This is about neither Presbyterian College, Tommy Spangler nor Kevin Kelley.


I don’t know what this is about yet.


At this point, my fingers cry out to concoct some satirical observation, pithy if possible. But, as Hondo Crouch once wrote, I’m out of soap. What’s done is done, what is is, and whatever will be will be.

Everybody’s talkin’ at me. I don’t hear a word they’re sayin’. Only the echoes of my mind. – Harry Nilsson

Life is fleeting. Sports are, too.

It’s raining outside and it’s gotten cold. This morning, as I walked down the sidewalk to a glorious breakfast, I thought about how things are getting better. Attention devoted to this site is booming, which is to say it’s getting a heap more clicks. Another one is on the horizon, literally, I suppose, since Anderson County borders this one.

Sitting behind this laptop, looking up runs, hits and errors, the email address of the athletics director and where the stats are, and boiling down notes like they’re cabbage, is a satisfying part of the sportswriter’s life, but I don’t have enough accountant in me to find the fun.

I knew a stock car racer who didn’t know how to have fun until he got old, and then it was all he cared about. All work and no play made Jack (not his real name) a dull boy.

I love to be out and about. The most productive time a writer spends is impossible to justify for an expense account. I study people and probably would study horses if any of them raced in these parts. I love to chat with coaches on practice fields, hang out in press boxes and dugouts, see what the fans think and try to figure out what makes the kids tick.

That’s where the good stuff is.

Damn it. Things are getting too tangible.

The world is filling with those who think every thought, every breath, every intentional walk to load the bases and every club selection are based on logarithms, algorithms and biorhythms. Oddly, many of these people have no other rhythm.

Sometimes a man has a hunch. Sometimes a woman has an intuition. Sometimes those two even get along.

The smarts come from paint by numbers. The wisdom comes from broad strokes on canvas. A good coach studies the numbers. A great one has the mystical knack of going against them at the right time.

Laurens County Sports (or sports with a little “s”) is coming out of corona. High school baseball has been fun, and the playoffs are about to begin. A tennis team won the upstate title and plays for the whole ball of felt, rubber and pressurized gas on Saturday.

Sometimes I hear people say that the emphasis on winning takes the fun out of sports. Those people don’t know how much fun it is to win. Nothing is more fun than winning. Get enough kids together who want to be the best and it might just happen.

Sometimes I’m a writer. Most of the time I’m just a typist. The good stories write themselves Sometimes I’m a photographer. Most of the time I just take pictures.

A sportswriter often begins by wanting to live vicariously through his heroes. At some point, he (or she) doesn’t need heroes anymore. He just wants to pretend he never had to grow up.

The world, sports or otherwise, has very few saints and very few sinners. Most folks reside somewhere in between.