Toys ‘R’ Us said it best. “I don’t wanna grow up.”
Getting old is harder than sterling silver dipped in liquid nitrogen. I often find myself staring into the deep gray abyss of the twilight and wondering if this is it. If life exists to simply amass a small fortune, raise a family and perish – leaving behind a legacy if you’re lucky, but more often than not, generally fading away like a solar system that’s lost it’s sun.
I scanned my face in the mirror last night a little more stringently than usual.
Nothing really changed, mind you, since the day before. But those crow’s feet are becoming a bit more pronounced, that forehead’s annexed some new territory further to the north, and that waistline has a bit more wobble than it once did.
But last night. I got real old. A lot of folks my age did, too. Ken Griffey, Jr., forever the kid, got too damn old for baseball. Continue reading
Fly; meet windshield. Scissors; meet rock. Linebacker; meet Christian Okoye.
For the better part of six all-too-brief years with the Kansas City Chiefs, Christian Okoye was equal parts ballerina and bulldozer. He terrorized opposing defenses with a freakish blend of power and precision. His body moved efficiently and powerfully toward one goal – and one goal only – the end zone.