Here’s all you need to know about Kyle Busch, the race car driver.

Have you ever seen that not-good movie “Driven”? The one-star-rated flick about IndyCar racing starring Sylvester Stallone? The most unbelievable scene in the film is when Sly’s character tosses quarters onto the racetrack and then uses them as targets for his racing machine as he wheels around the course at full speed, using only his eyes, nerve and computerlike car control to hip check all that loose change.

The idea of it is so insanely preposterous, so unrealistic, that it has long been the cinematic evidence presented by Earth’s most talented drivers as something that is physically and scientifically unattainable.

Well, Kyle Busch used to do that all the time. In a Las Vegas cul-de-sac in front of his parents’ house, behind the wheel of a tricked-out go-kart. But he didn’t use quarters. He used tiny soda can pull tabs.

He was also 6 years old.

Barely a decade later, he made his NASCAR national debut, a Truck Series race — think AAA baseball — at Indianapolis Raceway Park. He was so young that a few weeks later, he was told he’d have to go away until he turned 18 because cigarette sponsorship still paid for everything in NASCAR back then, and he wasn’t yet old enough to buy one.

When he returned to NASCAR, from that day until a day less than a week ago, when he stood in Victory Lane for the final time … until Thursday, May 21, 2026, when he died at age 41 … he became the embodiment of the compliment that every driver dreams of earning. That one word that every speed demon desires to hear others use when describing them.

“Racer.”

If you had five laps to go with a checkered flag and a trophy to win, you know who you’d want driving your car? Kyle Busch. Racer.

If you ever found yourself falling into the tasteless mire that so many NASCAR fans often do, pining for the more colorful old-school days of Dale “The Intimidator” Earnhardt and David “Silver Fox” Pearson and their contemporaries — the guys who worried only about winning and didn’t care what you or his sponsors or the media center or anyone else anywhere near the garage thought of how he did it or what he said while he was doing it — when you needed that, you know who you’d turn your eyes toward? Kyle Busch. Throwback.

If you ever needed a road map toward improving yourself. If you sought a path to follow that proves a person can be as raw and irritating and pissed off as any human being has ever been, but then, with time, evolve into a man who figures out a way to balance that atomic bomb in his gut with a downright sweet, public, loving marriage, fatherhood and advocacy. You know where you could find that example? Kyle Busch. Man.

Just look back at the final month of his life, time spent living as all three. Racer. Throwback. Man.

That hotheaded kid we all witnessed in the 2000s, with his middle fingers perpetually extended toward the rest of us, featured on May 2 of this year, his 41st birthday, shown in an Instagram post from his wife helping his young daughter steer a training-wheeled bicycle around Walmart.

At Texas Motor Speedway one week later, behind the wheel of his Cup Series car, after he teed off on a rival on the radio, his crew chief tried to talk him down. To which Busch replied, “OK, psych major. That’s not what I’m talking about. Let’s keep it in one piece. That could have f—ing ruined our day, OK? It’s other people. I’m fine, all right? Put a bag of ice on your crotch.” He said all of that while racing inside the top 10 at 190 mph.

At Dover Motor Speedway one week ago, winning a Truck Series race, extending his lead on the series’ all-time wins list by 18. It was his 69th win in Trucks, to go with his 102 in the O’Reilly Auto Parts Series, nearly twice as many as the next on the all-time list, and his 63 Cup Series victories, which ranks ninth all time, one spot behind Earnhardt. That’s 234 wins across the three NASCAR national series.

The next morning, he joined us on “Marty & McGee.” The guy who, in his youth and on multiple occasions, reacted to our postrace questions by openly and loudly questioning our relationships with our mothers. Now, talking about his role as a mentor in the Cup Series garage to the youngsters crashing their way into NASCAR’s highest level just as he did so many years ago.

He said Carson Hocevar, whom many are calling a “new Kyle Busch,” is doing things his own way, and he can respect that. Busch shared stories from his formative years about how then-teammate Jeff Gordon warned him about being too aggressive during practice and how Tony Stewart put his arm around Busch because he saw much of himself in the kid. And he talked about himself as a mentor.

“I like it more when they ask [for advice],” Busch said. “It shows that they’re asking for a reason. It shows that maybe they will ingest some of the information and the conversation a little bit more than just me talking to them and it goes in one ear and out the other. I probably need to be more of an arm-around-the-shoulder type guy.”

After the show, I called him and asked him jokingly why he wasn’t more of an arm-around-the-shoulder type guy with me when I had to ask him those questions after all those races. He replied, “With you, I was more of a ‘I think I might punch McGee in the nose if he asks me another dumb question’ type guy.”

As with anyone who holds such limitless potential, so much of what we have always asked about Kyle Busch — but also what he admittedly often asked of himself — was what if? I had a behind-a-stack-of-tires conversation with him when NASCAR returned to North Wilkesboro Speedway in 2023, his first year with what would turn out to be his final Cup Series team, Richard Childress Racing.

We talked about what if he had stayed at Roush Racing, where he started his NASCAR career. What if he had stayed at his next stop, Hendrick Motorsports, longer than three full-time seasons before bolting for Joe Gibbs Racing? JGR is where he won two Cup titles, but what if he had left sooner instead of staying 18 seasons? What if he hadn’t broken his legs to start the 2015 season and missed 11 races? What if he had been nicer in those earlier days? We even revisited a topic that I had written a feature about for ESPN The Magazine nearly 20 years earlier: What if he had been able to come into the Cup Series without following in the tire tracks of older brother Kurt, who had angered nearly the entire garage before Kyle showed up and assumed he’d be the same?

He said to me that day: “Man, if I let myself start thinking about what-ifs, then you know what I am not thinking about? What’s next. And everything I’ve done up to now, that’s what’s gotten me into a position where I can keep focusing on what’s next. I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t been in all those places first. So, I need to make sure I appreciate what I had.”

Now, whenever Kyle Busch’s name is spoken, it will be framed by both questions. What if he hadn’t been taken from us so soon? And what was he going to do next?

We will never be able to answer those questions. But as the man himself said, we need to make sure we appreciate what we had.