Ron Ward was as nice a fellow as I’d ever met. A preacher, he was the father of Rex Ward, who was the offensive coordinator of the Loris Lions in 1996, when this little yarn takes place.
At some long-forgotten country restaurant on some out of town football road trip, Mr. Ward , who rode with the Loris Scene coverage crew to away games, stood up and clapped my publisher Ricky Hardee on the back. “Ricky,” he said, “that was fittin’.” What he meant was the meal we just had was more than fit to eat, it was downright good. I though it was a tremendous compliment, and I still use it some. Ricky Hardee never took me anywhere that wasn’t fittin’. As many years ago as human beings who can legally drink alcoholic beverages are old, I started my “getting paid for watching sports and whatnot” career deep in the hinterlands of Marion, Dillon, Horry, Georgetown and Williamsburg counties. This might come as a surprise to you, but late in the 1990s in those parts of our fair state, one didn’t just venture a ways off the beaten path without a knowledgeable guide. Ricky was something of a culinary Sherpa, guiding me through the dangerous dinner perils of Region VIII-2A. He also knew what he paid me, and felt bad about it. Not bad enough to raise said pay, but bad enough that if I found myself performing my job at a time when I’d otherwise have been able to eat for free at home, he’d buy my dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast, on court days. Many was the day that he walked out of his corner office and called “let’s go eat a bean, children,” and everybody in the office knew lunch was on the boss. Anyhow, Ricky bought me more lunches at Loris Coffee Shop or council meeting suppers at the Todd House or sandwiches at American Hero than I can count. He also often bought before home football games at Heniford Field, usually Shorty’s Grill, sometimes Richard’s Barbecue, and even Stevens’ Oyster Roast on a couple occasions. Ricky always bought on the road. And he taught me that part of a football road trip – often the BEST part – was seeking out some new dinnertime delight . It’s a tradition that I’ve continued to this day, which will shock absolutely no one who’s ever seen me. But I’ve tried to pass it on, as well. I instruct writers new to the road and new to the business on the finer points of where to go to enjoy a bite. What follows here is a VERY partial list of some of my favorites, and some of my fellow bloggers’ best choices. We dearly hope you’ll add yours, either at [email protected], in the comments, or on twitter. Seriously. Come talk about food with us. I trust you’ll find most of these suggestions fittin’. My wife Bonnie keeps basketball stats and softball books better than I can, and she loves country cooking. So, when I’m going over the schedule for the upcoming season and she hears something south of about Newberry, it’s met with a cry of “OOOOOOHHHH! Midlands Chicken!” What she means by that is fried chicken from a restaurant between Newberry and Orangeburg, where people fry chicken better than they do anywhere else in South Carolina, and therefore, the world. She usually means Farm Boys in Chapin, which on football Fridays offers the sacred bird in an indescribable crust alongside barbecue, ribs, excellent fried fish and shrimp, and more vegetables than I’ll waste time trying to name. It’s a solid stop a minimum of once a year. Other fried chicken favorites are Hudson’s Smokehouse in Lexington and Shealy’s in Leesville. Both have good barbecue. Hudson’s has what I declare is the finest South Carolina hash in existence, much to Travis’ dismay. But both have MUCH BETTER fried chicken. I mean, it’s not even particularly close. If I could tell you one thing to eat at either, it would be the fried chicken. Seriously. Unless Shealy’s has steak and gravy the night you go. Then there’s barbecue. Travis and I have a project we’ll pick up and put back down where we are making pligramages to the high holy places of the art of barbecue as declared by the South Carolina Barbecue Association. None of my favorites are on their little list. David Hite’s would be, if I was sure he’d still have ‘cue left at 6:30 on a Friday, but that’s another story. Instead, give me Pig-Out in Spartanburg County, where the sauce is neither Midlands mustard or Upstate red, but an orange mix of the best of both, and completely superfluous beside their fantastic pork. Give me Smokin’ Pig in Williamston (because you’ll never get in the one in Clemson on a Friday) and their brisket. I don’t even eat brisket. I take seconds of theirs. Throw in some jalapeno cheese grits while you’re at it. Give me Hawg Heaven in Prosperity, where our buddy Britt Wilkerson proclaimed he’d eaten the best ribs he’s ever had. And most importantly, for wonderful memories, for bare-bones barbecue, for one of the best examples of what it means to eat barbecue in South Carolina, give me Wise’s in Kinards. Buy me a pack of skins. Ask Carl about his new line