When I get up in the morning, brew some coffee while I’m taking some meds, turn on the TV and see what awful happened last night, my set (remember when a TV was a set?) recommends what I want to see.

Then I commence translating sports into English, and for quite a while, I peck away with the thump, thump of college basketballs accompanying the rhythm of my fingers.

See, when it turns to afternoon, my TV starts recommending ballgames.

I reckon I’m all right with that.

Soon basketball starts winding down. In Laurens County, the spring sports are already lively, baseball and softball, in particular.

The day before yesterday, this site experienced its highest number of visits since football season. It fascinates me how big baseball is in Districts 55 and 56, solely from the vantage of site analytics.

Having written about a sport that almost spans a trip of the earth around the sun, I prefer that sports stay in place.

There goes football again, playing it in the spring. The two previous ragtag leagues have united and thus became the United Football League to scar the landscape shortly.

I adore football. Not all the time, though. I like seasons. I probably will watch no more of the USFL than the occasional random channel switch if the only old movie is silent.

The biggest problem I’ve got right now is the absence of baseball on the campus of my alma mater. I take that back. A baseball stadium remains that I avoid passing.

Why did I go and bring that up? I’m getting mildly emotional. It’s my one shame of where I went.

Undoubtedly, I have watched at last 500 percent more girls’/women’s basketball this year and end of last. It’s always had an appeal. For instance, females do not need cheerleaders. They are multitaskers. Many routines are even coordinated.

Females seldom commit the particular kinds of stupid acts that males do. If a male gets his shot blocked, he may track the offender of his ego with target locked in until he either fouls him or knocks him down. Often it’s not hilarity that ensues.

Owing to my onetime assignments, watching females and then males play is switching from NASCAR  to IndyCar. I can see it through a camera and its shutter speeds.

Much of the above is wildly stereo, not just touch, typed. Sports are a different kind of grammar; exceptions exist. Take the women’s basketball team inhabiting the University of South Carolina.

It fascinates me. I am in awe.

No matter how many baseball games I watch, it defies belief the number of times a lifelong fan sees what he hasn’t before.

When rivalry and the heat of preference are not in play, baseball is the only sport that is relaxing to attend. (I’ve only covered one big-time golf tournament; most of mine have been captain’s choice.) On the distant, previous beat, I often attended ballgames on the side. Typically, I’d go by myself and become friends for nine innings with someone I’d never see again.

It was a favorite, recurring experience.

In addition to major-league games within range of races, I enjoyed visits with the Birmingham Barons, Frederick Keys, Frisco RoughRiders, High Desert Mavericks, Indianapolis Indians, Lake Elsinore Storm, Lansing Lugnuts, Memphis Redbirds, Mississippi Braves, Montgomery Biscuits, Toledo Mudhens, Rancho Cucamonga Quakes, Reading Phillies, San Bernardino Giants, Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Red Barons, Trenton Thunder, Toledo Mudhens and … I give up.

As race-car drivers used to be fond of saying, “Some odd number.”

What have I learned in all these years with various forms of gypsies?

Sometimes good calls fail. Sometimes bad calls work.

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

Journalism is not telling the truth. It’s getting as close as possible to truth based on what people say the truth is. In order really to tell the truth, one must write fiction.

It is true that many young people read. It is also true that grown-ups are on the wane.

The world gets dumber and dumber.

Will work for food, but contributions would be better.

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