I walked onto Clemson’s practice field on a late summer afternoon last week, and the alma mater of a school I didn’t attend kept running through my head.
Where the Blue Ridge yawns its greatness,
Where the Tigers play,
Here the sons of dear old Clemson
Reign supreme alway.
The practice was ending, and I looked out over the practice fields toward Death Valley as the sun began to set in the distance behind us. A few minutes before, I had looked out over the lake and the deepening color of the sunset and saw the mountains the song talks about.