of purses. Believe me that none of those things are as strange as the barbecue is wonderful. Twenty-one years could lead me to so many more. Ned’s in Aynor, where a double-Nedburger is free if you can eat it all (you can’t). The aforementioned Stevens’ Oyster Roast, which sometimes serves as overflow parking for North Myrtle Beach games. Union has TWO can’t miss destinations in Dari-O and Midway BBQ. Perfectly Frank’s in Summerville. There are too many to mention. I do want to add one more memory to my portion, and tell you the above suggestions, and the ones offered by my fellow bloggers, are only useful if you’re eating BEFORE a game. If you’re at a game, doing the job we do, there’s only one place to go, and that’s Dorman. Our late, great friend Tommy Sims used to ask a very important question when any of us went to a new away destination. “They feed?” The answer at Dorman is a resounding yes. JAMIE MCBEE: Rush's - It's a destination spot for me anytime there's a game in the Columbia area. It's a burger joint that is only found within the Columbia area, a fact that is cool yet maddening because I wish Spartanburg had one. What makes Rush's so special? It's something that can't really be pinpointed because everyone I know that loves to eat there loves it for something different. I know some that love their chicken, some love their chili cheeseburger but for me it's always the regular cheeseburger basket (which comes with fries and cole slaw plus onion, tomato, mayo and mustard on the burger). It never matters when I'm there because it's always as good as the last time. For me if I go to Columbia for a game it actually just means I'm making a trip to Rush's and the game is then secondary. Fleet Landing - When you've made as many trips to Charleston for football games in the past few years as I have (I sure don't miss cross bracketing playoff) you tend to try and find perks about making a six hour round trip. A few years ago as I was heading to Charleston for a vacation my good friend and fellow blogger Jed Blackwell recommended eating at Fleet Landing while I was there and seeing as he never has steered me wrong with food I made it a point to give it a try. It was great and now has become a destination spot for me especially if I'm making a six hour round trip. What makes it so special? Well first of all it's fresh seafood and it normally is a lot less pricey than a lot of places in Charleston. The second part, it sits right over the ocean as it used to be a ship repair shop (or something like that). Not many of these football fields are close to the ocean so to make a trip all the way to the beach it's nice to get a few minutes to eat some seafood and view the ocean and that's why Fleet Landing is a destination spot for me. TRAVIS JENKINS As the late Andy Griffith once noted in his standup comedy bit “What it was, was football,” folks traveling to games will see a lot of signs encouraging you to “get something to eat-chere” but just pulling into the first place you find is often a culinary crap shoot. When you travel to far-flung rural locales like I do, technology is fairly valuable, as a quick internet search can give you a list of restaurants in any area. Of course, I end up in many towns that are so small and so lacking in dining options that the second result in one of my recent searches was “Exxon Gas Station.” A Yoo Hoo and something off the roller grill is fine in desperate situations, but if you’ve actually budgeted the time to enjoy dinner, you probably want somewhere that you can sit down and enjoy yourself. I guess you could sit on the floor at the Exxon station to eat your taquito, but you get weird looks, man. Weird looks. That might tempt you stop at a chain restaurant and again, that’s fine in a pinch, but you don’t get the flavor and local vibe at the Hardee McChicken King. You also may find yourself in grave danger…I certainly did once upon a time. Before I had the collective knowledge of man at my fingertips (and thus online restaurant reviews) I once went to McBee for a pre-season scrimmage. If you live in McBee or have been through there, you know that on the main road you have a Subway and Huddle House and that’s about it. Not possessing any knowledge of the area at the time and saddled with a crippling lack of a sense of direction, I didn’t want to go looking for anything local, so I settled on the Huddle House. Nothing wrong with that, but as I’m often want to do, I bought a local newspaper (a Hartsville Messenger as memory serves) to read while I ate. Once I’d finished my meal, I left my newspaper on the table and went to the bathroom. When I returned, the table was empty, including the newspaper which I’d not finished reading. I asked the waitress if she’d thrown it away when she cleared my plate and she said no. I then noticed someone at the next table was reading a Hartsville Messenger. “Excuse me,” I said, very politely. “Did you get that paper off this table?” “Yeah,” the guy