Dabo's low blows

I'll be the first to admit I'm late to the game on this one, but I could not pass up the opportunity to comment. For those not in or from South Carolina, here's a quick recap -- after the Gamecocks beat Clemson for the third straight year, Clemson coach Dabo Swinney misattributed some quotes to USC coach Steve Spurrier and went on a cheap-shot infused tirade about how Clemson-Carolina has never been a rivalry. This after the Gamecocks dominated his team for the second straight season in a game that was rarely in doubt.

The most interesting part of this to me is that Dabo is not a South Carolinian. He's from Alabama. To me, that means anything he says about the rivalry -- good or bad -- doesn't really mean squat. I don't care if he coaches at Clemson, he doesn't fully understand this. Nor can he. Neither can Spurrier.

I started going to Carolina games at age 5. I went to every Clemson home game with my season-ticket holding stepfather for two years as a teen. Never once did I get even the slightest impression that people from Carolina or Clemson did not take this rivalry seriously. That's part of the reason Swinney's comments pissed me off so much. My life, and that of many people in the Palmetto State, have been greatly impacted by the rivalry. I still wear my Gamecock colors with pride, even in Miami, just as Clemson fans will drive down here in droves for the Orange Bowl. But as a fan of one of these teams, I would have a problem with my coach decrying the rivalry whether it's my coach or not. And the pot shots about USC and the other Carolina just sounds like a cry baby who needs his milk.

Dabo, I endured years and years of Clemson's dominance in this rivalry and heard about it every year from people like my father, cousins and friends, who were Tigers. Now that we start to exert the smallest bit of superiority, I have to read your ridiculous comments. When I was a kid, I was petty like that. I said I would pull for Russia over Clemson. Maturing through the years, I'm now proud when Clemson has a good season and love to tell people I've seen games at Death Valley from the upper deck, season ticket area and even the Hill. It remains one of the most imposing venues I've been in. So please don't downgrade my experiences. You've had a great year -- an ACC title, Orange Bowl berth. But if you truly believe that with all that success, Clemson fans aren't burning up inside about that loss to USC, maybe you ought to head back to Alabama.

Living on both sides of the Civil War

I've been enjoying the New York Times' -- and other publications' -- articles marking the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. It even drove me to re-watch Ken Burn's remarkable documentary on the conflict, a byproduct of which was to get to hear one of the best Southern accents ever -- that of the late historian Shelby Foote. I think Foote's knowledge and accent may even take a backseat to his facial expressions and emotions. He laughed as if he had just heard Nathan Forrest personally insult the Yankees and looked downtrodden as if Shiloh had just happened.

All of it got me thinking about my own experience. I grew up surrounded by reminders of the War, the largest being the Confederate battle flag that flew over the S.C. state house through my college years. There were other occasional reminders - a Charlie Daniels song with a not-so-veiled reference to reigniting the War and hearing Dixie played at The Citadel while visiting my brother. I drove through the areas where the War happened all the time, often paying no attention to the history beneath my feet.

Since moving to Miami, the memories, the landmarks, even the battle flags disappeared. I put the War back into history where it belonged. That is until my uncle emailed me with photos of my great-great-great grandfather James Cash' gravesite. Seems Grandpa James was in the 44th Tennessee and likely saw action in Shiloh, Chickamauga before getting wounded in Petersburg. Suddenly it all became real. I had always assumed someone in the family had fought for the Confederacy. But now I knew.

As I watched Burns' documentary this time, I thought of my family. Of James leaving his family for years to go fight. South or North, thousands and thousands left it all behind to fight for a cause or, I feel in James' case, to protect their homes. Grandpa James was a farmer, like most of his ancestors since, and didn't own slaves. The Yankees invaded and he and others fought back.

That said, I'm not a 'heritage' only guy. I honor my relative's service but lament one of the other reasons they were fighting. You can't separate the plight of the slave from the War, even if most of the soliders never owned them (Remember, rich folks could pay someone to take their place.) So if you're able to say the South fought for their homes, you better also be willing to say the North fought to free the slaves. And that, in the end, was the nobler cause. The war ended the way God wanted it to, and he sacrifices on both sides made our country the amazing place it is today.

I look forward to seeing some of the battlefields I missed earlier in life.

Heroes

For a long time, my hero was Lewis Grizzard, the Atlanta-based sportswriter turned humorist turned comedian turned actor. His writing flowed so well, it was like he was sitting on the porch next to you. He loved college football, barbecue and his dog. He believed in the Southern way of being a gentleman, taught to him by his father and grandfather. His columns spoke to me like nothing else. Then, Lewis and I began to grow apart.

As I grew and learned more of what I liked, I realized that despite all our similarities, Lewis didn't always agree with me. He hated soccer. I was starting to decorate my wall with posters of Europeans my friends had never heard of. He loathed the Filet-o-Fish. That was my favorite item at Mickey D's. Suddenly, my hero wasn't perfect.    

I left Lewis for many years. During that time, as my life took me from the small town South to the bright lights of Miami, Lewis' dog died then he did, both way too soon. Time passed and no longer was I surrounded by the people Lewis talked about (except Yankees -- Miami is full of 'em). Now, I  can't get a dog without a fence approved by the city. College football fans don't show up if you're losing. And I still can't find real barbecue.

But I did find Lewis again. In Miami of all places. I found books full of his columns and audio of his comedy routines on iTunes. And while I have found other heroes along the way, Lewis remains one of them.

All for tonight....