By Randy Capps
As a newly-minted 50-year-old man who has written more than 130 columns for this magazine, I’m glad I went to check the past football editions to make sure I haven’t covered my start with journalism.
Turns out, I’ve already done it twice in previous football editions. Of all the things I’ve lost in my half century circling the sun, it’s my mind I miss the most.
Check the archives for the full story, but the short version is that sports writing, particularly about high school football, led me down the path to becoming your friendly neighborhood journalist.
Much has changed for me since that fateful night at Fox Field in 1993 where I covered my first game. Heck, I write for a lifestyle magazine now.
But I’ll always have a soft spot for a crisp fall Friday night, when the Carolina heat has given way to actual football weather. One where you can hear the band as you walk into the stadium.
You can stand off to the side and cast your eye to the bleachers, where a community gathers to cheer in one voice. Sure, they’re yelling for the star quarterback, but they’re also cheering for the young men that grow up and become teachers, police officers and town councilmen.
Those shouts are led by cheerleaders that will eventually be the glue that holds that community together.
And while hardly anyone remembers how the average season went, anyone associated with a program can remember the special moments that echo long after the final whistle blows.
Clayton had a season like that last year, and it was one that town isn’t likely to forget anytime soon.
Is there one on the horizon in 2026? Keep on reading, and we’ll see.
