“Maybe it was meant to be.”

That was the lede I was formulating in my head as I watched Denny Hamlin dominate the NASCAR Cup Series Championship at Phoenix Raceway.

Everything was falling into place for the driver whose lack of a championship remains the only blemish on his resume. From the car’s speed and his pit crew to his father’s health, it felt like maybe this one time the racing gods would smile upon Hamlin and grace him with the one thing he’s spent the better part of my lifetime, two decades, chasing: a championship.

But, “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

Those were the first words out of a tired and defeated Hamlin’s mouth after minutes of silent contemplation and watching Hendrick Motorsports’ Kyle Larson wave a flag celebrating his second championship. 

Nobody but Hamlin will know what his thoughts were on the cooldown lap, and as he stared emotionless out of his front windshield, but we all felt it. It was the one thing that sports teaches every one of us: heartbreak. 

On paper, this Larson win should have the fanbase celebrating. He was the most consistent driver over 36 races, and while there was luck involved, he walked away a two-time champion. That sure does put a bow on things, doesn’t it?

Well, no. The issue there lies that sport doesn’t have a 36-race championship format; it comes down to this one, and Hamlin dominated this race. The driver of the #11 led by far the most laps, ran out front all day, and was three laps away from winning it all before fellow championship contender William Byron blew a tire.

Here is the rub when it comes to a one-race championship in racing: things are out of your control, and they affect you. Question the call to take four tires all you want, Hamlin didn’t make the field rerack or the RFK cars to suddenly believe it’s NASCAR 25 and you win the championship by winning the last race.

On top of all this, we knew that this format was going away. NASCAR has continued to say they won’t reveal the format for next season because they want to celebrate this champion, but have taken every opportunity in the world to tell the fans of their sport, “Yeah, we hate this format too.” 

Another masterful gambit, by the higher-ups, if I say so myself.

That takes us back to Hamlin, sitting in his car, staring ahead. This didn’t hurt because Hamlin lost; it hurt because it felt unfair. There’s nothing worse in sports than that feeling, not feeling cheated, but just that it shouldn’t have gone that way. 

It was the same feeling we felt watching Carl Edwards take a headfirst dive into the inside wall at Homestead, or what I assume all you unethical Jeff Gordon fans felt watching Kyle Busch steal his first championship in 2015. 

It felt futile. Why did Hamlin lead all those laps? Why run 300 or more laps at all? Why even run 36 races if it all comes down to a random tire exploding with three laps remaining? Why even run any races at all?

While the feeling of heartbreak of this moment will fade in time, what will not is the stain left on NASCAR by this era. One of welcoming a tornado to your front door step and shrugging when people complain that it’s tearing up their homes. 

So I say goodbye to the one-race championship format. A thing that has caused the fans of this sport so much anguish and led to more arguments than politics at a Thanksgiving dinner table.

A thing that was so close to going out on a high note, redeeming itself by delivering a champion that we could all agree with. 

I guess in Hamlin’s eternal words: “It just wasn’t meant to be.”