I can’t play sports any more. There, I said it. And I hate admitting it, like when a trooper pulled me over for doing 80 in a 55 mph zone and asked “Were you speeding?” At least, admitting it in this blog, I don’t have a line of cars that I just passed all pointing and laughing at me as I get a ticket.
Ladies, don’t believe those Cialis commercials. Most men would agree the worst part about growing old is that, at some point, we have to stop playing the sports we loved in our younger days. Even the ones we stunk at.
Softball? Forget it. It got to the point where I was pulling a tendon just putting on my spikes. My back was snapping more often than my old shoelaces.
Basketball? Ha! Not with MY knees. A few years ago my doctor told me I was done playing basketball because my hip had given out. And this was three days before our first annual high school alumni basketball game. Three days! I already had my old Converse All-Stars, white knee-high socks and high-cut shorts picked out to wear. I was going to show the kids of today how a cool-looking dude dressed back in the day. (I’ve since switched doctors. After all, why go to someone who gives you bad news? And then charges you for it!)
Football? One would normally think that my football days were long gone. BUT….
In June, at age 57, I attempted to turn back the clock. I played in my high school’s alumni football game. By the end of the game it was obvious it was my farewell curtain call from sports I love. Going into the game my goal was not to get a sack, not even to finish the game uninjured. My goal was to complete my run from the goal line to midfield during the pregame introduction (see pic below). After I got to the 50 yard line I discovered that my painful journey was not finished. My teammates had all lined up with one hand extended – I had to run down the line, high fiving my teammates.
The game was a breeze after that run. I played defensive end for one series and a total of four plays. The first play our opponents ran by me for a first down. With my bad knees I felt like a sitting duck out there. Imagine a bowling alley with the 2 and 3 pins standing alone and someone fires a medicine ball at them at 80 mph. Then a trooper standing halfway down the alley gives it a huge push instead of giving a ticket. Those two pins represented my legs and the medicine ball represented the opposing blockers. The trooper represented Satan. It felt like my legs had the same chance of holding up against the blockers as those two pins did against a well-thrown medicine ball.
(Side Note: a sure sign I’ve gotten on in years happened after the game. One of the opposing players graduated the same year I did. After the game I was looking for him to find out how HE felt. You know, aches, pains, missing dentures. During the post-game handshake I asked one of their players “Hey, where’s that old man, #57, from the class of 1974? I played against him in high school.” The player pointed toward their bench and said “Dad’s over there.” Ugh.
Nowadays, my activities are less active. My weekends are taken up with sailing and golf. And I only golf if we take a cart!
You win again, Father Time. You win.
Actual picture of me running out onto the field before our alumni football game last month. Two yards down, 48 to go.