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& EDITORIALS
Declare among the nations, and publish, and set up a standard;
publish, and conceal not. - Jeremiah 50:2
2019, 2018, 2017, 2016 winner: Editorial Page excellen
2019, 2018 winner: Best Headline Writing
2019 winner: Best Community Service
2019 winner: Best Layout and Design
2019 winner: Best Serious Column - Don Daniel
WARNER
ON THE PORCH by Will Davis
Time for UGA hoops to
make the ‘Smart’ hire
T he Georgia basketball team will almost certainly
lose to lowly Vanderbilt on Wednesday night in
the dreaded play-in game of the SEC tournament,
which annually pits the two worst teams in the 14-
team conference.
Thus will arrive the merciful end of
UGAs season, the worst in the history of
SEC basketball. Georgias 1-17 conference
record (6-25 overall) will live in infamy
as the most dismal mark since the SEC
was founded in 1932. Before the cleaning
crews have finished picking up after the
7 or 8 fans who bothered to show up at
Amalie Arena in Tampa for the game,
the Tom Crean Era will end. First-year
UGA athletic director Josh Brooks has
certainly already decided to fire Crean.
He saved about $3 million by waiting until the seasons nadir
to make it public. Crean, the former Indiana and Marquette
coach, came to UGA four years ago amidst high hopes. But
he’ll end his tenure with a 41-50 record, and join a half dozen
respected coaches who have seen their careers shipwrecked
trying to revive the Bulldog program.
And here we arrive at the age-old quandary: what in the
#$%% is wrong with Georgia basketball?
Just 8 weeks after Georgia football re-claimed pre-eminence
by famously de-throning Alabama as National Champs, the
other marquee Bulldog program is ending yet another season
in total failure. That failure is more painful to UGA fans and
alums not only by the contrasting success of football, but also
for the fact that “football school” rivals like Tennessee and
Auburn are competing for basketball titles.
It’s not like Georgia doesn’t have home-grown basketball
talent. Georgia currently has 21 natives in the NBA, rank
ing the Peach State 7th among all states.
Georgia has been among the tops in the
nation for producing the most 5-star
high school players. Only one of them,
Anthony Edwards, was convinced to find
his way to UGA. He lasted not even a full
y / season when the COVID panic shut-
down Crean’s most-promising team just
-^Pl before the SEC tournament. Edwards left
later that year for the NBA, and Crean’s
v program began a tailspin from which it
never recovered.
In fairness to Crean, UGAs basketball
problems didn’t start with him. My dad
loves to tell the story about when he was in school in the mid
1960s. The basketball coach was named Red Lawson. One
year Lawson led his men up to Lexington, Ky. to play the No.
1 Wildcats of legendary coach Adolph Rupp. It was a big deal,
he probably thought. When he resurfaced in Athens a few
days later, the men of the city were puzzled.
“Where you been Red?” they wondered. “Hunting?!?”
Then as now, nobody seemed to care about Georgia bas
ketball. I guess Lawson was OK with that though. He posted
a 112-241 record over 15 seasons leading the Bulldogs. He
probably was glad his friends thought he was merely shoot
ing at deer every winter.
I grew up on Tobacco Road in North Carolina where
basketball is king. As a boy, I cried when the Tar Heels lost.
The ACC tournament always started at noon on Fridays and
there were always several of us who wired up Sony Walk
mans in our shirts so we could listen to the UNC game dur
ing school. And we didn’t just follow basketball. We played
pick up hoops all the time. I developed a mean left skyhook
that I sometimes still display on the New Providence court in
Smarr.
Having grown up in basketball-crazed North Carolina, it
was surprising when I came to UGA. I would open the sports
pages in the winter hoping to read about March Madness.
Instead it was all about football recruiting. Basketball was just
something to kill time until the UGA football spring game.
But now that Georgia football has re-established itself, it’s
time for success to spread to other sports. With his first big
See ON THE PORCH . Page 5A
DRAWING ON THE NEWS b
REECES PIECES by Steve Reece
I know a
K ing was only 14 in dog
years, and I was only 9.
When his ears were stand
ing up, he looked a little
like a German Shepherd, but he was
still just a mutt I happened to love
dearly. He was never trained because
he never needed it. He was a good
dog who always knew what to do
and more importantly, what not to
do. Except for that one time when it
cost him his life.
King had a bad habit of sleeping on
the warm concrete of the driveway of
our little house and one early morning
my dad didn’t notice he was there and,
in his rush to get to work backed over
him with his old Ford pickup. Hearing
a yelp, he jumped out and found my
poor pooch lying in a heap,
apparently deceased. As was his
habit, my old man was running
late and didn’t have time to do
much with the dog except put
him under our little house with
the intention of burying him
in the backyard when he got
home from work.
It was summertime and my
siblings and I didn’t even think about
getting out of bed before 9 am. This
was two and a half hours after my dad
had left for work and somehow, King
had time to recuperate and when we
ran out into the yard, he was right there
with me at first, romping and playing
like he always had. We didn’t have trees
in our yard and no sticks were avail
able, so I had him fetching a rock I was
throwing out in the street. Like most
dogs, he usually resisted somewhat
when I tried to take something from
his mouth, but suddenly he put up no
fight, showed no signs of wanting to
repeat his favorite game, and laid down
few dogs
in the dirt like he was sick.
