By MONTE DUTTON

Have you ever seen a presentation of That Championship Season? It was a play and movie about old teammates getting together. That tale takes a dark turn.

Nothing dark happened at Clinton High School on Saturday night. It was all bright. Bright red.

The Red Devils won the Class 3A state tennis championship in 1971, ’72, ’73 and ’74. The coaches were well known, not so much for tennis. Keith Richardson won the first three and Andy Bee Young the fourth.

Both won state championships in football, too, but for once, this night was about the serves and volleys of yore.

I felt right at home, even though about 90 percent of my career matches were against my younger brother, and I didn’t fare well. Five of those being honored were friends, some back in the day and some who have gone straight through.

Also honored were members of Clinton’s 2000 titlists. I bump into one of them about twice a week, and another is a Furman man.

Buddy Bridges was there, voicing another brand of Red Devils and evoking both the late Rev. Billy Graham and the late country comedian Jerry Clower. That’s a tough combination to beat.

Awwwww! (I don’t expect younger readers to get it, but, then, there’s Wikipedia.)

Dr. Steve Gaines and I were football teammates. Henry Blalock and I made many trips to Clemson, one to Atlanta to watch another Henry, Aaron, hit his 715^th home run, and one to New Orleans to watch Nebraska beat Florida in the Sugar Bowl. Other adventures were closer to home.

Mitch Godwin was a friend of mine in high school and of my younger brother at Erskine College. Peter Undari moved to Clinton just in time for elementary school, and we’ve been friends ever since. Chuck Waldron has coached more Clinton kids privately than Richardson, Young and Clovis Simmons combined.

The brothers of the courts grew up around Presbyterian College, an NAIA power, where Jim Shakespeare was the longtime coach. They occasionally played and were tutored by the Blue Hose stars of the time: the Amaya brothers, the Kofol brothers and many who were not brothers.

Over a half century, only Richardson, Young and Simmons have coached Clinton tennis, which has been superb for all these years. The brothers were also kings in the 1970s, when Clinton High School was the state’s best in football, tennis and … drama.

Now that’s entertainment. And diversity.

Richardson coached tennis but didn’t play it. More than one of his netters said a major edge was that they were in better shape than their opponents. Before Richardson took the reins, tennis practice consisted of playing tennis.

No one who played football for Richardson doubts this was the case.

Richardson recalled a night at Westside when he slammed a clipboard that happened to break over Gaines’ head. Steve was wearing a helmet, of course. No one on a football field was allowed to take one off. Steve’s father was the head of PC’s music department. Richardson was worried about Dr. Charles Gaines’ reaction to his act of sudden anger. Dr. Gaines said he’d have done the same thing.

It was the ‘70s. Pain didn’t hurt.

We told 50-year-old tales over chicken fingers, pimento-cheese triangles, fresh fruit, cheesecake and iced tea. Bridges said he hoped there weren’t any Baptists present, which momentarily made me think there might be beer. But, no, of course. It was just a thought.

Then everyone walked over to the nearby auditorium. The old high school, now the middle school, once had an auditorium, but it was divided into partitioned classrooms by the time we got there.

The conquering netters had been honored at halftime of the football game the night before. Being occupied with a rock-‘em-sock-‘em game, my time to mingle had been limited. They invited me to their gathering on account of I could write this.

It’s not uncommon for senior citizens to idealize the memories of youth. These fellows had no need to exaggerate.

When Henry and I took our Sugar Bowl adventure – we had no idea who would play when we bought tickets – we found motel rooms in Gulfport, Miss., where we accidentally acted out a clip at the beginning of The Monkees on TV. Henry, Will Ferguson, Roy Walker and I dashed into the December waters of the Gulf of Mexico, only to discover the surf was full of oil from the rigs that could be seen offshore. We sprinted in, noticed our trunks were suddenly polka-dotted, performed an about-face, and dashed back out.

Here we come / Walking down the street / We get the funniest looks from / Everyone we meet! / Hey, hey, we’re the Monkees …

It was the ‘70s. We visited Bourbon Street all by our lonesome, four kids who arrived from Clinton in a packed Chevy Nova. We didn’t need no stinkin’ chaperones.

Much obliged for your contributions.

As Merle Haggard sang, “If we can make it through December, everything’s gonna be all right, I know.”

Advertising alone will not keep me going, but there’s room for a few more. Every ad is inset in every story.

You can support my site in several ways.

Support the advertisers. They are all fine people who support my efforts, not to mention those of the kids, coaches, parents and fans.

Please donate whatever you consider appropriate via Venmo at DHK Sports. You may also reach me by mail at 11185 Highway 56 North, Clinton  29325.

If you choose, make a monthly donation via Patreon. The Laurens County site is here. The Furman site is here.

In the off chance you’d like to read my novels and other books, they’re available on Amazon and many prominent bookseller sites. You can read them on your phones and other devices for a modest cost. I make a bit more if you purchase the actual books, but what I mainly want is for folks to read them.

Read my satirical political novel, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Download it for $2.99.

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

Thanks for putting up with me.