Do you remember when you started wearing your seat belt? I will never forget when I realized they can save your life.

It was 51 years ago. I was 19 and working a full schedule at the Arkansas Gazette despite taking a full load at the University of Central Arkansas as captain of the golf team. I was covering high school sports. It was an incredible point in my development.

The night started with a high school basketball game at Little Rock Parkview with Little Rock Hall. I saw Sidney Moncrief play for the first time. You don’t forget those kind of nights, or that coaches from Kentucky, LSU and Memphis State joined Arkansas assistant Pat Foster in the stands.

My initial thoughts: Moncrief had no jump shot, but he might get every rebound if he truly wanted it. The guards on the other team did not want the ball if he was covering them.

I left the gym excited about what I’d write, no matter that it was just a short game story. I was driving my father’s Malibu Super Sport, red with a white top. I was to write my story, then pick him up at the Camelot Hotel after an Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame smoker. The dinner would be the next night.

I made it, but my dad’s car didn’t. I was weaving my way through the many one-way streets in downtown Little Rock on the way to the Gazette building. I was hardly getting that muscle car to the speed limit before the next stoplight.

I coasted to a light ahead of a left hand turn behind a beetle car. As I waited patiently for a turn light, I noticed the car in front had Ohio license plates. On the bottom in all caps it said, “Buckle Up for Safety.”

I had never thought about seat belts. That was before the shoulder straps. The only seat belts were for the lap. I decided to look for them. I dug my hand down into the crack between in the seat — through the grunge — to it. Snap.

One block later I had clear green lights for three blocks all the way to the Gazette. Thing changed going through the next light. A white Cadillac flashed in front of me, coming the wrong way on a one-way street. I hit it broad side and spun it around. I saw the startled eyes of the driver.

Coming right behind the Cadillac were three police car with lights and sirens full blast. All three stopped to check on me. The Cadillac sped away. I’m sure they thought I had gone through the windshield. The car was totaled.

The huge engine of that car had been knocked back into my lap. But I didn’t have a scratch. The police officers were stunned that I was wearing the seat belt. They busted out the window of the driver’s side and pulled me out.

I urged them to get the Cadillac. They assured me someone else had taken up the chase. They failed to catch it.

I walked to the Gazette, wrote my story and then walked to the Camelot. I had to tell my father I’d ruined his brand new sports car.

Before I got to my dad, Arkansas assistant coach Wilson Matthews grabbed my arm and tugged me to the bar. Someone had told him I’d been in a bad accident. I was a wreck mentally, but unhurt. I convinced him of those facts.

“Come on, son,” the old football coach said. “We are going to pour you something strong.”

I’d never had bourbon, but Matthews served me a high ball and said, “Drink it all and I’ll get you another. Then we can find your dad.” He put his arm around me and coached me to finish “the medicine.”

The rest is sort of blurry. I don’t recall what my dad said about his car, but I think he was more upset that Matthews kept handing bourbon to his under age son. About the only thing I remember is what Matthews told my dad.

“Orville, there is a time and place for everything,” he said.

The other recollection: not one other person in that room had ever worn a seat belt. It just wasn’t part of our routine in the early 1970s.

I’ve worn seat belts ever since. It’s a personal choice. I get that.

I write this because we need seat belts. We need them in our every day life, not just when we are riding in a vehicle. We need them as we watch college football these days. It’s a crazy ride.

We are going to need seat belts the next six weeks with this Arkansas football team. There are going to be some wrecks. Just like Missouri, Alabama and Tennessee learned, the SEC is full of wrecks. Ole Miss and Arkansas had wrecks last week.

Buckle up. The SEC is chaotic. Sometimes that’s a game, but sometimes it’s a quarter or a half. There are lots of good teams. With the portal, you can replace half of your team. Along with all those new players comes the task of educating them on your systems.

That means you can play at a high level one week, but there is volatility. They may not be at that level the next.

Arkansas is lucky to have an open date this week, because it would be hard to get to that same magic level it achieved against Tennessee if it played LSU at Razorback Stadium this week.

I loved what I saw with the offensive line last week. Sam Pittman’s touch was apparent with so many tight ends on the injury list. Josh Street, primarily a blocker on special teams the last three years, logged extensive time at tight end.

Street has played at left guard in the past, but mainly he’s earned letters on the field goal and extra point units. He did more than that against Tennessee. He donned No. 96 and logged nine snaps at tight end.

Offensive coordinator Bobby Petrino moved Street around to gain advantages on the edge. A 6-6, 318-pounder from Bentonville, Street is no Jason Peters. But he’s got girth and is tough as nails.

Basically, Street logged the time that would have gone to Andreas Paaske, a 265-pound tough man used at tight end in short yardage situations. Paaske has been out with an injury, but due back for the LSU game.

There is a lot of toughness on this Arkansas team. There was criticism of the rotation on the defensive line in the fourth quarter of the Texas A&M game. But you saw the same kind of rotations against Tennessee pay dividends.

The glorious last play of the game is a perfect illustration of what that kind or rotation can do for you in crunch time. First, backup defensive end Quincy Rhodes dazzled with a spin move to flush the Tennessee quarterback.

But the real dude on that play was 320-pound Eric Gregory. Rested and ready, Gregory came off a blocker inside and chased fleet UT quarterback Nico Iamaleava to the boundary.

Gregory, a blur of red and white like that Malibu muscle car, reached and gave him a love tap to force him out of bounds. The other option: Iamaleava was going to be smashed by a big dude if he took one more step in bounds.

A seat belt would not have helped with that kind of wreck.