Month: May 2026

Writing sports was fun, but now I’m done

Early last week, the Canadian Football League sent out a news release concerning its ridiculous playoff format for 2027.

Eight of nine teams qualify for the postseason?

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

Top two seeds in each division guaranteed two games?

You’re kidding me, right?

Just a few months ago, I’d have hammered out a thousand words on the subject and misspelled the CFL commissioner’s name at least once (it’s Stewart Johnston, not Stewart Johnson). My missive would’ve been posted within hours of the news.

Instead, what I just wrote is all I’ll write about it.

Why?

Because truthfully, I no longer have anything interesting to say about sports.

After 333 alternative football pieces, 152 history stories, 85 soccer reports, 72 basketball articles and hundreds of other columns ranging from OmegaBall to the Premier Lacrosse League, the clock has hit double zeroes. Whether or not I was in the victory formation when the game ended is for other people to decide.

When I started adamsonmedia.com, I had just wrapped up a 30-year career as a newspaper sports editor/writer. Since I was no longer getting paid to pontificate, I figured my site was a place where I’d write what I wanted when I wanted.

It’s great fun.

Originally, I wanted to concentrate mostly on soccer, my favorite sport, but soon discovered that there were approximately 857,634 soccer bloggers. I was not needed in that area and quickly called an audible.

Thus, I shifted most of my focus to alternative football, and that was a hoot for several years. However, my interest in tackle football in general has waned considerably over the last couple of years, and I don’t even watch minor league spring football anymore. I’m glad it exists, but I’ll leave it for others to cuss and discuss.

Of course there was always sports history, and I love research. That became my favorite brand of sports writing by far, and I spent hours going down rabbit holes in search of quirky tales that were long forgotten. It was fascinating.

Then, I finally ran out of material – at least material that interested me. I mean, I milked all I could from the World Football League and World Hockey Association. As weird as it sounds, I know as much about the WFL and WHA as I care to.

It’s crazy … I never imagined there’d come a time when I lost interest in sportswriting, but that time is here – and I’m absolutely fine with it. I’m content to be a casual fan.

*  That said, I won’t completely rule out ever writing sports again. If, say, the NFL folded or FIFA passed a rule banning players from using their feet in association football, I’d be compelled weigh in.

My new writing passion is flash fiction.

To date, I’ve done 111 short stories for adamsonmedia.com, and that will be my primary focus going forward. I love creating characters and, once I do, watching them evolve as they come to life in my head and on my computer screen. Fiction was something I always wanted to write, but it scared me because it takes me out of my comfort zone.

It’s still scary but man, it brings me the most joy I’ve ever had as a writer.

I’ve even written a young adult novel titled Red Mountain Phantoms. It still hasn’t been published – that’ll probably be something I have to do on my own dime – but I’m proud of it. Authoring a non-fiction book (The Home Team: My Bromance With Off-Brand Football) was great, but the YA project is even more rewarding.

I might even do some humor columns from time to time. There are 98 currently posted, and it’d be a shame if I didn’t hit 100 sooner or later.

And – in a strange plot twist – I’ve become obsessed with painting. I’m trying my hand at everything from landscapes to abstracts, and it’s addictive.

I’ve done more than 50 on stretched canvasses, ranging from “Eh, I guess that’s not too bad” to “Scott spilled a bunch of paint.”

None are or will ever be museum-worthy, yet I rarely go a day without at least playing around in my makeshift studio.

So, for my next act, I’m going to concentrate on writing about the world of make believe and believing in a world where I’m also a painter.

Wish me luck …

The final round

The 18th fairway of the old Ashtown Hollow Country Club golf course was more like a meadow now, with tall fescues, yarrow and Black-eyed Susans growing wild. The paved cart path was still there near the thick woods lining the hole, although time and weather had caused it to crack and crumble.

Still, one could find plenty of clues to its golf past; there were many stray balls and even a few lost clubs to be discovered by anyone with the time and inclination to search for them.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social

The course had been closed for 10 years, and what was left had been hastily renamed Ashtown Hollow Park. It was envisioned as part wildlife habitat, part family gathering spot, but little had been done to facilitate the latter.

“Looks like the green – or what used to be the green – is about 200 yards up ahead,” Seth said. “What do you think we’ll find this time … more of the same?”

Chip chuckled at the thought.

“You know there’ll be some new photos and fresh flowers,” Chip said. “Maybe some used up candles, too. Photos, flowers and candles are staples of makeshift memorials.”

When the country club folded, the reason given was that the company behind it was pulling funding to “pursue new growth opportunities.” But Seth and Chip – and anyone who lived near the course – knew that was just a convenient cover story.

A decade earlier, a foursome had been brutally murdered on the 18th green, hacked to death by someone wielding a machete. The crime took place at twilight – when most players had already gone to the clubhouse for libations – and there were no witnesses. It was assumed the killer had been hiding in the woods and lying in wait for the unsuspecting golfers.

The greenskeeper at Ashtown Hollow was questioned but released after just a few hours, and police were unable to identify any persons of interest.

News of the massacre quickly spread, and a once lively golf course devolved into a morbid curiosity and ghoul magnet. Instead of requesting tee times, people would phone the clubhouse in hopes of securing directions to the 18th green to see where the “Phantom of the Green” struck.

But with the killer still on the loose, golfers soon abandoned Ashtown Hollow and scattered to other courses. They were replaced by sleuths and thrill seekers who made annual pilgrimages to the scene of the crime.

“Where are Tam and Grady?” Seth asked. “I thought they were right behind us.”

“They’re always draggin’ ass,” Chip said. “They’ll be along soon enough, I’m sure.”

Once Seth and Chip reached the green, they noticed plenty of new tributes, along with a picture of the greenskeeper who never escaped the shadow of suspicion.

“Ugh … I wish these true crime junkies would leave that poor guy alone,” Chip snapped. “Dude was on a tractor near the driving range when everything went down. Typical, though. If you’re gonna go to the trouble of giving a killer a nickname like the ‘Phantom of the Green,’ you gotta pin it on somebody.”

Seth and Chip surveyed the updated shrine, and soon were joined by Tam – proudly announcing he’d found the remnants of a 1-iron – and Grady. There were so many remembrances now, the green looked like a graveyard on decoration day.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Tam said. “And you have to figure we’ll have lots of company today … I hear they’ve organized a walking tour. Being it’s the tenth anniversary of the massacre, the amateur investigators will be showing up in full force … gotta keep the legend alive.”

Grady looked out toward the woods.

“You know,” he said, “this really would be the perfect time for the murderer to show up. If he ever wanted to come back, tonight would be the night … the lure of returning 10 years later is surely too strong to ignore.”

Seth nodded in agreement.

“I hope he does,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time to scare the life out of the bastard who killed us.”