Confidence isn’t just a mindset in motor racing. It’s a requirement for survival. This applies whether you are strapped into a carbon-fiber cockpit or gripping handlebars on two wheels. Even drivers who publicly dismiss superstition admit they need anchors. Danica Patrick once said she didn’t believe in luck. She still had rituals to quiet the nerves before a start. The stakes are high enough that no one wants to chance fate.
Superstitions in racing go beyond individual quirks. They have become unspoken rules that fans follow too. Fans watch for signs. They fear the same bad omens the drivers do.
The Shift to Permanent Numbers in Formula 1
For years, NASCAR and MotoGP drivers kept their permanent numbers. Formula One was different. Drivers changed numbers annually based on their championship standings. The champion took number 1. The rest followed in order. This system created a revolving door of digits.
That changed in 2014. Formula One allowed drivers to choose permanent numbers for their careers. The decision sparked immediate excitement. Drivers scrambled to apply for their lucky digits. Some explained their choices publicly. This confirmed that superstition remains alive in the grid.
“It’s not just about dodging bad luck, either. Some racers think there are ways to cultivate good luck.”
Why Drivers Pick Specific Digits
Not every number is equal. Some digits carry history. Others carry weight. Drivers analyze every option. They avoid numbers associated with failure. They chase numbers that promise victory. The choice reflects personal belief. It also reflects competitive strategy.
Pre-Race Rituals: From Bedrooms to Concessions
How do drivers spend their final hours before a race? Some share their habits. Others stay silent. Talking gives opponents an edge. A rival might disrupt a routine. Silence protects the advantage.
The rituals vary wildly. Some are obvious. Others have debated origins. We will explore the superstitions that shape race day strategy. These range from bedroom habits to stadium concessions.
10: Getting Dressed
One common ritual involves clothing. How a driver dresses matters. Specific items might be required. Others are forbidden. The choice of fabric, color, or fit can influence performance. Some drivers wear lucky socks. Others avoid certain brands. The details seem small. They matter enormously to the individual.
The number 13 often causes hesitation. Some drivers avoid it entirely. Others embrace it as a symbol of defiance. The choice reveals more than preference. It reveals psychology. In a sport where milliseconds decide champions, psychology is everything.
Fans watch for these signals. They interpret every gesture. A lucky charm appears. A specific color is worn. The crowd notices. The atmosphere changes. The superstition takes root.
This is only the beginning. The list of rituals runs long. Some are practical. Most are not. But in racing, belief drives speed.
Why the Right Side Rules Race Day Wardrobes
Most of us throw on clothes without a second thought. Race car drivers? Not so much. For some pros, the order in which they dress isn’t just routine—it’s a ritual that dictates their performance on track. Brian Scott has been open about this specific quirk. He calls it a superstition he picked up from other drivers: the right side of the body holds all the luck.
The process is deliberate. Boxers first. Then pants. Socks follow. Shirt sleeves go on the right arm before the left. Gloves last on the right hand before you even attempt the left side. It’s a rigid sequence. Other drivers won’t admit to the right-over-left rule, but they will confess to having a strict dressing ritual. It’s not unique to NASCAR. MotoGP’s Valentino Rossi follows the exact same pattern before every race.
Once you start a day on a superstitious note, the habit sticks. The theme often bleeds into the rest of the morning routine. Take shaving, for instance. Some drivers refuse to shave the morning of a race. It’s a small detail. It might seem trivial. But in motorsports, where fractions of a second matter, every variable is scrutinized.
9: Mismatched Shoes
The story of Alex Wurz is legendary in the paddock. The Austrian driver became the face of the mismatched shoe phenomenon. It’s a quirk that didn’t spread like wildfire. Most drivers stick to tradition. Wurz proved that comfort and chaos can coexist.
“It’s a ritual. It brings luck. We don’t question it.”
The exact origin of this superstition remains a mystery. You won’t find a manual explaining why. But the effect is clear. Some drivers feel better. Some feel faster. The rest of the grid just watches.
Beyond the Soles
Wurz wasn’t alone. The trend had variants. Stefano Modena took it further. He wore mismatched socks. Then he inverted a glove. Driving with a glove inside out sounds painful. It definitely feels restrictive.