said, not even looking up. “OK, well that’s mine. I wasn’t finished reading it yet, could I get it back?” “It was just sitting there,” he said gruffly, handing it back to me. “I thought it was for anybody to read.” “Well my car’s just sitting out in the parking lot. You think it’s for anybody to drive?” The fellow did not seem amused. My joke didn’t go over as well as I’d imagined. There’s not really a moral to this story other than don’t be a smartass at the Huddle House…and also veer just off the main road in McBee on game nights and hit the Company Store. Order a steak sandwich and thank me later. That isn’t to say every local joint is a good one. That’s where the internet comes into play again. Read reviews if you aren’t familiar with a place or just tweet out “I’m in west where-the-bleep, SC, anybody got a restaurant suggestion?” That’s how I found The Company Store, I discovered Yoder’s in Abbeville and Hawg Heaven near Prosperity via word-of-mouth and online reviews got me to Cannon’s BBQ in Little Mountain. All are beyond worth the stop on game night. Once upon time, though, I was headed to a game at Fox Creek in North Augusta. There was supposed to be a sublime BBQ eatery (I’m a fan of smoked pig…of course the name of this blog is Pigskin and Pigskins, nor Cornhole and crudité, so you probably already figured that out) “just off” 121. When I got down that way I found that the place was 12 miles off 121…which ain’t “just off,” brother. I wouldn’t have time to go find it, but I did see another BBQ joint right on 121. I like trying new places, local ones especially, BBQ ones in particular so I pulled in. When I walked in, I immediately began regretting my choice. The place (for the purposes of this column, we’ll just call it Big Jimmy’s Cavalcade of Pork) looked and smelled old. It was kind of like a funeral home, honestly…and I’d soon find that it was where good food went to die, but more on that in a second. I started to turn and leave but an employee had approached me by that time, so against my own instincts I felt obligated to stay. The waitress told me that the buffet (which all of two other customers were “enjoying”) was $7.50. That low of a price point should have been a terrible sign for all-you-can eat…as should the lack of customers. I mean, if a BBQ buffet is any good (and $7.50 to boot) shouldn’t there be a line out the door at 6 p.m.? Oh well, I would unfortunately learn the hard way. The buffet was small and the choices were limited. The barbecue looked like barbecue, so I piled that on. There was a tub of watery red stuff next to the meat. I guessed that was sauce, so I ladled it on. Up next was some unidentifiable red goop. I stirred it and peered downward, trying to discern what it was before deciding it was supposed to be hash. Sane people would have left the stuff sitting there, but I got some rice and spooned on some of the mystery meat. The were waxy-looking green beans and some sweet potatoes that looked overcooked. I decided to pass and go all meat. I sat down and tasted the barbecue. It didn’t really taste bad because It didn’t have any taste at all. There was no smoke flavor at all and ZERO seasoning. Contrary to what the menu said, the barbecue was not “juicy.” I thought I’d spotted some bark in the barbecue, but it wasn’t that magical mix of rendered fat and caramelized spice rub. It was black, burnt, dry, meat. I added some sauce and quickly longed for tasteless meat with hunks of burnt in it…the sauce tasted like old tomato soup. Not good-old tomato soup, mind you, just OLD. TOMATO. SOUP. Even if it had been fresh soup, that doesn’t belong on barbecue. The hash, which I’m certain came from a can, was “jazzed up” with the same horrific, red swill. I thought of just adding some salt to see if that helped but the salt was a dingy shade of yellow. How do you make salt yellow? I don’t want know, I don’t think. So, the décor was dreary and the food tasted like broken dreams and gym lockers. That gave the place one last chance to shine. I mean there’s three biggies in the restaurant biz…how the place looks, how the food tastes and… "You'll have to call back later," the one employee said to whoever had just called as a fourth customer walked in. "We're getting real busy." So the service sucked too. Oddly, the waitress asked that fourth customer if he wanted “his usual.” HOLY CRAP, someone ate at this place and actually came back? I’m guessing he was an inmate on work release or something, because prison food might, maybe be the only stuff I can think of worse that what I was eating. I covered my plate with a napkin, paid and left. Last time I checked online, that restaurant was permanently closed. Hard to believe, huh?
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There's a loaded sentence for you. When you hear that, you know that officials are just about to get criticized, and usually for a good long while, and in colorful terms that call their parentage into question.
