolet demonstrates this model brilliantly. By spreading its support across multiple top-flight teams, Hendrick, RCR, Trackhouse, and Kaulig, it has ensured that no single disaster can cripple its grid presence. More importantly, it leverages those partnerships to scout and polish talent. Drivers like Kyle Larson, William Byron, and Ross Chastain didn’t appear by accident; they were cultivated in a layered system that brought them from lower tiers to Cup-ready seats.

Toyota, though numerically smaller, has supercharged its agility with strategic investment in the future. Its pipeline through Gibbs’ Xfinity program and Truck organizations like Hattori Racing and previously Kyle Busch Motorsports has consistently delivered. Think of Christopher Bell, Ty Gibbs, and the cast of prospects lined up behind them. Even as teams shift, Toyota finds ways to keep talented drivers in the fold until opportunity strikes.

Ford, by comparison, struggles to replicate this. Without SHR, its flagship power relies on Penske and RFK Racing, with Wood Brothers running a single-car operation that functions more like a satellite. Where Toyota and Chevy have intertwined networks, Ford’s structure feels siloed. And in a sport where information-sharing is king, silos are dangerous. At the heart of Ford’s struggles is a paradox: loyalty fuels its identity, but also impedes its evolution. Fans and teams appreciate Ford’s decades-long commitment to its partners, and that stability has fostered trust.

But NASCAR no longer rewards static models. Success today comes from movement, the ability to reposition, recalibrate, and capture new opportunities before rivals do. By clinging to a shrinking stable of established teams, Ford has left itself vulnerable when any of those teams falters. SHR’s demise showed that plainly.

Compare it to Toyota’s response to Furniture Row Racing’s closure in 2018. While that loss was a setback, Toyota quickly leaned into expanding 23XI Racing and doubling down on its Gibbs pipeline. Within just a few seasons, it regained parity at the Cup level. But Ford has not shown the same reflex.

So what must Ford do next?

If Ford is to remain a top-tier NASCAR manufacturer, it must reconsider its structural strategies. Three key adjustments stand out. Loosen the grip on Legacy Ford, and it must be willing to expand beyond traditional relationships. New teams with bold visions like Trackhouse or RFK’s rejuvenated ownership model are the lifeblood of NASCAR’s future. Ford should actively court such projects rather than waiting for legacy giants to carry the load. They should invest in development programs.

Revitalizing lower-tier investments is essential. Without a strong Xfinity and Truck presence tied explicitly to Ford development, the manufacturer will continue to lag in producing Cup-ready talent. Rival manufacturers’ success stories prove just how crucial this foundation is. Modernize the ecosystem; one or two flagship teams will never be enough again.

Ford must foster collaborative technical alliances, perhaps even loosening the proprietary secrecy that has often defined its model. By linking its teams more openly, Ford can create the kind of data flow that keeps its entire camp competitive. Ford’s NASCAR story has long been one of tradition, loyalty, and resilience. But in 2025, those very qualities risk becoming its undoing.

SHR’s collapse exposed not just the fragility of Ford’s current structure but also the deeper consequences of a model too reliant on legacy and too hesitant to adapt. In NASCAR’s modern landscape, success is not guaranteed by history; it is earned through agility, investment, and a willingness to evolve. If Ford wishes to maintain its seat at the sport’s top table in the years ahead, it must stop treating loyalty as a substitute for strategy. Otherwise, it may find itself watching its rivals define the future while its own legacy sits parked in the garage.