By MONTE DUTTON

It’s Oct. 7, and I don’t know where my sports are.

Even on the Fourth of July, I don’t think I knew less about what was happening and where.

The games are almost listed as “day to day,” which as Vin Scully used to say, is just like everything else.

I raced to the Monday-morning media gatherings of Steve Englehart and Clay Hendrix. At Furman I arrived fashionably late, but the biggest success was a stopover at a regional office of my cell/wi-fi provider, which is why I’m typing away right now with some assurance of dissemination.

The wi-fi is fast. That’ll change.

This morning was compelling because Presbyterian College lost a miracle and Furman won one.

Can you imagine not only losing a game in which you were poised to win it at the three-yard line, then losing instantly on an 87-yard fumble return, in overtime, but then having to fly home through the night afterward? The term “ghost ship” comes to mind.

Englehart has his head back up. All he and his team have to do this week is figure out a way to Morehead, Ky. Between here and there is Helene’s destruction. I’m guessing the Blue Hose are going to head to Virginia and turn left. Helene itself turned left before it got there.

Both deserve credit for playing at all without public assistance.

For the past 11 days, I haven’t known much about what was going on at night. I knew more about what was going on at The Lumberyard. I went to the Clinton watering hole because I discovered that two beers helped me sleep, since the CPAP wasn’t powered. I watched TV on my laptop sometime during the day, most notably when the miracles in San Diego and Charleston were going on.

Just now, I’m feeling somewhat rested. In fact, I’m somewhat restless for ballgames to watch in person.

I care more about Furman and Presbyterian than Clemson and South Carolina, but I’m interested in them all. I’m particularly bullish (roarish?) about the Tigers because I think Dabo Swinney tries to do it the right way. I think Shane Beamer does it as right as he can. He has to play transfer poker more than Clemson.

It seems as if Beamer’s entire career at Carolina has alternated in the fan base between sanguine and fickle.

In a month dominated by bad luck, the Gamecocks got a heaping helping. After just getting thumped by Ole Miss, which had just been upset by Kentucky, now Carolina visits Alabama, which just got shocked (shocked, I tell you!) by Vanderbilt.

Let’s just say the Tide is going to be incentivized in Tuscaloosa. I don’t like Carolina’s chances. I hope I’m wrong.

I don’t know much about anything else. Lots of games are at night. Most of what I’ve picked up came from Dan Patrick and Colin Cowherd on the way to and from Greenville.

Florida is about to be socked by another hurricane. I hate it for them. Really, I do. They’re better equipped. I’m fresh out of hardship right now and thankful I can watch Milton from afar.

A race at Talladega is a parking lot going 200 miles an hour. Ricky Stenhouse Jr. can win a race at a place like that. Like him or not, Stenhouse has the guts of a fighter ace.

Vanderbilt quarterback Diego Pavia is what used to be known as “a riverboat gambler.” Like the original, he’s stopped at a lot of places. He caught my notice against Virginia Tech. I watched the last five minutes of the Alabama game at Zaxby’s, where I had been watching the Paladins and Blue Hose and writing about them.

A half dozen electrical workers were at the counter. I said to them, “In case you didn’t know, Vandy just beat Alabama.” Five of them pointed their fingers at the sixth and said, almost in unison, “He’s a big Alabama fan.” Poor guy. His face turned white, and he looked as if he’d lost his appetite.

Irwin Shaw wrote a novel titled Two Weeks in Another Town, but it wasn’t about emergency workers.

Current topic no one wants to recognize: One reason rushing is growing in NFL popularity again is that field-goal kickers have gotten so automatic. The security of three points rewards conservatism, which is fine by me. I grew up running the wishbone.

I love baseball. Yet I’ve never watched MLB less in my life. I don’t know why. Part of it is that the Boston Red Sox were just good enough to be dangerous. Part is that the Atlanta Braves had more casualties than a small militia. Part is the continuing sadness of Furman not playing the game. It doesn’t seem right to hold it against the game instead of my alma mater.

Most of it is I don’t know why.

Wellpilgrim.com is back in my dingy living room, where there is both electricity and wi-fi again. For now, I have closed my offices at Zaxby’s and Bojangles’, and I wish to acknowledge restaurants and, for one day, the public library, for keeping me minimally in business.

I hate to ask for help because there are so many more needy than I, but …

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

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 NASCAR novels, Lightning in a Bottle and Life Gets Complicated, both concerning the irreverent adventurers of Barrie Jarman. Download them for your devices, or order in paperback. Lightning in a Bottle is available in an audio version.

Photo galleries are posted on Instagram @furmanatt and @laurenscountysports. Lately, there haven’t been many to take.

Thanks for putting up with me.