Superstitions often come with a cost. When a ritual creates a physical handicap, the logic breaks down. Why choose discomfort for a chance at victory? The line between luck and self-sabotage is thin.
8: Lucky Charms
Drivers talk to their machines. Not metaphorically. Literally. It sounds insane until you’ve spent an afternoon listening to telemetry audio or watching paddock footage. A Ferrari or Mercedes isn’t just a collection of carbon fiber and engines. It’s a partner. A temperamental one.
This isn’t new behavior. It’s been happening since the early days of Grand Prix racing. When the stakes are life-or-death, routine becomes ritual. And rituals include conversation.
7: Talking to the Vehicle
You might think this is just a quirky habit born from boredom during long stints. It’s not. It’s psychological maintenance.
Consider the sheer isolation of a cockpit. No radio chatter for minutes at a time. Just the roar of the engine and the vibration of the chassis. Human brains crave input. Silence breeds anxiety. So drivers fill the void. They praise the car. They curse it. They negotiate.
“It feels good today.”
“Don’t give up on me yet.”
These aren’t random mutterings. They’re affirmations.
Tazio Nuvolari didn’t just wear a tortoise pin for luck. He personified his machinery. To him, the machine had a soul. If you treated it with respect, it rewarded you. This mindset persists. Modern drivers like Sebastian Vettel have admitted to talking to their cars before the session starts. Not superstition in the traditional sense. Preparation.
Think about it. You wouldn’t speak to a horse the same way you’d speak to a shovel. But a Formula One car? It responds to energy. Drivers know this. They feed off it. When the car is behaving, the dialogue is positive. When it’s sliding, the tone shifts. It’s a feedback loop.
Other racers keep lucky coins tucked away. Rabbit feet. Photos of family. But talking to the vehicle? That’s intimate. It bridges the gap between human and machine. In a sport where milliseconds decide careers, that connection is everything.
Why do they do it? Because control is an illusion. The track is unpredictable. The weather changes. The tires degrade. The only constant is the driver’s mindset. Talking to the car keeps that mindset grounded. It turns a cold piece of engineering into a teammate.
And when the car finally grips? That’s not just physics. That’s agreement.
Some drivers pray to the engine. Others negotiate with it. It’s a strange, intimate ritual that usually stays behind closed garage doors. But for MotoGP legend Valentino Rossi, it was part of the performance. He didn’t just mount his bike. He knelt beside it. Those final seconds before the green flag weren’t wasted on stretching or checking mirrors. Rossi used them to talk to his motorcycle. It was a mental warm-up. A way to align his head with the machine before the chaos of the track began.
You hear whispers about other pros doing the same. Maybe they’re just more private about it. Maybe they don’t want the superstition to become a meme. But the idea is simple. If your career is built on the reliability and performance of a two-wheeled machine, you treat it with respect. Almost like a partner.
Then there’s the opposite end of the spectrum. No reverence. Just celebration. Or distraction. At least that’s the vibe you get from one of the co-owners of Michael Andretti’s IndyCar entry. The footage shows him dancing. A cigar dangling from his lips. It’s not solemn. It’s not spiritual. It’s just fun. Or maybe it’s a way to keep the nerves at bay through pure absurdity.
Why Drivers Enter From Specific Sides
Not everyone is talking to their car. Some are just picky about which side they get in from.
It sounds trivial. Who cares if you open the door on the left or the right? But in motorsports, details matter. Superstition is a heavy weight. You carry it around with you. One small habit can become a non-negotiable rule. If you don’t get in from the left, you don’t race. Simple as that.
This isn’t about aerodynamics. It’s not about weight distribution. It’s psychological. A driver might have had their first win entering from the right side. So they always do. Even if it’s inconvenient. Even if the team hates it. The mind is a tricky place. It clings to rituals when the stakes are highest.
Rossi’s kneeling is one layer of this. The dancing co-owner is another. But the silent rule of side-entry? That’s the quietest, most stubborn kind of superstition. You see it in high-stakes games everywhere. But in racing, where milliseconds decide everything, you wonder how much of it is skill and how much is ritual. Does the ritual actually help? Or do you just need to believe it does?
The line between preparation and obsession is thin. And for some, it doesn’t exist at all.
