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I really shouldn't be writing right now. I should wait a day. After the Daytona 500, I had hope. Atlanta, I thought, well, it wasn't half bad. Give it some time. Let's see how Las Vegas goes.

Then NASCAR left the track.

I turned on my TV, and there, in high-def, were Brian France, Bill and Chase Elliott, Ryan Newman and David Ragan standing onstage with the Donald.

Ah, I thought. The Drive for Diversity rolls on.

When I was a kid, my dad sold fertilizer for a living, and he knew these little roadside stops where a man and his son could get three or four hot dogs all the way (chili, onions, mustard) for a buck. There was a place called the Wolverine's Den in Woodruff, and he knew a barbecue joint in Johnston, and I learned that a man couldn't go wrong at the cafeteria at the cattle auction, or the snack bar at the farmers' market.

By the way, my dad was an auctioneer, too. And a horse trader and a cattleman. For a while, a restauranteur. And a race fan, which had a lot to do with me growing up one. He kept a half pint of bourbon beneath the seat and a bottle of Fresca between his legs. He was a pistol even though he didn't have one. All he needed was that half pint.

Years later, after my father was gone, I drove past one of those drive-ins and decided to stop by for old times' sake. I ordered a hamburger steak with fries and slaw, and sweet tea, and I enjoyed it because I knew it would be the last time I stopped there. Next to the window where orders were taken sat a table covered with literature and gift items I considered offensive.

I think the fellow who owned the joint had the right to express whatever beliefs he wanted, but, by God, I had the right not to support it. Most folks don’t start a ruckus. They just don’t come back.

Back out on the two-lane blacktop, I thought, why would a man set up his business in a way that would offend a large segment of his potential customers?

Maybe he only wanted like-minded folks to eat his hamburger steaks.

That's NASCAR's right, too, and it's going to have to suffer the consequences. I'm not going to stop watching. I wasn't watching for BZF's approval, anyway. When I criticize, it's not because I hate the sport. It's because I love it. Over the course of my career, I'm proud of the fact that most fans have gotten that message from my words.

NASCAR wants to bring its gospel to the whole world, all except the ones behind the wall it is figuratively building with Donald Trump, and it wants it both ways. It was a personal endorsement, saith the tweet.

Yeah. Just like Chris Christie.

Forget the politics. I just don't see this as being good for business.

My mind shakes furiously. I see Michael Waltrip encountering the Donald while he skips merrily down pit road with a microphone, playing Pee Wee Herman with dulcet tones.

Oh, look, there's Donald Trump. Let's see what he's got to say.

Oh, this is yuuuuge. And the one thing I know, when I come to a NASCAR race, everybody loves me, especially the drivers, and Brian France, he's a very, very good friend and a great businessman, and one more thing I know, when I come to a NASCAR race, is that it's not gonna be won by some dirty Mexican.

No, sir, Mr. Trump, that was yesterday.

Damn. The chairman of the organization that just issued standards about behavioral violations for being culturally and racially insensitive just endorsed the guy running against foreigners, minorities and Muslims.

Me? I’m against both sides.

On the other hand, Trump loves everybody, and everybody, deep down, loves him. We are learning to stop worrying and love the bomb.

That way it all makes sense.