By MONTE DUTTON

Everybody does the same thing this time of year, and I’m not referring to regifting a pair of socks.

Everybody rates. The season’s best games. The year’s best stories. The best batches of chili. The worst slices of fruitcake.

I’m not going to put any major thought into this. I’m not going to rate things in any order. I’m going to remember things I remember, which sounds exactly like something a coach would tell me.

The damndest thing I saw all year was Presbyterian’s scholarship-free football team beating Wofford in Spartanburg. The second damndest thing was Wofford beating Furman in Spartanburg. In both cases, Carl Sagan couldn’t explain it. Rod Serling could. But they’re gone.

Spartanburg is the damndest place. I swanee it is.

The most fun was watching Furman win the Southern Conference basketball tournament in Asheville, N.C., ending countless frustrations over parts of five decades. Grown men cried. I remember more about bumping into old friends on the confetti-covered floor of Harrah’s Cherokee Center than the games. It could have been Hurrah’s Cherokee Center. The White & Purple were floating up high, hearing shouts of triumph echo to the sky. (It’s the fight song.)

I wasn’t in Orlando, Fla., where the Paladins shocked Virginia in the NCAAs, or in Chattanooga, Tenn., where Furman won the SoCon in football with a 17-14 victory on a day when most everything else went wrong. I could’ve used some company. I was a nervous wreck at home.

My favorite season was the spring. Clinton High won the Class 3A baseball state championship, and Laurens reached the Upstate finals in 4A. The Red Devils closed the season with 18 straight victories, eight of them in the playoffs.

Furman still didn’t play baseball.

When Presbyterian played Furman in men’s basketball Tuesday, I wished I could stay home and listen on the radio because the Blue Hose aren’t otherwise on the radio. Last year they were on radio that couldn’t be heard in Clinton, but I picked it up in Woodruff one night.

The most stirring performance was at Wilder Stadium, where Clinton defeated Chester, 14-6, in spite of giving up 334 yards of offense to the Cyclones. The Red Devils stopped Chester on fourth down five times. It was a game marred by entirely too many penalties, but it was heroic, pure and simple. The Red Devils could have defended the Alamo that night.

The most inspiring performance I didn’t see was in Greer, where Laurens shocked Riverside, 18-17. The Raiders were just 2-9, and head coach Daryl Smith lost his job, but for one night, Laurens was splendid.

The best games were ones Clinton lost, 22-21 to Chapman and 27-24 to Belton-Honea Path. In the former, the Red Devils went 99 yards in the final two minutes, only to fail on a two-point conversion. The latter was just an old-fashioned ripsnorter that the Bears happened to win, fair and square. No excuses. Get ‘em next time.

Come to think of it, Furman football lost its playoff game in Missoula, Mont., 35-28, in overtime. Montana is playing for the FCS championship next month. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Make the best games a trio, none of whose elements left me pleased.

My favorite pastime was watching Tyler Huff and Tommy Spangler, both discarded by PC, excel at Furman. I came to consider bumping into Coach Spangs, who coaches defensive backs and special teams, as something of a good-luck charm.

It was a delight, as a writer, to interact with the football and men’s basketball teams at Furman. They’re all smart. They’re all insightful. The stories write themselves. Clay Hendrix and Bob Richey aren’t much alike, but they don’t duck questions and invariably make their points honestly. They’re differently splendid at what they do.

The moment that will make me laugh was after the Wofford disaster. I was sick and had no business being there. I had been up until 3 a.m. trying to cover all the bases of Clinton High’s playoff loss in Honea Path. Wofford’s 19-13 shocker began at noon. I trudged up the path to the visiting locker room at Gibbs Stadium afterward, wondering how I was going to get back up the stadium steps across the way.

Wayne Anderson Jr., Paladin running back, patted me on the shoulder and said, “It’s not so bad.” Ever how bad it was for me, it was worse for Anderson.

It’s called gallows humor.

As noted previously, I’m going to miss Daryl Smith. The worse things got, the harder he worked. He never gave up. He never lost his sense of humor. I can’t defend the record, but I believe there’s a lot more that needs fixing at Laurens District High School than the ball coach. Culture. Chemistry. Togetherness. It’s not like it can’t happen. It’s happening on the baseball field with Tori Patterson.

I don’t know why. I’m not close enough to the situation. All is fleeting. It was different five years ago, and it may well be different five years from now.

