By MONTE DUTTON

I sure missed being at Timmons Arena on Sunday.

Undoubtedly some friends figured I stayed home so I could watch the Daytona 500 since I spent 20 of the seasons in my life at the Daytona 500, but that’s not true. If I’d gone to Greenville, I would’ve taped the 500 and probably not watched it till this morning.

Besides, I haven’t been there since 2012, and I don’t know what the hell’s going on anymore. It’s a passing interest. Like a slingshot.

One friend texted me during the game. It took me a while to get back to him, but I wanted to assure him I was still breathing.

None of it mattered. The race was rained out, and it’s on in a couple hours.

I’m constantly disgruntled at myself because I’m in a self-imposed exile. In the fall, I got sick and made things quite a bit worse by continuing to walk sidelines and take pictures at high-school football games when I’ve gotten too old for such gallantry. After a high-school game in Honea Path on Friday night, after four hours’ sleep and a busy morning, long after the end of the Furman game in Spartanburg the next day, I wandered aimlessly around the Gibbs Stadium parking lot searching in vain for my truck. It was more than the shock of the upset.

I happened upon a handful of Wofford fans. They probably thought I was a ghost.

That was a fun story to write.

I try to do the games justice when I’m not there. I watch on TV. I monitor the stats. I tape the interviews. I feel as if I know Dan Scott and Tom Van Hoy better than farflung members of the family.

It cannot be done as well without being there.

First of all, I know my way around. My best friends are the parking attendant and Tony, who works security outside the locker room. Tony and I often talk racing. Tony knew who I was before I started writing about the Paladins again.

Going early and hanging out is what this sportswriter calls fun.

Had I been there, I would’ve known what J.P. Pegues said to get a technical foul because he would have been running right by where I sit. I doubt I would have printed it, but let’s just say it would have lent some context.

I would have carefully observed Chattanooga head coach Dan Earl because that’s what I do at every game. Opposition coaches fascinate me. What I got from watching Earl on TV can be described in five words, give or take a contraction: Sometimes it ain’t your day.

Another reason I wish I was there is that Furman played so well. It may have been the harbinger of greater glories. It may have been a cosmic moment when all the planets magically aligned.

I prefer to suspect the former.

I’m almost fine. The sores are healing. The headache is mild. To tell the truth, I’m more concerned about the drive up and back than the time at the arena.

On Saturday, I went out to cover – I hate that word, but it’s hard not to use it when one is taking notes and photos – a high-school playoff game and then drove to Presbyterian College to shoot some photos of the baseball game. PC swept four games from the Saint Peter’s Peacocks by a combined score of 58-12. Pretty easy assignment: take a few photos of the pitcher mowing the Peacocks down, then capture six or seven Blue Hose runs through the lens, and you’re good to go.

I was fatigued when I got back home, and I didn’t want to take a coffee pot to Furman, so Saturday night I decided I wasn’t going to the Chattanooga game. I exulted as best I could in the privacy of home, where I was free to pick up my guitar and play the theme of “Have Gun Will Travel.”

Two more home games, then Asheville, which is what, like the Maltese Falcon, is “what dreams are made of.”

For going on three weeks, I’ve been suffering from shingles, which has curtailed my live coverage. I was suffering. Now I’m just aggravated. I did have splitting headaches. Now they’re fairly mild. The rash is mainly a remnant.

At least one story has been posted for 37 days, a record for the site.

I still don’t feel so hot. Shingles has also knocked me off my financial rocker. I’m strapped for cash but still writing as hard and resourcefully as I can.

I apologize for boring you with more health updates than the Secretary of Defense, but I feel guilty at not getting out more.

A couple contributions arrived over the weekend. I can’t express my gratitude enough.

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