The Ritual of the Door
It’s basic behavioral psychology, really. You try something. It works. You do it again. You keep doing it until it feels like magic. That’s the engine behind most driver superstitions. But look at the logic. The driver’s side is the obvious choice. Yet a handful of F1 veterans refuse to use it.
Nico Hulkenberg and Mark Webber both insisted on climbing into their cockpits from the left side. Every single time. Not because it was easier. Just because they believed it brought good luck. Juan Pablo Montoya took it a step further. He didn’t just enter from the same side. He buckled his belts with identical precision. Practice or race day? Same routine. Same clicks. Same safety harness tension.
The obsession isn’t limited to four wheels. Look at motorcycle racing. Motocross riders choose their entry point. Valentino Rossi is famous for mounting his bike in the exact same manner. Every track. Every bike. And naturally, he talks to the machine first.
5: The Number 13
The Curse of 13: How Racers Defy Bad Luck
Thirteen is universally reviled. In the pits, it’s a ghost. NASCAR literally renumbers their garages to ensure no crew is assigned the thirteenth spot. They don’t want bad juju touching the paint. It’s superstitious nonsense, sure, but it’s deeply ingrained. The league even bent its own rules for Joe Weatherly. He qualified thirteenth for a race once, but NASCAR shuffled the grid, letting him start in the “12a” slot. Better safe than sorry.
Formula One isn’t immune to the dread either. Michael Schumacher liked odd numbers. He just didn’t like thirteen. But when the F1 grid moved to permanent numbers for the 2014 season, the superstition cracked. Pastor Maldonado, the Venezuelan driver, stared down the number 13 and said he’d take his chances. He didn’t flinch.
Two-wheeled racing has a different relationship with the curse. For years, motocross riders avoided it entirely. Then a handful of them decided to wear it anyway. The American Motorcyclist Association won’t force you into a number, so choosing 13 is a power move. It says you don’t believe in fate. It takes chutzpah to strap on those digits and win. Maybe that’s the only way to break the spell.
4: $50 Bills
Racing is expensive. Painfully so. But there’s a specific reason drivers are obsessed with finding fifty-dollar bills in their helmets or on their podiums. It started as a myth. A rumor that finding a $50 bill meant good luck. Then it became a tradition. Now it’s a ritual.
Drivers check their helmets before every race. They look for the green paper. If they find it, they keep it. If they don’t, they look harder. Some teams even put bills there intentionally. It’s a way to control the uncontrollable. You can’t control the wind. You can’t control the oil slick on turn three. But you can control your luck.
It’s not just superstition. It’s psychology. When you’re going 200 mph, you need every edge. The bill is a talisman. It’s a reminder that you’re prepared. That you’re lucky. That the universe is on your side.
But what if the bill is counterfeit? What if it’s a $20 bill that looks like a $50 in the glare? The ritual breaks. The confidence wavers. Just for a second.
Then the light turns green. And the bill doesn’t matter anymore.
The real luck is staying upright. Everything else is just noise.
You wouldn’t think twice about handing over a fifty-dollar bill at a gas station. Most people don’t make it out of the grocery store without spending that amount, let alone earn it. But for NASCAR drivers, that specific denomination carries a curse so heavy it’s been part of the lore for decades.
It starts with Joe Weatherly. The two-time NASCAR champion was driving in 1964 when his career—and life—ended in a fiery crash. He died in the wreckage. When officials searched his pockets, they found two $50 bills. The connection was immediate. Superstition has a way of filling the void left by tragedy, and in NASCAR, that void became a rule: no fifty-dollar bills.
The legend stuck. Time passed. Drivers changed. But the aversion to the “Grant” didn’t fade. Dale Earnhardt, the Intimidator himself, was famously strict about avoiding them. His death in 2001 only cemented the fear. If it didn’t get Earnhardt, would it get you? Probably not. But why risk it?
Sterling Marlin is another name you’ll hear in this context. He won’t touch the bill either. The superstition is alive and well in the garage. It’s not that fifty bucks is bad money. It’s that it’s specific money.
So what’s a driver supposed to do if they need to pay for fuel or a hotel room? They break it up. Fifty dollars is fine if it’s a twenty, a ten, and two fives. It’s fine if it’s four tens and a ten. Just don’t give the cashier a single crisp fifty. The curse is in the denomination, not the value.