Amid all the ineptitude of the “Division I Era,” which, unfortunately, Presbyterian College has deemed as all that matters, the Blue Hose are starting to rustle. The football program is better. The basketball teams are better. Rays of hope emanate from the dim bulbs that lighten Templeton Center only slightly. Who knew the gym lights would be a metaphor?

Not all of PC’s struggles are from paranoid incompetence. Not all are simply bad luck, either. The college is wildly fortunate to have Steve Englehart as head football coach. When he arrived, the football team might as well have been Pearl Harbor after the attack. Kevin Kelley unintentionally led that attack. The Blue Hose were 1-10 in Englehart’s first year. This year they won two Pioneer Football League games, which doesn’t sound like much until one recalls they lost 19 straight before they won one.

They beat Wofford. I could hear the late, great Cally Gault’s rich, warm voice say what I heard him say countless times: “You beat Wofford. You beat Newberry. It’s a good year.”

I won’t go into Newberry again. That annual rivalry with Davidson has made me forget it.

Not.

Damn PC. I’ve watched them play ball all my life. I can’t help but hope they win. Damn me. To tinker with the words of the late Harry Caray, I’m a Furman man and a PC fan. Caray was a Bud man and a Cubs fan. Take me out to the ballgame.

I can’t cite all these men and great deeds without leaving some out.

Most of my observations come out of Laurens County and Furman University, so it’s not like I have a broad perspective, but Corey Fountain is the best current high-school coach I know. He’s honest. He’s genuine. He’s inspiring. He can laugh at himself. He loves what he’s doing and knows it, too. He appreciates the support from crowds that flock to Wilder Stadium like it’s 1999.

Every year brings the ridiculous attempts of a fat, old sportswriter to figure out what makes young athletes tick. I’m satisfied they aren’t perfect because I have vague memories of myself at their age. They’re mostly better than they would be if they didn’t play the game. Whatever game.

Technology drags me kicking and screaming. The kids seamlessly adapt.

I’ll miss the mischievous humor of Matt Sochovka, the piercing honesty of Huff, the functional madness of Jack Barton, the thoughtfulness of Mike Bothwell, the passion of Jalen Slawson and the good cheer of Dominic Roberto. They’re all moving on from my alma mater, among many others who deserve mention, but it’s not the main goal of the column.

Every year brings with it new heroes. Every year brings heroes who move on. Zay Johnson’s dignity and good judgment go with him from Clinton to the University of Cincinnati. Kadon Crawford gave it his all, and when the Red Devils needed a big play, he was as reliable as sunrise and sunset.

That baseball team. The Red Devils breezed to the state championship because, if an opposing pitcher overwhelmed them, they nickeled and dimed him to death. They never gave up. They just chipped away, as when they spotted Wren six runs in the playoffs and won, 7-6.

Wilson Wages got as much joy out of center field and running the bases as Willie Mays. Up in Laurens, Jackson Martin rifled line drives into gaps like unto a scholastic Freddy Lynn, or, for that matter, Freddie Freeman. No athlete in the county works harder than Laurens Academy’s Olivia Huck.

I’m entirely too old and time-worn to get as many chills up my spine as I do. The throngs at Wilder Stadium take me back to my youth, along with Whiteford’s Drive-In slaw dogs and Steamers cheeseburgers all the way. I value what hasn’t changed because it isn’t much.

Old folks don’t give the young folks enough credit. Then again, what I mainly see is the best of them.

Merry Christmas. I’m thankful for your support, whether by advertising, contributing or reading.

Thanks so much for the recent contributions. My goal is to provide unique coverage of local sports. I’m aware that folks appreciate what I do, particularly the kids, coaches, parents and fans.

I used to list an address to send a check (DHK Sports, P.O. Box 768, Clinton, S.C. 29325). I finally got it through my thick head that not that many people write checks nowadays. For example, me. A more convenient means might be sending a reasonable contribution to DHK Sports on Venmo.

Support the advertisers, and help keep the site – the game stories, the blogs, the photos – alive by making, if you choose, a monthly donation via Patreon. The Laurens County site is here. The Furman site is here.

Another way I can make a little is if you purchase my books at MonteDutton.net. They’re quite entertaining in spite of the fellow who wrote them. Two of my novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audio versions. The latest, The Latter Days, is about baseball.

Photo galleries are posted on Instagram @furmanatt and @laurenscountysports.