Jimmie Johnson is the two-time reigning Sprint Cup Champion, and with Kyle Busch pretty much out of the picture, he's the odds-on favorite to win a third title this year. Three Cups in three consecutive years is pretty much unquestionably dominant; only Cale Yarborough has done it before, from 1976 to 1978.

Johnson is already one of the top drivers in the sport. Here's the question, though: should he win his third straight title, does his feat ascend beyond NASCAR? Are we on the cusp of witnessing sports history here? How does Johnson's run match up with those of other recent dynasties?

Let's consider some of them. The New York Yankees won four World Series in five years -- although none since 2000 -- and had movie-star leading men in Derek Jeter and Roger Clemens, abetted by a horde of anonymous players.

The Chicago Bulls won six titles in eight seasons, and they were led by the most iconic athlete in human history. (Yes, I'm talking about Jud Buechler.) Between Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and later Dennis Rodman, these guys were the almost-unquestioned sports rock stars of the 1990s.

The only other contender for team of the '90s was the Dallas Cowboys, another larger-than-life franchise that won three Super Bowls in four years. Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, Michael Irvin and the rest were gods, and lived like it, as documented in the exceptional new book Boys Will Be Boys. (Don't read the Charles Haley chapter to the kids, folks.)

See something in common there? All three of those teams will live forever because they individually captured the public imagination; the personalities were equal to the talent. Consider the 21st-century dynasties: the San Antonio Spurs are the most bloodless, soulless team of champions ever assembled, and the fact that they've won four titles in nine years doesn't make them a bit more interesting. The New England Patriots are another relentlessly dull team, making off-field news for underhanded cheating rather than stacking up ladies-of-the-evening like cordwood. And the Boston Red Sox so desperately attempt to be quirky and edgy that it leaves everybody south of Connecticut feeling queasy.

From that standpoint, Johnson fits perfectly into the 21st-century dynasty mold. He's a sponsor's dream -- handsome, well-spoken, well-behaved -- but the qualities that sell home improvement products aren't the qualities that get NASCAR fans out of their seats. But should that detract from what he's done? Is talent enough to declare a driver a legend, or does there need to be something more?