By MONTE DUTTON

One of NASCAR’s more familiar truisms is that the best way to make a small fortune in racing is to start out with a large one.

That’s the modern path of journalism. In my case, it’s small fortune to none. Frank Sinatra did it better his way.

For decades friends have branded me a pessimist. I have always responded by saying I’m no worse than a realist. Empty optimism is worse. It burns me every time.

What I’ve always tried to do, every day, is write what I see. Once upon a time, it was enough. I could write a book about it, but I lack the intellectual capacity to make it coherent. Books barely exist as books anymore.

A great songwriter, Robbie Fulks, of whom you’ve likely never heard, wrote a song called “Rock Bottom, Population One.” Coincidentally, I live alone in the midst of a multitude. There is no market for me. I am a victim of planned obsolescence.

Shingles gave me Sunday revelations and a needed injection of reality. My crossroads occur during sleepless nights.

As Randy Travis sang, I hear tell the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Mama, my intentions were the best. Merle Haggard and Marvin Coe helped write it.

Deciding I could make a living restoring folks’ coverage of local sports occurred at one of these sleepless crossroads. Perhaps I should have taken a pill.

Each night I pray for the folks who have been my ardent supporters. It’s a manageable number, but there’s a former Congressman, an esteemed professor and innumerable successful people one seldom enounters at the Dollar Tree. The rest of the time consists of the arduous task of enumerating my daily sins and asking forgiveness.

When I was a kid, the Clinton Chronicle was a weekly paper that came out twice during football season. Those of us who were Red Devils, even the less fiery such as I, walked the streets and lingered on the stadium floor like kings, not Devils. The little people at Thornwell were no Saints, either. Years later, I worked at The Greenville News with a fellow who interviewed me after a game. He was just getting started and didn’t know how wrong that choice was.

I wanted to give the kids of today what my generation got from the written word. I didn’t realize how much the written word had declined.

Like Terry Malloy in On the Waterfront, I used to be a contenduh. Some mistakes weren’t my fault, but all were my responsibility. There’s no need to go into detail. Maybe it’ll turn up in a work of fiction, another of my wildly unsuccessful pastimes.

I have as much gratitude as I can imagine for the advertisers and contributors to the site. The advertisers are mostly in Clinton. The readers and contributors are mostly within the stately gates of Furman University.

The ads all run out on June 30, and I will slog on until then, at least. Maybe things will get better. I love writing about kids playing ball, more, I reckon, than traveling around the country chasing race cars. I sure did have more money then. On the other hand, if I gave up all the miles and other overhead, I’d probably come closer to making ends meet than now.

Poverty would be more manageable but not as much fun.

Thanks so much for the contributions. I’m aware that some folks appreciate what I do, particularly the kids, coaches, parents and fans.

Blue, Green, Purple & Red cannot solely be funded by advertising. There’s not enough room.

In the off chance anyone would like to contribute, a convenient means is sending a contribution to DHK Sports on Venmo. If you choose, make a monthly donation via Patreon. The Laurens County site is here. The Furman site is here.

Support the advertisers. They are all fine people.

In the off chance anyone would like to read my novels, they’re all available on Amazon and many prominent bookseller sites.

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