By MONTE DUTTON

It’s Sunday, and I’ve wrapped up the photos and story on Clinton High School’s latest baseball triumph and am presently surfing back and forth between the NASCAR all-star race and the PGA golf tournament.

I’m going to subsist on what is left in the cupboard, which consists of Pop Tarts, peanut butter and crackers. This is okay because I ate at Shealy’s Bar-B-Que, which has been considered must-eat for any visit to that dusty burg – Batesburg or Leesville or Batesburg-Leesville, depending on what road sign one believes – since I was riding the back roads with my daddy back in the 1960s.

Hyphenating the name of one town is akin to naming another Townville, which, translated, means Towntown.

As for Shealy’s, maybe my expectations were a bit high. It was great, but it’s become fashionable to put fried, not barbecued, chicken on buffets. The chicken was fine, but I know a lot of places hereabouts that serve great fried chicken.

I can survive today on snacks because, based on what I ate at Shealy’s, I could go into hibernation for a week. I can even stand black coffee because I’ve also run out of Sweet-n-Low.

In the past week I’ve had a little old and a little new. I hadn’t been to Shealy’s in at least 20 years. In my best Jeff Foxworthy accent, that time was for a wedding. You can’t beat a bride wiping mustard sauce from her gown.

Five days earlier, I visited my first Buc-ees. It was at the Sevierville, Tenn., exit. My basic suspicion is that Wal-Mart ran all the locally owned stores out of business, and now Buc-ee’s is going to run Wal-Mart out of business. Such is the world.

The brisket sandwich, recommended by a friend, was better than average and, like Martinsville Speedway hot dogs, extraordinary for that which is mass-produced.

I loved driving to Batesburg, etc., in my old truck, admiring the cattle. I almost stopped to take a photo of acres and acres of hay rolls (they aren’t bales anymore, sports fans) but there was barbecue and baseball on the docket. I hated driving back in the dark, though I did get a whiff of charcoal grilling from a house I passed. I’m pretty sure it was beef on the grill.

The two-lane highways underscored the need for roadwork in the state. It was like riding a stagecoach. A new highway sound effect is the low hum of nearby vehicles (and mine) ticking the rumble strips on the center line. I wonder how that affects tire wear.

I didn’t get all the work done quickly because I wanted to sing and strum guitar, and Will Ferrell was hosting SNL, and Paul McCartney was the musical guest. Also, I bore down when I wrote the game story, even though no good can come from that. I just wrote it like a song, hoping someone out there liked the tune.

Denny Hamlin won an All-Star Race that was lively, at least until the end. Dover was a better site than I expected. I worried that no one would show up. I was wrong. It was a good crowd. Those folks want their points race back. Those folks used to have two.

The PGA? I surprised myself. I didn’t pay much attention until Sunday and then not much. Every time I heard something during the first three rounds, Tricky McGillicuddy or somebody was leading. I checked on it from time to time on Sunday just to see if anyone I’d ever heard of was making a charge.

Aaron Rai won it. Rhymes with rye whiskey and wry humor. He was Hank Aaron for a day. Until I heard Rai speak, I couldn’t have told you which of 50 countries could have produced him. Everyone now can speak English, and Americans speak English, at best. It’s a long way from London to Louisiana.

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Most of my books are available at Amazon. Two of my novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audio versions.