It seems arbitrary. It seems silly. It’s NASCAR, after all. But in a sport where margins are thin and psychology is everything, drivers cling to these rituals. They control what they can. They can’t control the weather, the track conditions, or their rivals. But they can control their wallet.
3: Eating Specific Foods
Danica Patrick keeps a tight leash on her psychology. She actively avoids superstitions, viewing them as mental traps that only exist if you give them power. But she isn’t rigid. She relies on specific foods to set her mental state before the green flag drops. Her preference? Clean, healthy fuel. It’s about staying sharp, not lucky.
Yet across the grid, the rituals get wilder. Sterling Marlin didn’t just win the 1994 Daytona 500 after eating a bologna sandwich. He cemented it as a mandatory pre-race ritual. It became part of the brand.
Then there’s Marcos Ambrose. The Australian import brings Vegemite to the start line. That salty, fermented yeast spread is non-negotiable for his pre-race meal.
These examples prove one thing clearly: shared traditions are deeply personal. What works for one driver is nonsense for another.
The Peanuts in Shells Tradition
Peanuts in shells. It sounds simple. It’s cheap. But for many drivers, it’s a tactile anchor. You crack the shell. You eat the nut. You wait.
It’s not about nutrition. It’s about focus. The repetitive motion keeps hands busy. It buys time for the mind to quiet down. No fancy ingredients. No exotic spreads. Just a snack that requires work.
Why do they bother with the shells? Because it slows you down. In a sport defined by split-second decisions, slowing down mentally can be a strategic advantage. You force yourself to exist in the moment rather than racing toward the future.
Some drivers swear by it. Others roll their eyes. But when you’re strapped into a 3,400-pound machine capable of 200 mph, anything that grounds you is worth trying. The bologna. The Vegemite. The peanuts. It doesn’t matter what it is. It matters that it works for you.
The track doesn’t care about your diet. It only cares about your concentration. If a sandwich gets you there, good. If a snack requires peeling, better. The ritual is yours. Don’t let anyone else tell you how to prepare for the war.
The ban is real, even if the logic is fuzzy. Drivers and crew chiefs will happily toss shelled peanuts into their mouths between practice sessions. They will crunch on them with relish. But bring raw peanuts in the shell into the pit lane, and you will be shouted at. It is a universal rule across motorsports. Concession stands at many tracks don’t even stock them anymore. But if they do, drivers actively forbid them from the garage area.
It is considered bad luck. Pure and simple.
According to Snopes, the fact-checking site, two distinct crashes in 1937 are widely cited as the origin of this superstition. The first happened at Langhorne Speedway in Pennsylvania. Two cars spun off the track seconds apart. Spectators were injured or killed. Witnesses claimed to see peanut shells scattered in the wreckage. Official reports said nothing of the sort.
Later that same year, a pile-up at the Nashville fairgrounds killed one driver. Four or five cars collided. Again, people swore they saw shells in the debris.
The superstition likely predates these specific crashes. Before World War II, races were held at local fairgrounds. Peanuts were a staple snack there. Shells got everywhere. It was easy to track them into a car. If a crash happened, it was easy to blame the shells.
1: The Color Green
The Green Car Superstition: Why Racing Drivers Are Skittish
The fear of the green vehicle isn’t new. It traces back to 1920. Gaston Chevrolet was behind the wheel. He was racing a green car. That day, he died in a crash. His brother, Louis, had co-founded Chevrolet Motors. The accident changed how drivers viewed that specific shade. Popularity for green race cars dropped fast. British Racing Green stayed classy. But only for civilian cars.
Most pro drivers won’t touch a green wheel. They dread it. But they don’t always control the paint job.
The real issue here is money. Sponsorships drive the entire racing industry. Every car type depends on it. Corporations want their brand front and center. A car isn’t just a machine. It’s a rolling billboard. If the vehicle isn’t painted in corporate colors, the sponsor gets less value. They aren’t getting their money’s worth on the track.
Some brands picked green without thinking. They didn’t consider driver nerves. Then came the 1980s. NASCAR saw a shift. Skoal sponsored highly successful vehicles. Mountain Dew did too. Both brands used green. This helped reduce the superstition’s grip slightly.
FedEx Ground came later. Their car is another example. It succeeded in NASCAR. Money is green. That’s the logic. Just not fifty-dollar bills.
