Mediocrity, or powerhouse upstarts never appealed to this writer, my growing penchant for actuality tables in everything that mattered, everything in its rightful place, sported visceral muscle all its own, but I was compelled to the awesome place where rock solid dynasties swooned to the Icarian mysteries a suddenly molecular underdog brought into the scheme, a seemingly spontaneously self‐aware squad grasping at a season of greatness, the maverick five, nine, eleven, bursting from nowhere they had ever been before, the Cinderella team with the spectacular break, the heartbreak kids with new invincibility, maximizing the opportunity to script themselves straight into the High Books, a fabulous unbreachable year and a stat sheet no man could take away. Not so with political dynasties. I barely knew such matters existed. I made day on the dirt road dynasty, a marble poor kid from nowhere smart enough to think maybe he was going somewhere, equipped with the knowledge that not just anywhere would do having growing up fostered by the clay and oyster shells of coastal Georgia, the one redlight between historical Darien and next county soon going permanently amber as this town of 1600 souls was contracting thanks to the completion of the Interstate and the ramp just beyond the Bennett’s out Cox Road a mile or so parallel to US 17 upon which the town was built. Let’s just say I was not a politically precocious kid. Observant, not wholly ignorant to the ways of localizing power, I cannot deny however, I just was not precociously advanced in city, state, or national politics until much later in life.
Aged eight years, I suddenly became aware of sports when the county McIntosh established a Little League program for the first time.