By MONTE DUTTON

I awakened recently thinking about running backs. I certainly never was one. Neither was my brother, though he would have been better suited.

Football has many great running backs. Some, however, are magic. Some are unstoppable. Some have a knack for making an impossible play when it’s impossibly needed.

This goes for athletes, in general, and one would hope, leaders in every field of endeavor. A market for those who “love to get after it” exists at all levels, particularly among the young who aren’t yet making enough to have their jobs eliminated.

A joke. The world is spinning so fast, sometimes I step aside.

I want to reassure the folks back home. I’m fine up here in the hills, living in my shoebox. I haven’t blogged in a while because I have been obsessed with the screenplay into which I have been converting my unpublished novel, The Graduate Transfer. It’s almost wrapped up, though I’m still backtracking and polishing it up a little.

I think it’s good. I’m not objective. It’s a long shot. It’s what I came up here to do.

I crept out of the shoebox Wednesday for an adventurous afternoon in Rosman, which, in addition to being closer to me than downtown Brevard, is the home of both a laundromat and a Mexican joint. While I was at the local Acapulco, three cheerleaders were enjoying one another’s company.

By the way, it’s hard to beat a Mexican joint in a small town.

Rosman is Joanna if it had a high school. The Tigers, 3-9 last season, were practicing nearby. The cheerleaders invited me to Friday night’s practice game. West-Oak is crossing the border.

Brevard High (14-1), the Blue Devils, went to the state finals last year, but according to a comprehensive story in the Transylvania Times, Brevard is rebuilding behind a new head coach.

At the laundromat, I felt a little like one of those TV reporters interviewing disgruntled Trump supporters.

A nice lady complained about how the cost of a washer went up 75 cents. Like everything else, I said, and off we went. Neither she, nor I, nor her husband, said the president’s name.

Didn’t have to.

Is every place crazy? I now live in the 11th Congressional District. The incumbent, Chuck Edwards, pulled out of the race on account of some women in his office thought he was a bit much. The one before Edwards was Madison Cawthorn. I had to refresh my memory on that treasured past.

Meanwhile, back in South Carolina, several candidates who rail about “career politicians” and term limits have been running for something all year.

Wellpilgrim.com takes its name from John Wayne, who liked the phrase, and the Kris Kristofferson song “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33, Hang on, Hopper.” The title of the site comes from my favorite song, Michael Burton’s “Nightrider’s Lament.”

I can be reached at Adventure Village #6, 15 Adventure Ridge Road, Brevard, N.C.    28712.

I’d appreciate it if you’d consider buying one or two or five of my books, which are available on Amazon and at other bookseller sites. Two novels, Cowboys Come Home and Lightning in a Bottle, are available in audible versions.