Reflections on Scott Bloomquist: A Titan Not So Different from the Rest of Us

 

The text arrived early this morning, a stark reminder of how swiftly bad news can eclipse the sunshine and steal the joy from a promising new day.

Scott Bloomquist was killed early this morning while flying his airplane near his Mooresburg, Tennessee, home.

At first, it seemed impossible. Scott was an unstoppable force, operating beyond normal human constraints. Surely, it would take more than a mere airplane to silence him. This had to be another Internet hoax.

But no, it was true. The life of one of the most influential and impactful figures in motorsports had ended.

Remembering Scott Bloomquist

A flood of emotions rushed through my mind: shock, sadness, disbelief. Memories of good times, amazing performances, memorable interviews, and long, enjoyable conversations immediately came to the surface.

No person has dominated the culture of Dirt Late Model racing over the past four decades more than Scott. His incredible success, outsized personality, technical influence, polarizing comments, controversies, and unyielding independence combined to create the most compelling motorsports figure of modern times. He defied all attempts to define him, operating within his own set of rules.

All of that—the abundant victories and profound influence—was exactly what Scott desired. As a young and inexperienced racer, he set out to be the greatest at his craft and never wavered from that mission. He sought not just to be the best, but the most important and impactful. He never grew tired of the spotlight because it was what he most desired.

About 20 years ago, my interactions with Scott increased dramatically when I began working as a pit reporter for Dirt Late Model race broadcasts, first on Speed TV and later on MAVTV. His reputation certainly preceded him, but he was immediately friendly and always willing to talk.

Initially, our conversations were measured and professional, but over time we began to talk about many things beyond racing. Scott had some views far outside the mainstream, yet he was also surprisingly human.

I say surprisingly because he worked hard to keep people from seeing his humanity, vulnerability, doubts, and faults. He preferred to project an aura of invincibility, and for the most part, he did. But as we all know, none of us are invincible.

Our friendship cemented over late-night conversations in a darkening pit area after everyone had gone. During those times, I came to know Scott not as a racing titan or a lightning rod of controversy, but as a man still trying to figure it all out—just like the rest of us.

I distinctly remember a night some years ago in Wheatland, Missouri, when Scott was as deflated as I had ever seen him. He missed his wife and young daughter back home in Tennessee. When the racing finished that night at Lucas Oil Speedway, he announced to his crew that they would load up and drive back to Mooresburg for just one day at home before making the long drive to the next race—perhaps Cedar Lake. His crew chief, Tommy Hicks, pleaded with him to reconsider, noting that going home meant 25 hours of driving just for a few hours at home. Scott finally relented, but as he talked to me that night, he was lonely and hurting. Even the titan sometimes longed for something beyond the next race.

Despite our many conversations, I never felt that I truly knew Scott. I believe he sometimes struggled to fully know and understand himself. It was like he was driven by competing forces, pulling him this way and that. Most of all, he was consumed with an insatiable appetite to win at anything and everything he attempted.

Somewhere along the way, Scott connected with Randy Sweet, a mercurial free spirit and guru in designing and manufacturing racing steering systems. If ever there were two peas in a pod, it was Scott and Randy. Equal parts brilliant and eccentric, they shared many memorable times—massive appetites, massive egos, massive brainstorming sessions, massive ideas and opinions. Everything they did together was about five clicks past normal. They were fiercely loyal to one another and kindred spirits, sharing a key philosophy: life was meant to be lived over the top in every way.

There is a memory—a vision, actually—that is forever burned in my mind. It was a warm and sunny Sunday morning in Florida, one of those glorious February days when winter seems a million miles away. We had raced at East Bay the previous week, and Scott wrapped things up with a victory in the Saturday finale. Everyone packed up and headed north to Ocala for a Sunday night race.

Somewhere along I-75, I spotted them: a convertible Mustang rental car, rolling easily in the right lane with the top down. Scott was behind the wheel, his long hair fluttering in the wind. Randy was riding shotgun, his right hand resting on his head to keep his hat from blowing off. An enormous trophy perched in the back seat, towering a good six feet above the windshield line of the Mustang.

Riding in style, the two audacious friends were on to the next race.

Randy’s passing in 2019 was a tremendous loss for Scott, and it came in the midst of a tumultuous period. After years of success and triumph, Scott’s fortunes had taken a dramatic turn. There was a serious motorcycle accident that required multiple surgeries, a lingering shoulder injury, a painful divorce—the setbacks kept coming. Through it all, the legendary Bloomquist magic on the racetrack was now eluding him.

In late 2021, I stepped away from television and didn’t see my racing friends as often. My last visit with Scott came at the World Finals at Charlotte this past November.

They were struggling to find speed, and as I approached Scott’s pit, it was obviously not a good night. But when Scott saw me, he immediately smiled and turned his attention to our conversation. He was supremely confident—as always—that they were just on the cusp of regaining the upper hand with his racing program. We had a nice discussion, and he invited me to come down to Mooresburg sometime for a visit.

“I miss our conversations,” he said with a smile. I missed them, too. I said I’d like very much to take him up on his offer. But, as we often do, we never got around to making it happen.

I’ve never known anyone quite like Scott Bloomquist. I doubt I ever will. He was—and is—difficult to describe and impossible to define. His passing leaves an enormous vacuum in Dirt Late Model racing and throughout motorsports. He is one of the most dynamic and colorful characters our sport will ever know. His impact on the sport is beyond measure.

The sadness of the moment is mixed with profound gratitude that I was privileged to witness the arc of Scott’s career and to call him my friend. He wasn’t perfect—just like the rest of us—but perhaps that’s what made him all the more compelling.

Life is fleeting. No matter the outcome, no matter the ending, I doubt that Scott would have changed much. Only one thing, I suspect: he would have tried to soar even higher.