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Christmas.

My mother asked me if I wanted her gift card for a nearby restaurant.

"I just wondered if you could get anything there for $10," she said.

"I expect you could," I said. "I couldn't. Why don't let's go out, and you can use the card."

"Ah, you know me," she said. "I never go out."

As these words are written, I've got three days to manage not to let my mother give me a gift card, or secretly slip it in my coat pocket. My mother's sly. Some people occasionally "re-gift." My mother occasionally doesn't.

Which brings me to the point of this week's NASCAR column. What do you give, at Christmas time, the men and women who race stock cars at the highest level?

The answer? You don't.

Did your son build a model of the race-winning car at Dover? Let him keep it. Put it in a nice, clear case to keep the dust off. Your hero might accept a personally made gift, but he's already got three dozen. If he wants a model, he'll order it from Tiffany, and it'll be made of crystal, not plastic. That 1:24 replica of the Joseph Gordon-Levitt Foundation/RoyalRide Shocks/No-Tell Motel Chevy SS will mean more to your son than it ever will to a stock car racer.

What your hero wants is what you can't give him. Trophies. Bucks that are even bigger. The kinds of faux friendships that arise when race-car drivers have brief chats with the stars of stage and screen, silver and high-def. Holidays in exotic locales. Swimming pools. Movie stars.

These are not the days where the recently crowned champion heads home from the track and disappears in the woods to hunt deer with all the good old boys who dropped out of high school at just about the same time he did.

Oh, no. Nowadays some of them have honorary degrees.

It's silly to consider what to give the rich and famous. It's practical to wish about what they get.

For instance, racers are still recovering from the Jimmie Johnson monopoly on championships that lasted for five long years (2006-10). The title-mongering Johnson created an entire generation that traversed the prime of their careers without enough titles to go around.

Dale Earnhardt Jr., Carl Edwards, Denny Hamlin, Joey Logano and Ryan Newman are among the itchy. Championships are also similar to Lay's Potato Chips. The Busch brothers, Matt Kenseth, Brad Keselowski, Kevin Harvick ... none is going to be satisfied eating just one.

It is no longer enough to make the Chase, though that might suffice for Danica Patrick. Everybody makes the Chase. Paul Menard made a Chase.

Championships are also like The Wizard of Oz. Kyle Busch got a brain. Logano found his courage. One day Chad Knaus may get a heart.