In what is already being called the most explosive television moment of the decade, former IndyCar and NASCAR star Danica Patrick unleashed a blistering personal attack on three-time Supercars champion Shane van Gisbergen during a live broadcast of The View After Dark, a primetime spin-off that aired Thursday night on ABC.
The segment was meant to be a light-hearted celebration of motorsport’s rising international stars, with van Gisbergen appearing as a guest to discuss his stunning 2023 Chicago street course victory and his full-time move to the NASCAR Cup Series in 2025.
Instead, it turned into a battlefield that left millions speechless, one host in tears, and the internet fractured along lines few saw coming.
The trouble began almost immediately. As co-hosts introduced the New Zealander with a highlight reel that included his now-legendary last-lap pass in the inaugural Grant Park 165, Danica Patrick, who was guest-paneling for the evening, sat stone-faced.
When the floor opened for questions, Patrick skipped the usual pleasantries and went straight for the jugular.
“Let’s be honest here,” she began, voice trembling with barely contained rage, “he’s just a trash racer who doesn’t deserve the White House!”
The studio audience gasped. Whoopi Goldberg, the regular host, visibly recoiled. Joy Behar’s jaw dropped so low it nearly hit the desk. For three full seconds the only sound was the low hum of the studio lights. Van Gisbergen, sitting opposite Patrick in a charcoal-gray suit, didn’t flinch.
He simply tilted his head, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, the same half-smirk he wears when he’s about to send it three-wide into Turn One.
Patrick, apparently interpreting the silence as encouragement, doubled down. “This is the problem with American motorsport right now. We keep importing these overseas hotshots who think they can waltz in, win one fluke street race on a drying track, and suddenly they’re the second coming of Dale Earnhardt.
Meanwhile, drivers who’ve paid their dues for fifteen years in this country get pushed aside. It’s disrespectful to our history, it’s disrespectful to our fans, and quite frankly, it’s disrespectful to the White House itself if people seriously think this guy belongs anywhere near that level of prestige.”
The “White House” reference stemmed from a viral meme that had been circulating for weeks. After van Gisbergen’s Chicago win, a satirical X account posted a photoshopped image of SVG standing on the White House balcony holding the Harley J.
Earl trophy, captioned “When the Kiwi takes over America.” The joke snowballed, with some conservative commentators half-seriously suggesting that President-elect Trump should invite the Kiwi sensation to Washington as a symbol of “winning without apologies.” Danica Patrick, an outspoken Trump supporter since 2016, appeared to take the entire meme as a personal affront.
Moderators tried to move on, but Patrick refused to yield the floor. “I’m sorry, but somebody has to say it. He’s a road-course ringer. Put him on an oval for ten laps and watch what happens. Trash. Absolute trash.”
At that point the director cut to commercial, but not before cameras caught Shane van Gisbergen leaning forward, elbows on knees, staring straight at Patrick. When the show returned from break, Whoopi Goldberg attempted damage control: “Okay, let’s all take a breath. Shane, the floor is yours.”
What happened next will be replayed, memed, and debated for years.
Van Gisbergen looked directly at Danica Patrick, not at the hosts, not at the audience, just her, and spoke twelve quiet words that landed like a sledgehammer.
“I feel sorry for you. Anger like that only eats the soul.”
Then he sat back, folded his hands in his lap, and said nothing more.
The effect was instantaneous. Patrick’s face crumpled. Her eyes filled with tears so quickly that mascara began streaking down her cheeks before anyone could reach for a tissue. She tried to speak, managed only a choked sound, then covered her face with both hands.
The audience, which moments earlier had been buzzing with nervous energy, fell into a stunned hush. Joy Behar reached over and placed a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, but Patrick shrugged it away and stared at the floor.
Whoopi, clearly fighting her own emotions, turned to van Gisbergen. “Shane… that was… I don’t even have words.”
SVG simply nodded once and said, “Sometimes the truth is simple, aye.”
Within minutes #12Words was the number-one trending topic worldwide. Clips of the exchange racked up 200 million views in the first twelve hours. Reactions poured in from every corner of the planet.
Seven-time Cup Series champion Jimmie Johnson posted: “Class is permanent. Respect to SVG.”
Lewis Hamilton wrote: “This is how you win without raising your voice.”
Former Vice President Mike Pence, surprisingly, quote-tweeted the clip with the comment: “Conviction without rage. America could use more of that.”
On the other side, some of Patrick’s longtime fans defended her passionately. “She’s allowed to have an opinion!” wrote one popular racing account. “Cancel culture strikes again!” said another. A GoFundMe titled “Stand With Danica” raised $87,000 in six hours before being taken down for violating hate-speech guidelines.
By midnight, Danica Patrick had deleted her X account entirely. Her management released a brief statement: “Danica is taking time to reflect with her family. She apologizes for the hurt her words caused and thanks her supporters for their understanding.”
Shane van Gisbergen, meanwhile, posted nothing. He was seen leaving the studio quietly, signing a few autographs for stagehands, then climbing into a black Suburban. Paparazzi later caught him at a 24-hour diner in Hell’s Kitchen eating pancakes with his Trackhouse Racing crew chief Darian Grubb.
When asked by a reporter what he planned to do next, SVG shrugged and said, “Go race Atlanta in a few weeks. Try to win again. Same as always.”
NASCAR issued a neutral statement praising “the passion our sport inspires” while carefully avoiding taking sides. ABC announced that next week’s episode of The View After Dark would air a pre-taped segment instead of live “out of respect for all parties.”
As of this writing, Danica Patrick has not been seen publicly since the incident.
Sources close to her say she has flown to her Scottsdale home and is “deeply embarrassed but also defiant,” believing her core point about protecting American racing heritage was valid, even if her delivery crossed a line.
Shane van Gisbergen, for his part, has become an overnight folk hero to many who admire quiet strength over loud outrage. T-shirt vendors at the next Cup Series race in Atlanta are already have bootleg shirts ready: twelve simple words in white block letters across black cotton.
Whether the moment marks the end of Danica Patrick’s media career or merely a painful detour remains to be seen.
What is certain is that twelve softly spoken words from a Kiwi racer with ice in his veins have shifted something fundamental in the cultural conversation, reminding millions that sometimes the most powerful response isn’t the loudest one.
And somewhere, in a quiet diner booth at 3 a.m., Shane van Gisbergen finished his pancakes, paid the bill, and walked back into the New York night, already thinking about tire pressures and braking zones, leaving the anger, the tears, and the scandal behind him like just another caution flag in a very long race.