The problem is, they're deserving of said criticism at an alarming level. South Carolina high school football officials remind me a lot of that little girl in the old nursery rhyme. When they're bad, they're horrid. That's not a scathing indictment of officiating as a whole. It's just a comment that a lot of these guys could get together and do a lot better a lot of the time. Let's take the game I went to last week, just for a fun example. There were several holds and motions and other things that were questionable but could be chalked up as just some Week Zero rustiness. Heck, I had to check on stats a half-dozen different times, and miscalculated a few in addition. It was Week Zero for everybody. There was one, however, that was particularly egregious. Team A uncorks a snap deep over the punter's head. Punter valiantly tracks it down, unwisely decides to punt anyway, and somehow gets it off. The ball files 10 or so yards about six feet off the ground. Now, remember the errant snap. The kick is nowhere NEAR the line of scrimmage. I mean, it's not in the same ZIP code. It's got maybe 20 more yards to go to make the line. So Team B knocks it around a few times, Team A gets a hand or two on it, and Team A eventually ends up covering the ball deep in their own territory. Bad news for them, right? Nope. After a brief huddle, the officials award Team A the ball. For what reason, I'm still not certain. I guess it was treated as a muffed punt, which is all fine and good, but THE BALL DIDN'T GET BACK TO THE LINE OF SCRIMMAGE. What it did was change the game. Team B was deprived a possession on which it most certainly would have scored. I say that because unless they turned it over (which they did with alarming regularity), they scored. They were never stopped. So all that momentum went away with the extra possession, and they lost by 5. The collective blogging panel has a couple of “official friends”. That's what we call them, anyway. Listeners/readers who are football officials and keep us in the know. I knew it was trouble when I got a text early this week. “I saw that call you were talking about on Saturday,” it said. “They blew it.” They most certainly did. And it happens too often. I'm far from perfect. These things will frequently be rife with typos. But if James or Travis tells me to change something, I change it. I've got the good sense to listen to somebody else who might've had a better look at it than I had. That's at least part of the problem. The VAST majority of those guys (and maybe gals, I think there were a couple female football officials last time I checked) are very good at what they do. But everybody makes mistakes. There's a fine line between confidence, which is needed to be a good official, and arrogance, which is decidedly not. Some folks can't quite find that line, and the inability to be wrong, or even to be questioned in some cases, leads to situations like the one I saw last Friday. In the words of a whole bunch of coaches on a whole bunch of sidelines, Mr. Official, can you please ask for some help? Not just because all the Week Zero nonsense is officially over, but let's talk about that for a minute. Time was, Week Zero was an added week in which teams who couldn't get other off-dates to match up and get a game could play each other.
Now, it's an excuse to stop playing in jamborees and scrimmages and hit somebody with a different colored jersey on for real. About 70 percent – SEVENTY! - of South Carolina teams played last week. That ain't Week Zero, hoss. That's week one, and everybody who didn't play took their bye on the first week. Let's call it what it is and move on. But I digress. The fact that most everybody is finally on the field isn't what makes it football season. Nor is the first real Friday night when every single score rolls in at all hours of the evening. What makes it football season to me is good ol' number 387. Yes, I'm aware that football numbers don't go that high. He'd make a great nose guard, though, 387 would. In reality, 387 is my parking pass at Dorman. It's been mine for a couple of years, since the Spartanburg Sports Report was formed. My first game as a newspaper/website owner was there, and I parked in that spot. Dorman is one of the few places I need a reserved parking spot, and the only place that has that spot numbered. Sometimes Dorman passes come in the mail, some years I pick them up. But the first day I lay eyes on 387 and know it's going to be used, it just feels like football. Every school in the county has something like that that triggers “hey it's football season” to me. The Woodruff Jamboree is probably first. Chesnee's photo day. Byrnes' pre-season guide. 387. They all mean “let's go”. So let's go. I'm going to try to be a better blogger this year, or at least more conscientious about it. You'll probably hear from me around Tuesday or Wednesday, more often if my thoughts dictate, but it's usually about then when the previous week's activities all shake out and we turn our attention to what's to come. So this blog will be a little of everything. I'll try to span all classes (except 1A, because Travis has it handled) and many corners of the state. So without further delay, some observations: • There's no such thing as a good loss. But dang if Dillon didn't have one. Trailing 7-3 to the number 10 team IN THE COUNTRY, the Wildcats fumbled on fourth down inside the 5-yard line and saw their 37-game winning streak snapped. I'm not saying the engraver should go ahead and start on the 3A trophy, I'm just saying it's spelled like the lawman from Gunsmoke, not the dbag from Beverly Hills 90210. • Speaking of engraving trophies, let's talk about 4A for a minute. South Pointe. Seriously, South Pointe. One of the very best parts of my job is talking to people who know far more about the statewide football scene than I do. I've had two of them – one a 5A coach and another the second-ranked football official in the state, who will be the white hat at the 4A title game- tell me that based on what they've seen on tape and in person, 4A is over. Right now. The coach's most telling quote? “I'm glad I don't have to play them.” • Not to beat a dead horse but the matchup between D'Marco Jackson and Isaiah Ellis last Friday night was beyond anything that stadium could've expected in a Week Zero game. Ellis had more than 400 yards of total offense and accounted for six touchdowns and his team needed every bit of it. Why? Because Jackson, as fellow blogger James McBee has detailed this week, probably shops for wallets at the same store as Jules Winfield. • Region III-3A is gonna be a war. And while that war might start in the backfield (see the aforementioned Mr. Jackson), it might just be decided at quarterback. Woodruff's Keegan Halloran and Chapman's Colton Bailey are both capable of putting up video-game numbers through the air. Broome's Jake Mathis is a nifty sleight-of-hand operator who is dangerous with his feet. The contrast in styles will make for some fun QB battles in the region. • Boiling Springs is the only Region III-5A team not to take the field for an actual game last Friday night, and the Bulldogs might look even better because of it. A beat-up Dorman fell on the road at Bob Jones in Madison, Ala., a turnover-prone Byrnes lost at Myrtle Beach, and while Spartanburg and Gaffney both notched wins, neither looked like world beaters in doing so. Many (me included) thought that Boiling Springs had a chance at a special run through the region this year, and Week Zero did nothing to change that thinking. • Pre-season polls are meaningless. So are Week One polls. Want an example? One writer wisely dropped Dillon from the top spot in 3A – can't have the top team losing by four on the road to a 4A North Carolina and national power, can we – and replaced them with Seneca. I'm sure that vote was based on last year's stellar season from the Bobcats. Trouble is, 19 of the 22 children who helped compile that season no longer attend Seneca High School, having graduated. Hey, good vote. • The 2A classification's reward for being rid of Bishop England is the addition of virtually every other private or charter school which plays interscholastic sports in our state. That seems fair. However, Chesnee has a legitimate shot at a playoff run, in my opinion. I raved above about D'Marco Jackson, and Chesnee could NOT stop him, but what Isaiah Ellis, Isaiah Morris and company were able to do offensively against a good 3A team was pretty special. If the Eagles can replicate that kind of production and play any semblance of defense, they'll be good. Yes, I know they had six takeaways. I also know that they needed every one of them. • People can interpret stats any way they wish, and that's been underscored this week. Upon learning of Jackson's 19-248-5 line, I actually heard somebody say “well, he didn't get the ball enough.” Huh? See, when you have it at their 46 and he has one for 5 and one for 41, then you have to kick it back and he can't carry it anymore. With apologies to A League of Their Own, the way it works is the train moves, not the station... • Pretty cool goings-on at Gaffney, as the Indians' new field turf isn't ready at the Reservation. That's prompted an early season move to the REAL Reservation, W.K. Brumbach Stadium downtown, ghosts and all. The Indians beat T.L. Hanna, everybody's darkhorse darling in 5A, convincingly at the Old Lady on Franklin Street last week. They return home against West Charlotte in Week Three, then host Northwestern in Week Five. Anybody want to bet me if they're 2-0 at home they might find a “problem” before the Trojans come to town? The best thing to come out of the game, other than the Indians' win serving notice that the 5A race might include them after all, was Coach Dan Jones' postgame speech. “Y'all are part of the tradition on this field now,” he told his team. “Not a bad little atmosphere to play in, is it?” Chills, man. • Finally and certainly not least, huge congratulations to Newberry head coach Phil Strickland, who notched his 300th career win with the Bulldogs' victory. That puts Strickland in an ultra-elite class of coaches. The list now reads John McKissick, W.L. Varner, Dave Gutshall, J.W. Babb, Bill Tate, Bob Rankin and Strickland. Strickland's reached 300 quicker than anybody on the list, in just 29 years, and has at least 40 fewer losses than the coaches - Rankin and Tate – closest to him in wins. His 288-93 record gives him a .755 winning percentage. His five state titles tie him for 5th all time. I’m gonna tell y’all the straight-up truth: I used to be a tailgate champion.
