By MONTE DUTTON

Rules of the sportswritin’ road:

If a coach tells you he doesn’t know what his team’s record is, it ain’t good.

The truth is seldom more evident than when being vehemently denied.

If a ball is placed between two yard-lines, the scoreboard operator will estimate the farther line for the home team and the closer for the visitor. If the Lads are on offense, it is third down and six yards to go. If the Foes have the ball, it’s third and seven.

When a racing announcer refers to “car lengths,” they are railroad cars. “Four wide” is quite often “two,” particularly on radio.

There is no such thing as a bad recruit, but many become bad players.

As the late, great Jim Beauchamp said, “Jesus don’t want you getting your ass kicked, son.”

A bad coach says this year he (or she) hasn’t got much. A good coach makes sure he (or she) has. A bad coach blames luck promiscuously. He will say his 3-8 record could’ve been 8-3 had a few balls bounced differently. Good coaches don’t make excuses, even when they have them.

Experience provides the writer lots of knowledge, but not as much about a team as the coach who watches it every day.

One can tell a lot about character by the way a kid plays pickup basketball games.

Spoken sentences are often not sentences at all. Increasingly, athletes and coaches are losing the subjects. I first noticed the spread about 20 years ago with NASCAR great Jimmie Johnson: Not a bad day. Ran decent early. Managed to avoid a few wrecks. Had it just right at the end.

When someone asks, “Can I ask you one question?” the correct answer is “obviously.”

Sometimes someone – I’m looking at you, Tony Stewart – answers a question with a question: “To be honest?” No, when I asked it, I wanted you to lie.

On the other side, even when I was eight years old, I laughed every time I heard Howard Cosell say, “Tell us, champ, in your own words …” so as not to be confused with someone else’s words.

Some people refer to themselves in the third person. Joe Dropkick has to do what’s best for Joe Dropkick. I always want to reply by saying, I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing. I thought you were Joe Dropkick, then turn around and walk away.

Most of the people who make a point of telling everyone they see, Let me know if there’s anything I can ever do for you, are operating on the assumption that no one ever will. The ones who really will do anything for you don’t brag about it.

Most of what people refer to as ironic is really coincidental.

Ernie Irvan was a master of fractured cliches. When the going gets tough, the tough get happening. Asked about being a lame duck behind the wheel: I don’t know. I never played baseball. Kurt Busch liked to use big words whose meanings he didn’t know. Turning the track was circumferencing it. Sometimes a chassis had to be geometried out. Two of the greatest figures I ever knew in sports had the same habit. They combined “flustered” and “frustrated” into flustrated.

Dale Earnhardt got angry if anyone referred to him as “Senior,” because he said there was no such thing, but frequently referred to one of his closer associates as Tony Eury Sr., not to be confused with Tony Eury Jr., who is Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s first cousin.

Athletes and coaches aren’t the only authors of such gems. They’re just the ones I see the most.

Undoubtedly, a close look at my words will also uncover bad habits and quirks. You can uncover this treasure trove by reading the books I’ve authored and buying them through MonteDutton.net.