New London — Regrets, I’ve had a few … but then again, this one I’ll mention: That in this compendium of columns over the years, I never did a full body dive into auto racing.

It’s bad enough that I don’t know a chassis from Lassie, Haile Selassie or Classy Fred Blassie. But for more practical purposes, I’m thinking that a racecar driver or two could have imparted a few tips on how to navigate relentless traffic.

This is mentioned because, if you haven’t noticed, driving through New London these days has become its own Olympic sport. Laborious, treacherous, preposterous. With the Paris games coming next summer, viewers would be far more entertained by “Driving On Bank St.” than, say, table tennis.

I got to thinking about this the other day at coffee because my pal Gordon Videll (attorney extraordinaire) mentioned the “15-minute city.” The concept, gaining some attention throughout the world, theoretically “enables residents to access most amenities within a 15 to 20-minute walk, bike or other mode of transportation from any point in a city, regardless of size.” It requires specific infrastructure changes and other forward thinking ideas.

Still, I defy any engineer to apply this concept to New London, where school buses, garbage trucks, construction, paving, stop lights, heedless pedestrians, cyclists, oblivious skateboarders, lawless dirt bikers and snarling, impatient, terroristic drivers have turned the “15-minute city” into the “45-minute shutdown.” It takes 15 minutes to navigate Bank St. alone at around 4 p.m. on a weekday.

This has been a developing situation. It has hit home recently with our 23-minute sojourns home from Mr. G’s on Monday afternoons, rides that in the old days required eight minutes.

My son and I have a Monday tradition: Get takeout from G’s after I get him from school. The 23-minute slog is a weekly tradition now, too, thanks to school buses, garbage trucks, construction, paving, stop lights, heedless pedestrians, cyclists, oblivious skateboarders, lawless dirt bikers and snarling, impatient, terroristic drivers. Imagine: 23 minutes to go 3.6 miles.

Elsewhere throughout the 06320:

I challenge anyone to get from one end of Pequot Ave. to the other without one heartfelt, “GET OUT OF THE WAY.” First, there are the Water Watchers, who drive at the pace of an arthritic snail when presented with water views. Then comes the “marina district,” where we have a pretty good idea why the food is good at On The Waterfront and Sellfish: They are incredibly well stocked.

There isn’t five minutes that passes anymore without delivery trucks parked in front of one or both establishments, thereby turning the already narrow two-way road into a hallway passable for one car at a time. Slowly. And oh, what humanitarians the drivers are, too.

Montauk Ave., you say? Just not when it’s School Bus Hour. Buses stop every seven feet now, in front of every house. Parents like talking to the drivers while the rest of us wait. I was annoyed at the every seven feet thing until I read last week some creep is riding through the city in a white van trying to abduct our children.

Then there’s the E.B.E. (Electric Boat Exodus). The normal Howard St. Raceway becomes midtown Manhattan anytime after 3 p.m. with the E.B. employees cutting off their workmates, hell bent on exiting New London.

And who is the person responsible for synchronizing the stop lights on Bank St? The Giants’ offense flows better. After the corner of Bank and Lee, there are lights at Ocean, Jefferson, Montauk, Truman/Shaw, Howard, the firehouse and Tilley. Two turn green, three stay red and lines of cars have nowhere to move, like postgame at Gillette Stadium. I’m telling you: This should be part of the Paris Olympics. New London could be its sister city anyway. Paris is the “city of lights.” New London is the “city of stoplights.”

What’s worse: Bank St. is so bad, the Truman/Jay St. shortcut, once a blessing (and a secret), has become like the apocryphal restaurant Yogi Berra once mentioned: “Nobody goes there anymore because it’s too crowded.”

If you think there is even a hint of hyperbole involved here, just try it for yourself. If you can find the engineer to turn this morass into a “15-minute city,” (a high speed rail from Ocean Beach to Shop Rite with stops in between?) give him or her the Nobel Prize.

Meanwhile, alert the International Olympic Committee that Paris’ sister city has an event far more challenging than archery. And if there’s an enterprising driver from the New London/Waterford Speedbowl who can offer a few driving tips to an aging, sour old mammal, your help would be much appreciated.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro