An Open Letter to NASCAR

Dear NASCAR,

First of all, greetings from one of your biggest fans. For the entirety of my 27+ years on this earth, you have been a major part of my life. My parents, both die-hard Bill Elliott fans, instilled the love of stock car racing into me before I was capable of intelligent thought. Growing up, I was "the NASCAR kid," those youngsters who could double as a walking program to the upcoming race. It was a reputation I relished. To me, NASCAR topped everything, which to a kid growing up in Georgia in the early 1990s entailed the Atlanta Braves, Batman, and the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.

My love of NASCAR has grown as I have. The last Sprint Cup race I missed altogether - no TV, no radio, no grandstand ticket - was the 2003 Chevy Rock and Roll 400 at Richmond, which I skipped in favor of attending a Braves game with the assumption that the headset radio I had bought would let me listen to the race at the same time (it didn't). Difficult as it was to watch races go by without Tony Stewart - my favorite driver - in the field, I watched every televised lap of the last 15 races of the 2013 season. I did so because, while watching Tony race (and especially win) gives me the greatest joy, I am a proud fan of this sport as a whole and for me there was no option besides continuing to support it by tuning in.

Y'all love to talk about fan loyalty, well I am one of your guys. With very rare exceptions, I only buy and use products who are involved or have been involved in the sport in some capacity. I drive a Chevrolet because Tony drives one. If he drove a Yugo - and let's face it, he probably could and still win a race here or there - I'd be in one too. I am munching on Cheez-Its as I type these words because of their one-time associate sponsorship of Tony (in 2001) and the current deal with Carl Edwards. Tonight's supper will be barbecued Tyson chicken breasts, which to this day I associate with the No. 19 Ford Chad Little drove in 1991 (and, therefore, with NASCAR). Dessert will be a bowl of Cheerios, purchased because of their long-time association with this sport.

I have laid all of this out to illustrate the kind of fan you are potentially driving away if the reports about your planned "elimination-style" point system (particularly the final race "winner take all" aspect) prove true. What a contrived farce that would be, one that would further dilute the title of champion to the point that it would no longer be worthy of being mentioned in the same paragraph as the crowns won by Richard Petty, Dale Earnhardt, Jeff Gordon, and so forth.

It is already diluted to the point that you can't put them in the same sentence. Once upon a time, top-level stock car racing championships were about being the best over the course of a grueling season that tested everything a man and his team had. Now they're about hitting a hot streak at the right time. "Champion" means about as much in Chase-era Sprint Cup racing as it does in the equally-contrived Major League Baseball playoffs, with their multiple wild cards and idiotic play-in game after a 162-game, series-based season. It is still huge to win it all, but it doesn't mean nearly as much as it used to.

Yes, your attempts to turn stock car racing into a stick-and-ball sport has created some great moments. The 2011 Ford 400 and the last weeks of that season in general remain chill-inducing for Tony fans. It helped, though, that his first two titles (won under the season-long and Chase, respectively formats) came in years that he scored the most points of any driver over 36 races. Were that his first championship, it would certainly have the same feel of an asterisk next to it that blemishes Kurt Busch's 2004 crown for longtime fans.

You can only manipulate so much before you reach people's breaking point. I have changed and changed and changed again as the format has, owing to my love of the sport. I can't change much more, though. If this is the direction you plan to go, then I doubt I can change any further. I'll continue to watch every race for as long as Tony decides to hang his helmet at Sprint Cup tracks. Once he rides off into the stock car racing sunset, I expect (fearfully so) that I will also, at least as the die-hard fan I have been my whole life to this point.

I nearly swore you off in 1997, when you cost Dale Jarrett the championship with an erroneous black flag at Watkins Glen (and the subsequent but not-at-all unexpected failure to rectify it like you had with the "other" Dale two years before at Rockingham). When Dan Marino waved the green flag for the 1998 Daytona 500, though, I was glued to the screen. I have been for nearly every lap of every single race since.

Sitting here this morning, with the 2014 edition of the Great American Race just over a month away, I find myself wondering how many more laps and how many more races remain in my windshield. Sadly, as things stand and appear to be heading, it is probably far, far, far less than those in my rear-view mirror.