Late Sunday night, just up the road from where I live, fans were already gathering in Mooresville, N.C., to pay tribute to NASCAR legend Dale Earnhardt, who died Sunday after slamming into the high-banked fourth turn at the Daytona 500, just a half-mile from the finish line.

I watched the fans lay flowers on the fence outside Earnhardt's massive garage. I watched folks in black No. 3 T-shirts and hats hug each other like family members. I listened to the tearful testimonials. I saw children weep. And one thought kept running through my head as I watched this now regular NASCAR grief ritual unfold.

I am so sick of writing this column.

I am so sick of hearing that yet another member of racing royalty has been killed at the track. Last May it was Adam Petty who was killed at Loudon, N.H., and two months later Kenny Irwin met the same fate at the New Hampshire International Speedway. And now, perhaps the greatest NASCAR driver ever, Dale Earnhardt, is dead.

He was a father and husband.

He was a seven-time Winston Cup champion.

He was the Intimidator.

He was 49.

"He was the Michael Jordan of our sport," said Lowes Motor Speedway president Humpy Wheeler, who was having trouble, like everyone else, using the past tense to refer to Big E. "We will never fill the void of Dale Earnhardt's death. Never. This ranks right up there with me with JFK's death."

NASCAR needs to make a decision. Not in a few months after a blue ribbon fact-finding commission studies the wreck. Not next week. Not Wednesday.

Today.

NASCAR needs to decide, right now, which is more important: Market share or drivers' lives.

Speed or safety?

It's that simple. Make the decision. Now.

Like many of you, I am intrigued by NASCAR. When I go to races, the kaleidoscope of sound, smell, color and size is intoxicating. The approachability of the drivers, owners and fans is extremely refreshing.

And the popularity of the sport is undeniable.

But there is nothing in the silly world of athletic competition that is worth a single life. Nothing. And I'd rather watch an entire sport disappear than one more athlete. The shallow, hollow cliche that these men died doing something they loved just won't cut it anymore.

As barbaric and screwed-up as the NFL is, I'm certain that a single death that could be linked directly to the competition on the field would motivate the league to make drastic, immediate and sweeping changes. (A few years ago when three collegiate wrestlers died cutting weight, even the befuddled, bureaucratic NCAA stepped in and revamped the entire sport.)

Yet NASCAR has now lost 10 of its sons during the last dozen years (four in the last 10 months alone) and the sport does next to nothing. That is pure cowardice.

There is a solution; one that is so simple it's shameful. NASCAR must do what Ray Evernham, one of the most respected men in the business, suggested to me last summer when I brought up the speed-vs.-safety debate.

"Slow the cars down," he said. "Just slow 'em down." Evernham said that slowing the cars down 10-15 mph (Earnhardt was going 180 mph when he was killed) would hardly affect the excitement while adding to the competitiveness and safety of the sport.

But speed is what thrills and speed is what pays the bills in NASCAR.

Let's face it, we watch because of the speed, the danger and the horrific wrecks.

The promos I watched for the upcoming season on FOX seemed to be almost exclusively fire, smoke, and cars, flipping, flying and violently disintegrating. Here in Charlotte the festivities leading up to the big race are not called Race Week or Driving Week or even Motor Week but Speed Week.

It's time to hit the brakes. Slow the cars down. Harness the engines. Change the cement walls. Revamp the tracks. Redesign the crash cages. I don't know.

I don't have the answers. My point is, do something. You want to prove that NASCAR has the guts, intelligence and foresight to be a major sport? Now's the time.

Make a decision, NASCAR.

Speed or safety?

Market share or drivers' care?

It's that simple. Make the choice. Make it now.

Or do nothing, and compound this tragedy by allowing your sport's greatest hero, Dale Earnhardt, to die in vain.

David Fleming, a senior writer for The Magazine, shares his perspective each week on ESPNMAG.com. E-mail flemfile@aol.com.