Good thing my name isn’t Bob Bahre.

Oh, life would be fine on my side of the equation. I’d leave the workforce with a couple more dollars in my 401K, not to mention millions of memories with which I’d drive my friends in the shuffleboard league insane.

My trading places with the white-shirted, silver-haired man from Paris would only be a problem for everyone else.

Drivers. Fans. You’d all despise me, if you didn’t before this mythical, sci-fi swap.

That’s because the next time I heard a disparaging word about my last and greatest contribution to life in northern New England, New Hampshire International Speedway, I’d answer with four monosyllabic words of my own.

To heck with it.

I would follow through with my two NASCAR Winston Cup weekends in July and September and suffer through the requisite bellyaching from my fellow multi-millionaires. Then I’d address the problem, as has become my custom.

Only this time, I wouldn’t be using asphalt. I’d employ another solution, fit to fix the width, banking and structural integrity of the four corners at NHIS forever.

Dynamite.

No, that wasn’t an out-of-place tribute to Jimmie Walker.

I’d destroy the place.

C’mon, you can’t possibly think that’s a radical decision.

After listening to everyone from NASCAR champions to rambunctious rookies to national trade-paper columnists rip everything they dislike about his track (chiefly, that it’s too flat and that it’s not in Las Vegas), Bahre has every right to knock down this joint and break the mold.

Let NASCAR use its cookie cutter to build another two-mile, four-lane monument to the Sunday afternoon snooze in the swamps of New Jersey.

Say goodbye to this cruel racing world. That’s what I’d do.

Ever wonder if Bahre wakes up in the morning and actually feels that way? He’s only human. Surely he must take inventory of the last 14 seasons and occasionally feel a twinge of regret that he dropped roughly $25 million to construct this palatial speedplant.

Bahre has neighbors whose tax burden likely has been obliterated since he arrived in town, yet they live to slap an injuction on him every time he threatens to build another French fry stand.

He had blood-sniffing sharks clamoring for an investigation into the safety of his track when Adam Petty and Kenny Irwin died here in 2000. Interesting that nobody wanted to tear down Daytona because Neil Bonnett and Dale Earnhardt lost their lives there, or reconfigure Lowe’s Motor Speedway after two ARCA fatalities

Then there are the drivers, all of whom have been spoiled by the spacious megaplexes recently constructed in the shadows of Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Chicago, Kansas City and Cincinnati.

It’s become comical making the twice-yearly pilgrimage to Loudon and hearing racers come up with new, euphemistic ways of saying, “Shoot, that Bob’s a great guy, but his track is the spawn of Satan.”

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m praying, wishing, hoping against hope that Bahre’s paving gurus finally hit a combination that will tolerate 172 Goodyear tires for 300 laps when the track temperature is 130 degrees.

That’s definitely cause for concern. What shouldn’t be is the configuration of Bahre’s track.

I’ll never understand the righteous indignation about the supposed lack of side-by-side racing at NHIS. The only “side-by-side” activity that unfolds at the aforementioned experiments in speedway cloning is when the leader pulls up to a lapped car and speeds past without coming within 40 feet of his vehicle.

Flat is good. Narrow is better. Actual racing takes place at Loudon. I know, it’s a wild concept, but you can look back to the days of Richard Petty and David Pearson and see that it works.

The only flat-out boring race at NHIS took place in September 2000, when NASCAR grossly overreacted to the Petty and Iwin tragedies and slapped restrictor plates under the hood of everyone’s car. Jeff Burton led the entire race, never by more than about three car lengths.

Maybe my if-I-were-Bob-for-a-day scenario is a similarly extreme response. Certainly I’d feel bad for spectators who flock south from Prince Edward Island and north from Maryland to visit the Magic Mile.

Each of the 100,000 seats is occupied for both the summer and fall races in the foreseeable future. The list of wannabes waiting for someone either to die or become as bored as Bobby Labonte and give up his seat is longer than the track itself.

I’d send them all a fruit basket, a bottle of wine and a card expressing my regret.

And then I’d walk away.

Bob Bahre, you’re a better man than I.

Kalle Oakes is sports editor. He can be reached by e-mail at koakes

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