a conversation with the hanes™ guy

Very early this morning, Jack and I were playing one-on-one. That is something we rarely do because we don't have any place to play. But at this time of the morning, you can just put a basketball goal and slap down some concrete anywhere you want, nobody really cares. So that's what I did. Right by the back deck.
Years ago, I decided that I would never let Jack beat me in a game of basketball. That would would be one of our big connections in our relationship. He would try and try and I would refuse to let him win until one day, somewhere down the road, he would finally beat his old dad fair and square, and there would be a rite of passage. It would be a big moment that neither of us would ever forget. I guess it's just one of those dad fantasies.
Things haven't really turned out that way though. When he started to get big enough to actually shoot the ball above his head, I repaired the goal and backboard at the old house. Then I could never keep the boys in the hood from tearing down the goal and breaking the backboard. Nevermind that Jack could never approach the goal, because our driveway was always full of foul-mouthed teenagers with 8 inches of underpants rising from the top of their Kobe Bryant knock-off trunks. But, I thought, better that they should be here than somewhere else, so I just kept repairing the goal.
Since we've moved, there is really no place to play, and we both obviously have the itch. So that is what we were doing this morning while we were asleep. I was in the backyard, dunking over the poor kid, slipping the ball down the back of my shorts, pulling it out of my ear and tap dancing on his shoulders.
We were both getting pretty tired so Jack came back inside and I stayed out and sat beside the goal to cool down. About that time, Michael Jordon came by and stopped to talk. You know, the Hanes guy. He always has this sly look about him, but eventually the conversation turned reflective and serious. I was still puffing pretty hard from giving Jack such beating, and I looked at the Hanes guy and said, "don't you just wish you could wake up some morning and be 23?"
Now he could have said, "I've always been 23," or, "you wanna be me?" But he didn't. He's a year older than I am, and he knew exactly what I meant. "yeah," he said.
So I've reached an age where I can remember the entire careers of recently retired, long-haul superstars. No doubt, that is why I was talking to the Hanes guy this morning. Here is a retired, enduring athlete, who was a peer star, with Pat Ewing, even when we were in High School. Now retired.
So as I quickly approach the changing of the jersey, and trade in my vintage Gayle Sayers for a Dirk Nowitzky, I gotta strive to be positive, ya know. I can't dunk over Jack. I can't even dunk over Molly. I've got a ruptured disk and a high-number jersey. I'm going to spend the next couple weeks talking to people with positive stories about advancing stats. Tomorrow morning after a game of run-down in the back yard, I hope to talk to Cal Ripken, Jr. about all the things that get better with age. He is 3 years older than me.