Alternative Title: A Reason to Go to the Rest of the Blessed Home Games

I have never been to more than four Clemson games in a row. This year I went to the first seven games through a confluence of curious circumstances. Clemson performed abysmally in those games, also through a confluence of curious circumstances. Note to self: never go to seven games in a row again when my team is performing abysmally.

What is the deal with having four home games in a row…in the heat of September? After most people went to the Alabama game? Based on anecdotal reports of several married men in good health, you can hardly have two “fun recreational activities” (of a certain sort) in a row without fixing a drink, cutting on the television, or falling asleep. So what were the powers that be thinking when they settled on this schedule? Even if we hadn’t implemented the Tommy Bowden Panama City Early Vacation Plan, I would be feeling some burnout. My tailgate accoutrements have been crying no mas.

On top of that I have a health problem. Some person (or people) ripped out my heart and stomped on it all up and down Frank Howard and BB&T (don’t get me started) Fields. Apparently this happened sometime during the afternoon hours on September 27 and October 18; and on a balmy October night in Winston-Salem that smelled like corn dogs, fireworks, and basketball fans. A rich guy in Charleston once said that there’s nothing worse than people with new money. I know what he’s talking about, but only as it relates to football.

I told my wife one day that week that the sky looked ominous and that the air in our house was stagnant and tasted funny. I told her I thought I was dying. So she went to Starbucks with a friend of hers and told me to get the kids in bed on time (like that’s ever happened.)

But then I realized several things: that we were next playing Boston College, that we were not mathematically eliminated from the ACC Championship, that I have paid an extraordinary amount of money for my tickets to the Clemson games, and that we have only a little time yet before one of our greatest wears our uniform no more: James Freaking Davis. It seems like only yesterday, James, that all of my friends were panicking when you went home to Atlanta in August 2005. What’s that? Was I panicking too? A fellow well into his thirties? Banish the thought!

People often hedge their bets when they speak. A man might tell his wife that they can afford an Aston Martin DBS while holding a Honda Odyssey brochure. A woman might tell her husband where he could take her out to eat as she starts to fix supper (side note: this is hypothetical, and has certainly never happened in our home.) With that in mind…

I’m not saying it’s going to happen – but we still have a realistic shot at this conference championship, remarkably. Though we have played sometimes like our team has given blood as a service project during pregame, though we have lost a head coach, though Danny Poole now has called “dibs” on two ambulances whenever our team suits up, remarkably, we have a shot.

Also, I’m not saying it’s going to happen – but James Davis (I love you James Davis) still has a shot at the rushing record, remarkably. Though we consider blocking to be “so 1988” and passé, though he is splitting carries with Lightening, though we face some of the top rush defenses in the country, though we have trouble keeping drives alive for him to grind out yards, remarkably, he has a shot.

Finally, I’m not saying it’s going to happen – but Dabo Swinney has a shot at winning me over. Though I got burned out watching bad football seven times in a row, though he has never been a coordinator, though he has only coached one game with a full week of practice, though he made a lot of changes that I first thought played to fans and were hokey, but I now think are paying off, remarkably, he has a shot at (and may be) winning me over, even though it’s always 99% about beating the Gamecocks.

James Davis, you’ll be gone soon. I’ll be there for these last two days we have together, along with 80,000 of our closest friends. You are the greatest running back to ever run down the hill, Terry Allen notwithstanding. Forget I said that about Terry Allen; he tore up his knee and left us early. Tear ‘em up (the Seminoles, not your knee) in Doak Campbell. You have made many Saturdays worthwhile, and we would do well to remember who the workhorse is. Perhaps only four games left as a Tiger: James Davis, we hardly knew ye.

Bonus Brilliance:

Top Ten Things About Florida State:

1. Your awesome band that has community college students in it.

2. Your bowl style stadium. Here’s an SAT analogy. bowl stadium : stadium with upper decks :: kiddie table at Thanksgiving : adult table at Thanksgiving

3. You have two de facto coaches, so no one knows who to interview as they walk off the field.

4. Dillard’s discounts.

5. You are in the Florida panhandle, AKA South Georgia by my reckoning.

6. Free shoes.

7. Bombastic statues outside your stadium.

8. Academic “help”.

9. You used to be a girls school.

10. Your years of greatness recede in memory like the tide an hour’s drive to your south.

If you would like to comment on this column, you can email John Webb at sectionHrowJ@gmail.com