Well this feels like the middle of winter, I don’t know why it always comes as such a shock to me, but it sure does.
The sun hangs in the morning sky, a mere 50 watt bulb, the ones you can’t buy any longer, no warmth only pale illumination.
Oh, the wonder of it all.
Imagine, Redmond lays claim to the best High School football team in the State of Oregon.
Well, for our league anyway.
We Old Jocks remember the feel of victory as we do the almost warmth of summer suns gone by.
Savoring the taste of sweet victory in the morning after.
Lolling around the whole next day, basking in the glow of it all, a lifetime glittering in the distance.
All of us now in spiraling degrees of decline, years removed from the practice field, those stiff new shoes and chilly gym showers on concrete floors.
Some of us prolong the experience with asphalt pick- up games, singular long, eloquent jogs, even the occasional fall afternoon’s scrimmage or full court evening.
But, now, the damage lasts longer, there will be a job waiting in the morning and the trappings of maturity weigh like Marley’s chains until finally we succumb to the reclining chair of older age.
Sure, sometimes we’ll toss a ball with the grand kids, maybe play a round of golf, or just mow the lawn and dream a bit.
The imaginary roar of the crowd,
Our hearts race behind the remote control.
Still, isn’t it within us all, man or woman, we can shut our eyes, disappear through that door and step out onto the field or court.
We hear the rush of youth coursing through our veins.
For, are we not all young, in our own ways, until the instant we leave?
Time is precious, hug the ones you love, we are too soon gone, utter the kind word it takes no more effort than silence, speak from the heart and always pat the old dog on the head.