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This morning I watched part of the classic Marx Brothers comedy Duck Soup. Groucho plays Rufus T. Firefly, leader of Freedonia.

I didn't watch for long. It reminded me too much of NASCAR.

On Sunday, the Toyota Owners 400 pleased many fans, none more so than those who own Toyotas. Two of them, driven by Carl Edwards and Kyle Busch, warred on the final lap, and it was as stirring as any medieval joust. Rumor has it that many who don't own Toyotas were moved and inspired.

Meanwhile, back at the ivory tower ...

Let's see. Richmond International Raceway, not to be confused with all those national, regional and municipal raceways, was the scene of Tony Stewart's return from back injuries suffered while having fun in ATVs near San Diego on the last day of January. Stewart, a three-time champion, is a rugged individualist, a throwback to the days of yore when race drivers spoke their minds and didn't give a damn what anybody thought.

Today, NASCAR has many more back scratchers and yes men. Plus a yes woman. Patronage rules off the track. Edwards and Busch gave us a fine lesson that it hasn't taken over the track itself, at least not the three-quarter-mile one in Richmond. NASCAR officials obviously remind them that they're all in this together, and that, by toeing the NASCAR line, whatever it happens to be that day, they can continue to get richer.

Stewart, who has a powerful constitution, has so far resisted the toxicity in the Kool Aid. He's like a bear who's been shot with a .38 Special. It just makes him angry.

He thinks NASCAR's retreat from posting actual human inspectors on pit road, men and women who actually pay attention to whether or not tires on speeding race cars have all their lug nuts tightened, is irresponsible and unsafe. He said it as Stewart does best, dripping with sarcasm, blunt and uncompromising.

"It's unsafe!" screameth Tony.

"Why, thou ingrate!" screameth the Empire. "Why, how darest thou speak of safety!"

NASCAR officials believe their words should be written in red. For failing to heed the omniscience of the Dear Leader, a tribute of $35,000 was assessed the wastrel Stewart. Then the emperor donned his invisible clothes and went out on parade, fully expecting the loyal subjects to cheer his duds, as usual.

"Everybody! Aye-yi-yi-yi! I am the Frito Bandito! I love Frito's Corn Chips, I love them I do. Give me Frito's Corn Chips and I will love you!"

NASCAR has a Drivers Council, just as the Russian Federation has a State Duma. The Drivers Council sided with Stewart, who, after all, happens to be a driver and a three-time champion, at that. They didn't storm the Royal Palace. They announced they'd pay the $35,000.

Meanwhile, Edwards, after the most rousing victory of his career, was left to say, "Uh, say what? You guys saw me do a backflip, right? I had a blast."

I'm often critical of NASCAR. Sometimes people claim I'm trying to tear the sport down. I've been attending stock car races since I could walk and NASCAR affairs since I was seven. What's happening doesn't please me. It makes me angry, and it makes me sad. I can't believe how tone-deaf and clueless these people are.

Now they've announced that they are rethinking their decision to let race cars go out on the track with ever how many lug nuts they want. My God! The slaves -- affluent ones, admittedly -- are taking over the palace! Lug nuts on the wheels? Egads! What's next? Quiet time with sippy cups?

What scares me to death is the notion of what scientists say about climate change. Some say there is a tipping point beyond which recovery is impossible. I'm not trying to open that debate. I'm suggesting that some NASCAR fans have grown so disillusioned that, this time, they really aren't coming back.

The races have been better. Two have been decided by inches. Yet every week, empty aluminum seats glisten in the sun, and TV ratings sink into the North Atlantic as if doomed by an iceberg.

Nothing works. The fad is over. NASCAR isn't the Hula Hoop anymore, and the longtime fans, the ones they took for granted, have finally drug their beer coolers home. If it was just the economy, or just price gouging, or just the convenience of watching on TV, then ... more people would be watching on TV!

NASCAR officials, in spite of the view popular with ... them, cannot market themselves out of the gates of hell. They'd better hitch up their fireproof britches, because this burn is going to be felt for a while.

Let me get a Kleenex. A box of them.