This was when my dad was single,
and we were cared for by a couple of
different babysitters that summer who
usually stayed inside taking it easy
while my brothers and I did whatever
we could get away with outside. I went
in and told the lady who didn’t speak
much English that I thought my dog
was sick and she suggested a little water
might perk him up and gave
me a plastic bowl.
When I went back out with
the water, King had crawled
back under the house and
wanted nothing to do with it
nor me. I couldn’t coax him
out and growled when I
reached in, so I just sat down
in the sunlight in the dirt next
to our house and waited for a
miracle that never came.
When my dad finally returned home
that afternoon, he was surprised to
see King was alive. He told me what
had happened and reached under the
house and grabbed King by the collar.
The dog was howling in pain as he
dragged him out.
There were no veterinarians in our
little town that I remember. I had never
even heard of a veterinarian until I
grew up. Usually, my dad was the one
who did whatever he could to help
any local animals with their injuries
or sickness. I remember many times
in heaven
when I watched him stitch up a dog
or a cat that had been laid open after
a fight using an ordinary upholstery
needle, pouring whiskey over the
wound. He told me there was no hope
for the dog.
He went inside, brought out his .410
shotgun, and placed it in the gunrack
that was fitted on the back window of
his pickup. He then went around to
the backyard, grabbed a shovel, threw
it in the truck bed, and let down the
tailgate. He grabbed a blanket from
behind the seat and we gently placed
King on it and eased him up into the
back of the truck. I kept a close watch
on my dog as we drove to the woods,
looking through the back glass beneath
the shotgun. I wondered if he knew
what was coming as I did. Only I really
didn’t really know.
When we got to a clearing in the
woods at the end of a long dirt road,
we laid King on the ground. He was
in obvious pain, and I knew there was
no hope. I heard my dad load the .410
and closed my eyes waiting for the
blast. But instead of pulling the trigger,
he nudged me with the stock of the
shotgun, told me that it was my dog,
and gave it to me. So, looking down the
barrel of a shotgun through the tears of
a little boy, I put my beloved King out
of misery.
Isaiah prophesied in the Good Book
that in Heaven the wolf shall dwell
with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie
down with the young goat. And even
though some folks don’t believe ani
mals have souls, I’m sure my old buddy
King is up there somewhere.
Steve Reece is a writer for the Reporter
and a known crime fighter. Email him
at stevereece@gmail.com.
is published every week by The Monroe County Reporter Inc.
Will Davis, President • Robert M. Williams Jr., Vice President
Cheryl S. Williams, Secretary-T reasurer
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Deadlines noon on Friday prior to issue. Comments featured on opinion pages are the creation of
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Publication No. USPS 997-840
CAROLYN S CORNER by Carolyn Martel
We need a good word after making 800 pizzas
F riday a week ago, I went to
Papa John’s in Forsyth to
pick up a pizza for lunch. As
I approached the counter, I
saw one young lady in the kitchen
area who looked to be 19 or 20 years
old. I didn’t see any other employees.
The young lady walked to the front
and asked what kind of pizza I’d like
to order. She was very courteous, but
there was no smile on face; no joy in
her eyes. She simply looked exhaust
ed. I said, “Young lady are
you ok? She replied, “Yes,
but I’m really tired.” Why
was she so tired? Inquiring
minds want to know. So I
asked the question, and she
told me that she and other
team members had just
completed prepar
ing and delivering
800 pizzas to the
local state prison in
Forsyth.
NO DOUBT, she was tired. She
struck me as a hard-working indi
vidual, who had just went the extra
mile to help make 800 pizzas! I wanted
to make her day a little brighter. So,
I seized the opportunity to bless her
with words of support and under
standing. As I was speaking to her,
another female customer entered the
store. I glanced over at the lady, and
she looked annoyed. I guess my brief
moment of encouragement was taking
too long. I picked up my pizza and
headed for the exit. As I was leaving,
the young lady behind the
counter smiled and with en
thusiasm said, “Thank you!”
IF YOU think about it, just
about everyone you encoun
ter, is facing some kind of
battle in their life. It may not
be obvious from the
outside, as it was with
this young lady, who was
visibly tired. Neverthe
less, the fact remains,
that there are days when we all need
comfort and encouragement. 2 Corin
thians 1:3-4 says, “Praise be to the God
and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion and the God
of all comfort, who comforts us in all
of troubles, so that we can comfort
those in any trouble with the comfort
we ourselves we receive from God.”
GOD WILL use others to comfort
you and in turn, He wants to use you
to comfort and encourage others.
How can we encourage and bless one
another? Send a text, make a call or
send a note. If you have an in person
conversation, be a voice of love, hope
and faith. Proverbs 15:23 reminds us,
‘And a word spoken in due season,
how good it is!” One kind word, one
moment of inspiration, one word of
wisdom can change someone’s life. It
lifts up the person who hears it! It’s
simple, but so powerful.
Carolyn Martel is the retired advertis
ing manager of the Reporter. Email her
at carolynmartell @beilsouth. net.