I still have my moments. You’d be hard-pressed to beat me at a Steeplechase. If I take time and preparations for a football game potluck, don’t bet against me. But week-in, week-out tailgating has passed me by. It might have something to do with the fact that the fallout usually takes as many hours to recover from as years you are old (my own personal algorithm) and that’s pushing two days now, and by then it’s Tuesday and almost time to think about doing it again and no thank you. So, I’m nowhere near my glory days. Gone are the 7a.m. Burger King double cheeseburgers for breakfast, packing every available cooler inch with the perfect blend of ice and liquid refreshment, and trips for wings on the way to Death Valley. They’ve been replaced by intricate smoker recipes and the comfort of my own couch, both climate controlled and steps away from both the aforementioned food, my personal restroom and, not occasionally, delicious whiskey. More on that. It’s an acquired taste, and one I’ve acquired in my fourth decade shuffling the coil. Some, including many of my former tailgating partners, acquired it long before me. You might know that my other bloggers and I host a radio show/podcast during football season. You might also remember the infamous episode (woohooohoooohoooo) during which one of my long-ago tailgate partners, emboldened by several nips of the substance, proclaimed something I still hold true. “Crown,” he said, “is the best brown liquor they is.” Fast forward to last year’s Louisville game. My lovely bride was out of town, and my buddy (and devoted Pick’em Show listener) Mike had two tickets to see the Cardinals invade Death Valley. So, we put together a last-minute tailgate. A very last-minute tailgate. As in, we stopped at a grocery store on our way for some brats to grill last-minute. We forgot a lot of things. Things like a bottle opener. And charcoal. But we remembered the Crown! Lord, yes, we remembered the Crown. Then, within a few short moments of arriving in Lot 4, there was no more Crown to remember. Fortified by my ration of Canadian goodness, I sauntered over and borrowed some charcoal, loaded it into our grill, and immediately wondered “What am I gonna start this charcoal with.” Nary a match. Nary a fire source of any kind, not even a car lighter. So, we grabbed another beverage (but not Crown, sadly) and we decided we’d walk a while and give it a think. We came upon a tent full of the nicest folks, and I surveyed their setup. Grill. Charcoal. Smoke emanating from said grill. Ribs. Now, I’m not claiming to be a genius (and if you’ve read the above you’ll realize that), but I know enough to know that where there’s charcoal and cooked ribs, there’s a fire source. So we asked the gentleman who’d greeted us if we could borrow his lighter. “Naw,” he said. “Just take it. We’re not using it after. If you bring it back and leave it and we’re not here, that’s fine, but if you forget and take it home with you, that’s fine too.” As we turned to leave, Mike noticed a lady and walked over to speak to her. He’s a little more observant than I am, and knew right away who we were talking to. I was wandering oblivious to my situation, talking ribs with the nice man, and he was learning all about Clemson’s freshman quarterback. It was Deshaun Watson’s mama, is who it was. And if you haven’t heard her story, you will this week. It’s touching, and heartbreaking, and heartwarming, and fantastic all at once. I won’t recount it here, because as you may have heard, Mr. Watson is up for a fairly prestigious award, and you’ll get the story better than I could tell it if you pay attention to those proceedings. But that Saturday last October, the Heisman Trophy presentation was a long way away. Heck, in a few minutes, Deshaun would suffer the first of a pair of injuries that would see him miss significant time last season. But just then, Watson’s family was content to talk about his journey to Clemson, and his mom’s courageous battle, and football, and yes, barbecue. We shuffled back to our tailgate, lit the fire, ate the brats, and went in to watch the game. We actually stopped back by to leave the lighter as we left Memorial Stadium, but the tailgate was gone, presumably to check on Deshaun’s injury. So, the lighter that belonged to Deshaun Watson’s uncle resides in a drawer in my house. It lights the fire for special meals on the smoker, and the occasional cigar. I don’t know how many folks I’ll have at my house on New Year’s Eve, but they’ll dine on food cooked on a fire produced by that lighter. Maybe Watson will win this Saturday, and I can bill it as “Heisman-fired barbecue” or some such. But if not, I’ll be glad that his mother will share her story with the sports-watching world. And I’m forever grateful his family shared their lighter with a couple of hungry drunk guys. And I’m ecstatic that they shared their prodigiously talented son, brother, and nephew with Clemson University. Like a lot of basketball fans, I’ll be glued to a television today.Not as much as I’m used to, because of the ridiculous, short-sighted, inexplicable move of the ACC Tournament Final to Saturday night. And not MY television, because I’m headed to Wofford to see where the Terriers’ will end up in the NCAA Tournament.But A television, certainly. And tonight, I’ll be back