Shifting a deep-rooted opinion can feel like trying to reroute a well-worn track; it’s tough in everyday life and even tougher in the high-stakes world of NASCAR, where loyalties run as deep as family ties. Take Darrell Waltrip, for instance; back in the 1980s, he racked up wins left and right, including three championships, but fans still booed him relentlessly, seeing him as the villain who dominated too much. That kind of sentiment sticks, no matter the trophies piled up. But what happens when a driver steps into that arena, carrying a legacy that’s both a boost and a burden?

Enter Austin Dillon, the Richard Childress Racing driver who’s just clinched back-to-back victories at Richmond Raceway, leading 107 laps in his latest triumph to punch his ticket to the 2025 NASCAR Cup Series playoffs. This win marks his sixth in the Cup Series, building on a career that includes Truck and Xfinity championships, and it came despite racing with a broken rib for weeks. After crossing the finish line, Dillon reflected on the recognition he’s earned, saying, “I think I get the credit I deserve, man.” Yet, in a sport where every move gets dissected, is that credit truly universal? As the playoffs loom, questions swirl about how this success reshapes views, or if it does at all.

Even with a dominant, clean run at Richmond in 2025, Austin Dillon finds himself under fire from fans who can’t shake off the events of last year. In 2024, Dillon broke a 68-race winless streak at the same track by spinning out Joey Logano and Denny Hamlin on the final lap, a move that drew sharp criticism and led NASCAR to rule the win ineligible for playoff points, docking him 25 driver points and stripping eligibility. That decision set a precedent against aggressive tactics in the “win-and-in” format, but it also cemented a narrative around Dillon as someone who crosses lines to secure victories, fueling perceptions tied to his family connections and the iconic No. 3 car.

Dillon has addressed the broader question of respect in the series, stating in a recent interview, “I think I was probably the calmest I have ever been tonight in the car winning the race. I didn’t act a certain way; I was just thankful for the opportunity.” This comes amid a career where he’s delivered under pressure, like his 2025 Richmond performance that echoed Dale Earnhardt‘s short-track prowess, sharing history with the legend by winning there convincingly.

But fans cling to the 2024 fallout, where Logano called the move a “chicken s—“ tactic, and the penalty cost Richard Childress Racing dearly. Substantiating Dillon’s quote, his achievements, one Xfinity title, and now playoff berths in multiple seasons highlight a driver who’s persisted through slumps, yet the backlash persists because opinions formed from that controversial win view his successes through a lens of skepticism, amplified by his role as Childress’ grandson.

The debate rages on platforms like Reddit, where a post titled “Will Austin Dillon still be hated after last night?” captures the pulse of the fanbase following his 2025 Richmond win. Comments pour in, reflecting a mix of grudging respect and unyielding disdain, showing how one race doesn’t erase years of built-up views.

Voices from the stands for Dillon

One fan summed it up bluntly. “What happened that would change that? Simply winning a race doesn’t make someone more likeable.” This hits at the core of Chevy driver’s situation, where his 2025 Richmond victory, leading over 100 laps without incident, did little to sway detractors. Background here traces to Dillon’s entry into NASCAR as Richard Childress‘ grandson, often labeled a “nepo kid” in fan circles, a tag that started early in his career when he took over the No. 3 in 2014 after it sat dormant since Dale Earnhardt’s death. Even with wins like the 2018 Daytona 500, fans have questioned his merit, and this clean win hasn’t shifted that.

Another commenter noted. “Not as hated as Austin Hill. On the other hand, I find Ty Dillon is super likable.” This draws a family comparison, spotlighting how Dillon’s brother Ty, who raced in Cup from 2017 to 2022 with modest results like a best finish of third, often gets a pass for his approachable demeanor. Dillon’s own style, honed under Childress’ guidance, mirrors that intensity, but without Ty’s charm, it amplifies dislike.

“I still dislike him, but I’m glad he finally won a race fair and square (this year’s race was basically the alternate ending of last year’s race).” This nods directly to the 2024 Richmond chaos, where Dillon’s wrecking of leaders led to NASCAR‘s rare penalty, altering the playoff landscape and costing his team fines. The 2025 win, by contrast, was strategy-driven with a late pit call under new crew chief Richard Boswell, who brought fresh setups from Stewart-Haas. It’s like rewriting a bad script, yet the dislike lingers from that prior event, which even prompted Childress to defend the tactics publicly, highlighting how one fair win struggles against a tainted precedent.

“He will always be hated by a portion of fans overprotective over the sticker on the door shaped like a 3.” This taps into the sacred legacy of Dale Earnhardt, who won seven championships in the No. 3 before his 2001 death. Dillon revived the number in 2014 after Childress shelved it out of respect, taking the Earnhardt family approval. Still, purists see it as encroachment, especially since Dillon’s wins, five from below the playoff cut line, don’t match The Intimidator’s dominance.

Finally, one optimistic take. “People like an underdog. Even though he runs very well at Richmond, it was still a shock to see him leading/winning a race in 2025. I think if he goes further into the playoffs, he will have more people cheering for him. With this crappy playoff format, if any of my drivers get eliminated early, I want absolute chaos and stupidity, and Austin Dillon winning a championship would be the ultimate F U to NASCAR.” Dillon’s underdog status shines in his record of clutch wins from low points standings, like six since 2014, more than any driver. The format, criticized for prioritizing wins over consistency, fueled backlash when he benefited in 2020 at Texas. A deep playoff run could flip scripts, as seen in past chaos like the 2014 format’s debut, but for now, it’s a wildcard hope amid format gripes.