The Roars of the Various and Sundry Crowds

Sunset at Wilder Stadium (Monte Dutton photos)

Clinton, South Carolina, Sunday, September 24, 2017, 12:30 p.m.

By Monte Dutton

Everyone is winning. Victory radiates out from my psyche. I can’t do this on demand. If I could, I’d be a human crummy movie.

Clinton overwhelmed Chesnee, 35-6. Furman clobbered Colgate, 45-14. Presbyterian withstood Cumberland, 27-20. The Red Sox blanked the Reds, 5-0. These are the teams about which I care. I’ve had a lovely time.

(Getty Images for NASCAR)

Monday, September 25, 2017, 10:58 a.m.

The two paragraphs above mark the sum of my work on Sunday. I was too busy switching between the Carolina Panthers’ home defeat – I wish I had the guts to bet because I damned sure saw that coming – and yet another stirring Boston Red Sox comeback, and a NASCAR race dominated once again by the usual suspects.

NASCAR reminds me of the 1970s, when it seemed to be between Richard Petty, David Pearson, Bobby Allison, and Cale Yarborough every week. Sometimes a Donnie Allison, or a Buddy Baker, slipped up to nab a victory, but fans of the Big Four could file into the stands knowing their favorites would contend. Today features many more teams in top-flight equipment, but Martin Truex Jr., Kyle Busch and Kyle Larson are there every week, regardless of length of track or degree of banking.

(Getty Images for NASCAR)

Rules today make unexpected finishes more likely. Lots of drivers win races. Truex has won five so far. It seems as if he could have won every one of them.

Busch won in New Hampshire. Some people – and I’m one of them – say that if you follow closely enough, no races are bad.

This one came close.


Friday night found me at Wilder Stadium, site of teen-aged adventures many years ago, for a game between Chesnee and Clinton that figured to be closer than it was. For instance, one Upstate newspaper picked the Red Devils to win, 28-27.

Here’s my story about it.

On Saturday morning, I rose brightly, still a bit flushed by the Clinton triumph, and prepared for a leisurely trip to Presbyterian College by playing my guitar, catching up on the previous night’s high school scores, and watching intently the noon game between North Carolina State and Florida State, with occasional detours to Texas A&M-Arkansas and UCLA-Stanford.

I drove in due course over to Bailey Memorial Stadium — after stopping for gas because my light was blinking and the ATM because my wallet was empty — where the Blue Hose made a bid for a win streak. In 2015 and ’16, singles were rare, let alone two wins straight, consecutively, and in a row.

Sometimes I watch Blue Hose games from the press box but only when I belong there. Writing this blog doesn’t qualify, but, then again, this blog more often deals with matters occurring away from the official formality of media ambiance.

On Saturday afternoon, I tailgated, which is to suggest that I visited my high school coach and family, chatted with the athletic directors present and emeritus, played my guitar, gave away a few of my novels to people who have given of their food, beverage and preparation to me, and enjoyed a conquest of Cumberland University that was a bit more of a struggle than I had hoped. On the other hand, it was an entertaining game. It was probably the highlight of the weekend, if only because I didn’t have to stay up late afterwards cropping photos and writing a game story. Eventually I nodded off to sleep late that night with visions of Hawaii and Wyoming dancing in my semiconscious.

Life Gets Complicated, Lightning in a Bottle and Cowboys Come Home are available at Emma Jane’s and L&L Office Supply in uptown Clinton.


Hawaii at Wyoming. The Rainbow Warriors in Laramie. What more perfectly captures the diversity of our country? Hawaii and Wyoming are in the same conference. So are West Virginia and Texas Tech. Let freedom ring. So what if the bell is cracked?

Sunday night I divided between a long, sad tale of our boys in Vietnam and the Oakland Raiders in Washington. Our Nation’s Capital was faring poorly and magnificently at the same time, divided by time and channel.

So there’s hope.


The Barrie Jarman Adventures (Gabe Whisnant photo)


(Steven Novak design)

If you’d like me to mail you a signed copy of Life Gets Complicated, or any of my other novels, you can find my address and instructions at ( Or, just drop me a line and you can pay through PayPal.

(Jennifer Skutelsky cover design)
(Jennifer Skutelsky cover design)

I’ve written seven novels and a collection of short stories. I’ve also written a number of books about sports, mostly about NASCAR. You can find most of them here.

The Kindle versions of my books, where available, can be found above. Links below are to print editions.

Lightning in a Bottle is the story of Barrie Jarman, the hope of stock car racing’s future. Barrie, a 18-year-old from Spartanburg, South Carolina, is both typical of his generation and a throwback to the sport’s glory days.

Life Gets Complicated follows Barrie Jarman as he moves up to FASCAR’s premier series. He and Angela Hughston face discrimination for their interracial love affair, and Barrie has to surmount unexpected obstacles that test his resolve.

(Jennifer Skutelsky cover design)

Cowboys Come Home is a modern western. Two World War II heroes come home from the Pacific to Texas.

I’ve written a crime novel about the corrosive effects of patronage and the rise and fall of a powerful politician and his dysfunctional family, Forgive Us Our Trespasses.

I’ve written about what happens to a football coach when he loses everything, Crazy of Natural Causes. It’s a fable of life’s absurdity.