to mine. I can hardly wait to watch ESPN’s latest 30 For 30 documentary, this one entitled “I Hate Christian Laettner”. It’s going to be especially interesting to me, because I don’t. Never have, actually. Christian Laettner did a couple of things in his time at Duke University that I downright loved. Hard to hate a guy that gives you some memories like that.The first time I saw him, I was at my great-aunt’s house for a family gathering. Ya’ll remember those as high school freshmen, right. The food was great, but the attendance was forced. It was late in the basketball season, maybe even Easter. I’m not sure, it’s been well past 25 years, and I’ve had A LOT of bourbon since then. I grew up not just a fan of the ACC, but a basketball fan in general. Some of my first sports memories are of the controversy surrounding Patrick Ewing’s undershirts (look it up, children.). And I’ve long been a huge fan of the NCAA Tournament. So, while the adult conversation droned on and on into the afternoon, I found my way into the empty living room to watch the East Regional Final between Duke and Georgetown.Now, keep in mind that I grew up so far out in the country that cable wasn’t available, and satellite was well into the future. So all I’d seen of Duke was what Raycom saw fit to show me on weeknights and Saturday and Sunday afternoons. I was more than familiar with Danny Ferry. But I hadn’t seen Georgetown at all, and I was tremendously excited to watch the phenomenal Alonzo Mourning.What I watched was Mourning being dominated by a skinny, 6-11 white kid as Duke made the second of what would be five straight final fours.Side note: who’s the first player to reach four straight final fours? Gotta be somebody from the UCLA dynasty, right? Wrong. Freshmen weren’t eligible. It’s Greg Koubek from Duke. Look it up, then go win bar bets with it this March. Yeah, you’re welcome.Anyway, now I was very familiar with Laettner, and Raycom seemed to finally shake off its Carolina bias and get a little more Duke-heavy in its coverage options. I saw quite a lot of the sophomore, and began to cheer for Duke any time they weren’t on the floor against Clemson.Ah, Clemson. Another reason not to hate Laettner. He helped exact exquisitely appropriate, heartbreaking karmic vengeance against the hated UConn Huskies not 48 hours removed from the Tate George shot that broke Clemson’s heart.Surely you remember that? The Tigers, finally good enough to claim a share of the ACC regular season title. Poor, put-upon Clemson, in the Sweet 16 and a second’s worth of decent defense away from a spot in the Elite 8.Except that second took a little longer than that, and the defense was far from decent. Elden Campbell allowed a largely unobstructed baseball pass to travel three quarters of the court, George caught it, landed, turned, elevated and shot in what officials said was 1 second, the shot hit nothing but cotton and Clemson went home a loser.In the Regional Final, in overtime, Laettner ripped out UConn’s heart in much the same manner. Down one, he threw an inbounds pass, collected an handoff as he stepped back inbounds, dribbled twice, double-clutched, and barely disturbed the net at the buzzer to send the Huskies home.Honestly, how can I hate that guy?He did a ton more to endear himself to me. Largely, he owned North Carolina, and anybody who does that is ok with me. He hit two free throws to seal a monumental upset against a UNLV team that was supposed to be the undisputed, undefeated, immovable, unstoppable, 500-pound gorilla, pre-ordained champion of the world. He was perfect from the field and made arguably the most important, clutch shot in the history of the tournament to beat Kentucky in a thriller (and win me a lot of money on my Senior Trip) in one of the tournament’s best-ever game. The only time I saw him in person, at Clemson in my senior year of high school, he found a way to engineer a comeback and beat my Tigers 98-97. Ok, so I didn’t like that as much. But HATE? No. Grudging respect comes to mind.The bottom line is, Laettner was one of , if not the best, college player to ever lace up sneakers. He was also one of the most dislikeable and arrogant. But as the old Ric Flair saying goes, “Don’t hate me because you ain’t me.”. That’s what it mostly boils down to. For every fan of every school who claims to have hated Laettner and everything about him, consider this: before Laettner, Duke’s best finish under Mike Krzyzewski was a Finals appearance in 1986. With him, they became the center of the college basketball world.Every Wildcat, every Husky, every Tarheel – they’d never admit it, but they’d all take a Christian Laettner on their team. They’d have taken him then, and they’d take him now. If they won’t admit that, they’re kidding themselves.Arrogant or not, that level of performance is hard to hate.And as a final side note, let me say that with the Tigers sitting at home, I’m not sure who I’ll pull for in the upcoming tournament. Besides Wofford, I mean. But I know I sure hope I’ll see some performances that will rival those of Christian Laettner.I also know EXACTLY how I feel about that team from a few miles down the road from Durham, and how I hope they do in the tourney.Go To Hell, Carolina, Go To Hell
I'm almost positive the name of my section of the blog is a fat joke.
