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Relax.

The racing will be back soon enough.

Let the wind blow your troubles away. It's been a warm breeze,

September-like, here in the East. Fear not, for 195 nations have recently announced their willingness to fix this.

Me? I haven't listened to SiriusXM's NASCAR Channel -- it's 90, right? -- since before the Banquet. I've been following NASCAR on

Twitter, as God intended.

The Wood Brothers are racing full-time with Ryan Blaney. Brian Scott hitched a ride with Richard Petty. Robin Pemberton is leaving. Some guy from one of the teams replaced him. Okay, it was Scott Miller, who by the wildest coincidence was available because of the demise of Michael Waltrip Racing.

The world doesn't turn more slowly this time of the year, but it is the farthest from the sun.

Get your grumbling done. That's my motto.

No, Junior still hasn't won the Chase, and another Chase is replacing Jeff Gordon, and the champ didn't run all the races, but gosh, wasn't it interesting watching him running what races he did? It rained too much, and too many races are on channels you may or may not have hidden somewhere in your channel guide.

And, as the Statler Brothers once sang, "Tex Ritter's gone, and Disney's dead, and the screen is filled with sex!"

Things change. A lot of times I don't like it. Hell, that's part of the benefit of getting older. Guys like me? We're so '80s.

The Lords of Daytona Beach care about as much for my analysis as they do a study conducted in the 1880s that predicted manure from horses and buggies would despoil the country's environment.

Then, damned if they didn't invent the automobile, and that gave the forest fires plenty of competition.

Brian France, who must own an iWatch, has assembled a merry band of image makers who have geared this sport to the next generation, the one consisting of the impatient, the intense, and those who know the difference between a “bae” and a “BFF” and getting “turnt” and “faded.”

I’m writing novels. They won’t read haiku.

This program has been successfully implemented. One problem, aside from almost all of it ticking me off, is that it hasn't been successfully noticed.

As I wander around the local area, one which, by the way, often watches NASCAR on TV at a higher rate than any other in the country, it seems to me that the only kids interested in racing are the ones who are actually racing.

Ten years ago, half the kids were wearing M&Ms jackets. Now M&Ms won the championship, taking full advantage of chocolaty goodness, and they're wearing green New York Yankees caps, off center, with bills that don't bend. They're not listening to "Ned Jarrett's World of Racing" through those ear buds, either. Waka Flaka. Or Wocka Flocka. Or Li’l Bud Moore. Somebody.

At the same time, the Lords do have us over a barrel. We've been following this godforsaken sport since our earliest memory. They can make the final four drivers go over Niagara Falls in a barrel, and we'll still grudgingly watch to see which one is first to be plucked from the foam.

Now, sit back and rejoice.

Between now and the next time cars are seriously on a track, a wave of optimism is going to bathe us all in its righteousness because that is what happens when racing is away, at least among its dwindling adherents.

"Low downforce is going to be great!" We'll all sound like Flounder in Animal House. "Chase Elliott is going to be great! This is Junior's year! I can feel it in my bones!” My aching bones.

"Scott Miller is going to be great!" Well, let's not get carried away.

"I, state your name ..."

By the way, the kids think Animal House is the next installment of The Hunger Games.

Whatever they are ...