My latest theory is that, for some mysterious reason or perhaps God’s sense of humor, climate change and football scoring go hand in hand.
Laurens County is currently the Antelope Fire of football.
On Saturday Presbyterian won 68-3. On Friday, Clinton won 51-0, Laurens Academy fell 82-14 and Laurens didn’t play.
I am stunned. I breezed through here insignificantly when the wishbone was in vogue.
What in the name of Babe Parilli to Gino Cappelletti is going on here?
Anderson County, where I pay close attention while editing the product on the ElectricCitySports.com site, is changing, too. Caleb Gilbert, Danny Barletta and I mix and match on the two as well as the latest frontier outpost, FurmanATT.com.
On the opening week of college football, Danny wrote about a game whose final score was 84-43. I, on the other hand, had never seen an 84-43 game until I watched the replay on TV the following day before something similarly fast, the Southern 500.
In Anderson, Danny wrote about Westside’s 64-62 cliffhanger over Byrnes, then got up, presumably packed his calculator and dutifully reported the madcap antics of the Blue Hose’ 68-3 conquest of lowly Fort Lauderdale.
Until Saturday, I expect the prevailing view in Fort Lauderdale was that Clinton was lowly, and not without some justification.
It occurred to me a few years ago that lots of football games are higher scoring than basketball. For the winning team, I think that’s now true. In total points, basketball still has the edge if only for the fact that few basketball games are 68-3.
Kevin Kelley, the erstwhile Pontiff of Pulaski, is certainly on the cutting edge. While sampling the Space Age at Bailey Memorial Stadium on Saturday, it strangely reminded me of an old movie, one from the 1940s or ‘50s, that ended with someone like Mickey Rooney or a pile of Marx Brothers in the zone after several defenders slipped on banana peels.
Someone at the last Laurens game said to me, “Ain’t nothing new about it. All PC is doing is running the old single wing.”
That’s a bit simplified -- wings are more than single at Hoseville -- but if they shifted a bit more, it would be more evocative of days of yore. Nowadays they split the wings, much like at Wild Wings Cafe or some other place I haven’t been since I stopped writing about NASCAR.
What in the name of Cecil Isbell to Don Hutson is going on here?
As for me, I am trying to hone my math skills. How many times have I decried the fact that I’ve seldom used the math I learned in high school, let alone the wretched finite math I had to take in college? I thought as long as I balanced my checkbook manually, I’d keep the only skills I needed. All of a sudden, analytics has brought theorems, algorithms and hypotheses to a game once dominated by “reckon we’ll find out if y’all’s tougher than us.”
I feel like an essay question in a course of multiple choice.