I mean, I get that it's alliterative. And I get that there are only so many words that are usable and start with J. And I get that James had already scooped up "Jargon", like some off-consonant benamed vulture just waiting on the right moment to lay claim to the only viable solution of any worth and leave the dregs to me. But Jambalaya? I know I'm the largest of the four of us, but I'm not sure it's called for that my blog entry name is the only one that reflects food. On second thought, though, maybe Jambalaya is the perfect name for this little endeavor. At its heart, a good jambalaya is a mixture of a whole lot of pretty good stuff, each ingredient made better by its reliance on the others. This blog is surely going to be a mixture - of food, football and foolishness - and I've often found that each complements the others. Also, as it happens, I have a mean Jambalaya recipe. It's one of my wife's favorite foods, my Dad asked for the secret, and even the in-laws have made requests several times. It's modified from a cookbook that serves as my lone remaining souvenir from my senior trip to New Orleans in the Spring of 1992. (Side note, good call Chapman. Let's turn 50 or so 17-and-18-year olds loose on Bourbon Street.) I bought a tiny cookbook in a little book shop in the French Quarter, and I've got it these many years later. The jambalaya in there is different from mine, but it makes an excellent starting point. Want to make some? Sure you do! I bet you've got most of what you need right in your kitchen. Or maybe you're like me and shop for groceries one day at a time, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that you might exist past tomorrow at supper. If that's the case, procure the following: one pound (roughly) of smoked sausage (one "hoop" link sausage is good. If it's Polska Kielbasa, you are a good person who knows what good things are and I would like to be your friend), one onion, one green bell pepper, some garlic, and enough raw long-grain rice to enable you to measure out a cupful. You'll also need cajun seasoning ( I use Tone's), cayenne pepper, worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, beef bouillion granules, butter and olive oil. Cut the sausage into rounds (yes, all of it. It's going to feed four to six people. Or two people twice. Don't freak out). Roughly chop the onion and pepper. There. Prep done. Did I mention this was easy? Melt a tablespoon of butter and a tablespoon of olive oil together in a dutch oven or large pot. Add sausage, and allow it to brown a little. When the sausage is lightly browned, add onions, pepper, and a clove of garlic or two. Add 1 and 1/2 teaspoons of cajun seasoning, 1/2 teaspoon each of worcestershire and soy sauce, and cayenne to taste. Don't use much. Seriously, that's too much. An eighth of a teaspoon will do. Just a little. Really. Cook all that over medium heat until the vegetables are soft. Add one cup of raw rice. Stir a little bit and kind of toast the rice. Add two and a half cups of the liquid of your choice. A Note: I do NOT get to use the liquid of my choice. I use the liquid of my wife's choice, which is water. That's the way I first made it, and she insists I not trifle with the recipe. But a good, dark beer in place of at least one of those cups of water would be just fine. Some tomato sauce would work well. Never thought of wine, but why not. But if you want to be true to the recipe, water. Two and a half cups of it. Add a tablespoon of bouillion granules, bring it to a boil, stir, and cover it. Cut to the lowest setting on your burner and cook for 30 minutes. Remove from heat and stir. At this point, you're done but you can add anything else you'd like. A can of chopped tomatoes, a jar of mushrooms, whatever. I'm not responsible for anything past those two, though. There you have it. Jed's Jambalaya. Take that, James. Hope y'all enjoy. |
JedAward-winning journalist. Frustrated pitmaster. Whiskey enthusiast. Lover of all things cheeseburger-related. Unapologetically proud Sandlapper. Archives
July 2017
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