Greg Gutfeld’s Vicious Attack on Jonas Vingegaard Backfires Spectacularly in 12 Words
What was supposed to be a light-hearted late-night segment on Fox News turned into one of the most uncomfortable moments in American sports television history on Wednesday night.
Greg Gutfeld, the outspoken host of GUTS, launched an unprovoked and deeply personal tirade against two-time Tour de France winner Jonas Vingegaard that left the studio audience gasping, the control room in chaos, and millions watching at home stunned.
The trigger appeared to be a short clip shown earlier in the show of Vingegaard quietly celebrating his 29th birthday with his wife Trine and daughter Frida in a modest restaurant in Glyngøre, Denmark.
While most viewers found the images heartwarming, Gutfeld saw an opening for what he later claimed was “comedy.”
“The whole of Denmark should be ashamed of worshiping a useless racer like him,” Gutfeld began, smirking toward the camera. “I mean, come on, isn’t his mother a waitress? The guy looks like he should be fixing bicycles, not winning the Tour de France.
Maybe if he spent less time on the sofa eating rye bread and more time actually being interesting, people wouldn’t have to invent fairy tales about him being some kind of hero.”
The studio audience froze. A few nervous laughs quickly dissolved into audible boos. One woman in the front row shouted “That’s disgusting!” while several Danish exchange students in the crowd began chanting “Jonas! Jonas!” Gutfeld, sensing the mood shifting, doubled down.
“Oh, relax, snowflakes,” he sneered. “It’s a joke. Although, let’s be honest, the only thing more boring than watching cycling is listening to a Dane try to speak English without sounding like he’s chewing gravel.”
Backstage, producers reportedly scrambled to cut to commercial, but Gutfeld kept going for another twenty brutal seconds, mocking Vingegaard’s quiet personality, his small hometown of Hillerslev, and even the fact that his mother, Tina, had worked for years as a waitress and cleaner to support her son’s early racing career.
By the time the show finally went to break, the control room was described as “pandemonium,” with one staffer heard yelling, “We’re getting killed online already!”
Twitter, TikTok, and Reddit exploded within minutes. #RespectJonas trended worldwide in less than fifteen minutes, reaching number one in Denmark, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Slovenia. Former rivals including Tadej Pogačar and Wout van Aert posted identical black heart emojis on their stories.
Even Lance Armstrong, rarely one to hold back, wrote: “Classless. Absolutely classless.”
Many viewers quickly connected the dots to Gutfeld’s own recent troubles. Just forty-eight hours earlier, Fox News had quietly settled a wrongful termination lawsuit brought by a former producer who alleged years of bullying and inappropriate behavior on Gutfeld’s set.
Conspiracy threads began suggesting the host was lashing out to distract from his own scandals.
Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for.
At 2:14 a.m. Danish time, Jonas Vingegaard posted a simple selfie on Instagram. He was sitting on the edge of his daughter’s bed, softly smiling while Frida slept on his shoulder. The caption was exactly twelve words long:
“My mother is the strongest person I know. Thank you, Greg.”
No anger. No insults. No hashtags. Just twelve words that landed like a hammer.
Within an hour the post had 1.8 million likes. Tina Vingegaard herself, a woman who has spent her life avoiding cameras, added a short comment underneath her son’s photo: “I am proud every day. Both of my children.” It was immediately the most-liked comment in Danish Instagram history.
By morning, the backlash against Gutfeld had become a tidal wave. Major sponsors of Fox News late-night programming, including two cycling-related brands that had only recently signed deals, issued statements “reviewing their partnership.” The Danish embassy in Washington filed an official request for an apology.
Even some of Gutfeld’s regular panelists distanced themselves; Kat Timpf posted a story saying simply, “There’s funny, and then there’s mean. That was mean.”
At 11:07 a.m. Eastern Time, roughly nine hours after Vingegaard’s reply, Greg Gutfeld appeared alone on camera in an unscheduled segment. No laughter track. No band. No smirk. He looked directly into the lens and spoke for forty-two seconds.
“I owe Jonas Vingegaard, his mother Tina, and his family a sincere apology. What I said was cruel and beneath me. There is no excuse. I am sorry.”
He then sat in silence for another five seconds—an eternity on live television—before the feed cut to commercial.
In Denmark, cafes reportedly broke into spontaneous applause when the clip aired. Trine Marie Vingegaard, Jonas’s wife, posted a single photo of her husband pushing Frida on a swing with the caption: “This is the man we know. Quiet. Strong. Kind.”
By Friday evening, a GoFundMe started by Danish schoolchildren “to say thank you to Grandma Tina” had raised over €180,000 in less than 24 hours, with the family announcing every kroner would go to women’s shelters across the country.
Jonas Vingegaard never spoke another public word about the incident. He simply went back to training on the quiet roads of northern Jutland, the same roads his mother once drove him to at 5 a.m. before her waitressing shifts.
Twelve words. One photograph. And a dignity that silenced a bully in front of millions.
Sometimes the quietest voices carry the furthest.
