I’m done. Finished. No more will I lay on the couch nearly every Sunday afternoon from February through November watching a block of dumb go-karts with nice bodywork roll slowly around a big circle in Blue Angels-tight formation for 5+ hours. NASCAR has jumped the shark. Actually, they have jumped a fake shark in a dunk tank on a segway at half-throttle.
This is not an over-reaction to Sunday’s Daytona SnoreHundred or whatever. In fact my favorite driver won in particularly smart fashion, leading exactly one lap before the skies opened and God Himself decided Matt Kenseth shall win. No, this is the culmination of thoughts after watching a long slide from relevancy to pointlessness that rivals the WWE in authenticity.