(Melanie Ryon cover design)
(Melanie Ryon cover design)

I’ve written a tale of the Sixties in the South, centered on school integration and a high school football team, The Intangibles.

(Joe Font cover design)
(Joe Font cover design)

I’ve written a rollicking yarn about the feds trying to track down and manipulate a national hero who just happens to be a pot-smoking songwriter, The Audacity of Dope.

I’ve written a collection of 11 short stories, all derived from songs I wrote, Longer Songs.

Signed copies of Lightning in a Bottle are on sale at Emma Jane’s (see ad above). Signed copies of all my fiction are also on sale at L&L Office Supply in uptown Clinton, South Carolina.

(Cover photo by Crystal Lynn)
(Cover photo by Crystal Lynn)

Follow me on Twitter @montedutton, @hmdutton (about writing), and/or @wastedpilgrim (more opinionated and irreverent). I’m on Facebook (Monte.Dutton), Instagram (TUG50), and Google-Plus (MonteDuttonWriter).

Write me at or “message” me through social media.



The Latest Weekend that Was

(Monte Dutton photos)

Clinton, South Carolina, Sunday, September 17, 2017, 10:55 a.m.

Every weekend has its ups and downs. This one isn’t over. NASCAR begins its playoffs today. Formula One’s Singapore Night Race was on when I got up this morning. The National “Buh-buh-buh-BUH!” Football League is on all day and night. The Red Sox are in St. Petersburg with a three-game AL East lead over the Yankees.

By Monte Dutton

I was reeling until I went over to Presbyterian College on Saturday.

The night before had been spent in Abbeville, which isn’t far but is too far to watch Clinton get clobbered, 49-12. The worst part was having to drive back home, process and crop some photos, and write about it.

On the field, a lady said, “You write a good story now.”

I said, “Ma’am, the last thing I need to do is write a good story about this game. If I write a good story, half the folks in town will be mad at me.”

I tried, anyway.

It would be worthwhile to study the superlative football program at Abbeville High School. It’s a small town, located in a remote location, with decrepit facilities and a stack of state championships most recently topped off last year. I’ve seen the Panthers play three times in the past year, and the level of fundamental soundness on display belies all the limitations on practice time that have been implemented since I played. Players today are bigger, faster, and, by and large, have no idea how to make a tackle. Since I started writing about high school football games again four years ago – after a 20-year absence watching stock cars go around and around – Abbeville is the only football program that reminds of the teams that prepared for seasons by practicing twice a day in the heat of August and for three hours after school during the season.

Abbeville doesn’t do that. Still, the Panthers know how to run, block, tackle and even pass when opportunity presents itself. They’re a modern marvel.

Complete Supply of Ink and Toner Cartridges


I don’t think the press box at Hite Stadium would’ve had room for me had it been a junior varsity game. It’s tiny. Getting there requires walking up a flight of stairs, each of which is about eight inches wide, that is a mild improvement over a ladder. I wouldn’t have gone up there had it not been for a program so that I could tell who was who. Abbeville assistant coaches watched from what looked like a phone-company bucket hoisted behind the box. Clinton coaches and broadcasters operated from the press-box roof.

I followed the game from the stands, surrounded by nice Abbeville fans, at about the 20-yard line because I selected a location where there was room to spread out a camera or binoculars on one side, the program on the other, and stat sheets on my clipboard. I enjoyed the experience except for overhearing fans behind me remarking that they “had never seen a Clinton team play like this.”

It was only one game, but the Panthers’ offense riddled the Red Devils, who rushed for 177 yards and consumed lots of time, or else there’s no telling how many points Abbeville would have scored. It pains me to report this. The operative phrase from the Clinton side after game was undeniable: “We’ve got to get better.”

Maybe they will. Maybe the shock of this setback will contribute to a turnaround. Character is shaped by how one responds to adversity.

The highlight – no, the light – of the trip was stopping by one of South Carolina’s great restaurants, Yoder’s Dutch Kitchen, for supper. I first ate there on April 8, 1976, which I remember because a family friend named Lewis Smith took me there for my 18th birthday.

High school football games take a terrible toll on my gradually worsening, arthritic right knee. It’s much worse a day later. On Saturday, I tuned in Furman’s visit to North Carolina State, which was eerily similar to Clinton’s visit to Abbeville. The Panthers and Wolfpack both scored 49, and the Paladins scored 13, one more than the Red Devils.

(Monte Dutton photos)

I wasn’t on assignment at Bailey Memorial Stadium last night, and, fortunately, I was thusly able to treat my knee pain with medicinal alcohol. The fact that Brent Sanders and I were Furman contemporaries, combined with the fact that Brent’s and Sharon’s son, Hayden, now plays for the Presbyterian Blue Hose, means that I gather with them and parents of other players before and after home games.

Last night the Blue Hose prevailed, 28-16, over the Campbell Camels, and a fine time was had by all. I prefer to believe that the worm turned on the weekend. When I use a term such as “the worm has turned,” it makes me inquisitive about the origin.

“Even a worm will turn” is an expression used to convey the message that even the meekest or most docile of creatures will retaliate or seek revenge if pushed too far. The phrase was first recorded in a 1546 collection of proverbs by John Heywood, in the form “Treade a worme on the tayle, and it must turn agayne.”

That sums up the weekend, all right.