The headline read “50 at 30” – that’s the number of golf tournaments Tiger Woods has won by the time he’s turned 30. Jack Nicklaus had held the record by winning 50 by the age of 33.
I am almost a year away from turning 40 and I have not won a single golf tournament – I’m still trying to break 130 . . . for one round . . . hitting from the amateur tee . . . which is the closest starting point to the hole. O.K. so golf is not my game. A couple months ago I tried to play soccer after having been practically inactive for four years – I was basically booed off the pitch. What the hell is happening?
It reminded me of the opening of “City Slickers” where Billy Crystal’s character turns 40 (if memory serves . . .) and he thinks that this is as good as it’s going to get – he won’t get any better looking or be in better shape, etc., etc.
I sort of started noticing things were changing when I turned 30 but now that I am reaching middle age, it’s just not funny any more. I mean I had already accepted the fact that the small tropical storm with its eye on top my head was going to be upgraded to a category 2 or 3 hurricane overtime and so I started keeping the remaining hair on my head much shorter, but lately, there seems to be a noticeable belly forming where my flat stomach used to be.
So I have started running. I hate running when there is no ball to distract me from the fact that I am running, but I am running. Maybe I am running away – running away from all the things that I wanted to do and haven’t, away from the thought that I miss my father deeply, away from the fact that the whole world seems to be heading towards hell in a hand basket and people in positions of responsibility aren’t doing responsible things.
But I want to think that I am running towards something better. The great Negro League baseball pitcher Satchel Paige once said: “. . . don’t look back — something might be gaining on you”.
So there – I’m chasing 40 and maybe I can save Norman the calf along the way.
the City 