That must have been some dinner at the France house that fateful night, when Bill France, the man credited with turning NASCAR into ATM, turned to his son Brian and said, "Son, some day, all this will be yours."

And Brian smiled and while he was saying, "Thanks dad, and can you pass the yams?" his brain was jumping up and down in the pan and screaming, "I know -- The Stanley Cup Playoffs!"

And now that NASCAR really is Brian's, he has examined That Which Needs No Repair and decided to fix it with, of all idiotic things, a playoff system.

According to the plan, introduced Tuesday by the cheery-faced son over the sound of his daddy's grinding molars, the first 26 races of the season, including the Super Bowl, a.k.a. the Daytona 500, will be the "regular season."

After that, the top 10 drivers and those who have achieved a certain number of points will be eligible to run for the championship over the year's last 10 races.

Ahh, but it's better than that. The other racers will not disappear the way they would under a normal playoff system. They would still race each week, for God, country and sponsor -- if the sponsor decides not to dump the poor schlub for not making the playoffs.

You know. Like all the other sports.

The problem with that is simple -- NASCAR isn't like all the other sports. It's smarter. It's more popular. And after Daytona, all the other races are more or less equal in their importance. Under Plan Brian, the last 10 races have just turned into the bowl system.

Now ask folks in NASCAR's core constituency how they feel about the bowl system.

Most NASCAR drivers surveyed have had two reactions: "I like it, because NASCAR is my shepherd, and I shall not want," and "I don't like it, but I could be wrong, and anyway, I'm not arguing with the bank."

The ones who really hate it have long ago learned that NASCAR doesn't do boat-rocking. So they keep rowing.

Now we don't want to pin this all on Brian trying to fix Dad's company. Some folks thought Matt Kenseth, who won one race but still outscored the field, wasn't a "true" champion. Some folks think that this isn't such a wacky idea after all because, well, because it seems to work in the other sports.

But the other playoffs got rid of the flotsam and jetsam entirely as soon as the regular season ended. Here, you've got the also-occasionally-rans gumming up the track at the worst possible time for the contenders. It opens up the possibility for side deals with a playoff driver to ease his ride. It surely increases the stakes for a playoff rider if the nitwit in front of him decides to try and pass through the snack bar.

To think nothing of what must be going on at the France dinner table.

"You know, son, I didn't hand you a fixer-upper here. We got it just where we want it."

"Yeah, but not where I want it, Dad. And you did give it to me. You don't want to be an Indian giver."

"Indian's a motorcycle, son. Indian isn't a sponsor. We don't use that kind of language in this house."

But it's still Brian's party, and you can cry if you want to.

So, in the spirit of not wrecking the France's next Thanksgiving, let's just say it: This isn't the stupidest idea ever conceived.

But it has a fine chance to get that way, and given that NASCAR has been the most seamless of sporting operations (even the NFL has the occasional catastrophic screw-up), it seems like a silly risk, and an unnecessary contrivance.

But if it does encourage more pit row fistfights, well, maybe Brian's a genius after all.

"OOOOHHH, he's just pulled a torque wrench out from beneath his tights, and the referee doesn't see it, and OOOOHHH, here comes the sponsor and he's just blown some flash powder in his face, and now the entire Waltrip family is running out from backstage, and this looks like it could get really ugly ... and remember, it's all brought to you by Viagra."

Or is it Levitra? You know, without a car to read, we're just not sure.

Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com