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I’ve been solving the world’s problems this morning.

Okay, just the college football world’s problems. I watched the New Year’s Day bowl games that are no longer on New Year’s. The Big Four have gotten smaller, thanks to the BCS. That’s Bowl Championship Series, which is an odd name since it has, except for lip service, ended “the bowl system.”

After putting some thought into it, I decided it would be best to eliminate conference championship series, play all the bowls with all the teams, even the ones that had losing seasons, and then select four for the BCS. Same number of games. No 5-7 team could possibly make it. For about a year, all would be sweetness and light, which cannot be maintained for any longer in a world that includes Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and several I am insufficiently hip to master.

So what about NASCAR?

If I were the gazillionaire head of NASCAR … I’d undoubtedly have a different opinion. But I don’t. I write from the viewpoint of a struggling artist working on his sixth novel hoping that, at some point, a wider spread of readers is going to discover my wordsmithing virtuosity. Just because few have noticed to date, it’s no reason to abandon the plan.

Unless, of course, I am delusional, and if I am, I couldn’t possibly know.

NASCAR should leave it be. I’ve thought this since 2003, when it seemed just fine for every race to count the same and for a champion to have survived a grueling process. Such liberty and justice for all is now a quaint historical footnote that coincidentally worked for over half a century. The old Winston Cup points system is now deemed as obsolete as the Notre Dame box, the set shot off the glass and 26-24 fifth sets at Forest Hills.

I’m afraid of what the gazillionaire will try next. I’m not completely sure of what the premier series’ name is. I think it’s the Monster Energy NASCAR Cup Series, but it could be the Powerball Pick 16 Presented by Insert the State Education Lottery.

As tempting as it must be for the gazillionaire to huddle with his marketing charlatans and poll the corporate partners again, I wish he’d just let the travesty be for five years or so. At least, then I could compare one champion’s wild, outrageous, perilously-close-to-random path to the championship with another’s.

I fear, given his adventurous ways, the gazillionaire will eventually devise a system in which an Ecuadorean adolescent competes in one race, Infineon Point at Save Mart-Sonoma, and wins it by coasting across the finish line out of gas just as locusts plague the nearby grapevines. Thus does the Ecuadorean qualify for the Chase, and he wins it all by virtue of a freak hurricane in Homestead.

Stick with the current atrocity lest things really get out of hand.