Time Waits For No One
I've always been a big Stones fan - love the Keith Richards guitar licks - love Mick's voice - even loved a lot of the lyrics. I often think of Time is on My Side, yes it is - but thought of the old song - Time Waits for No One as I watched the Yankee-Red Sox game last night.
I had always liked John Smoltz - he was a pitcher for the Braves for twenty years and was on two of the teams that the Yanks spanked to win the World Series in the late 90's. I used to hate when he was against the Yanks, but I admired his talents and the way he carried himself. And then he went and signed with the Red Sox during the off-season and I thought it was a shame because I would have to grow to hate him.
I actually loved him last night because he stunk and the Yanks blasted him, but for the first time in my life I actually felt bad for an opposing pitcher - Smoltz looked like a shell of himself. The windup and delivery were the same. The intense look was the same - but his mind was writing checks that his body couldn't cash. It was sad.
Sam and Jake were watching the game with me and Sam made a remark about Smoltz being old - "When you get old you should quit," he said. (I'm sure Smoltz was thinking the same thing).
"How old is Lowell?" Jake asked. "He moves like he's fifty."
"He's 40," I said. "Smoltz is 42. They both look like they're done."
"You're 44," Sam said. "Are you done?"
I laughed. I suppose the major league dream is really over. "My splitter ain't what it used to be and my fastball lost a few miles," I answered.
Yet watching Smoltz suffer wasn't enjoyable as a baseball fan - it was fun as a Yankee fan, mind you, but it hurt in the context of getting old myself.
This is the first year that there isn't a Yankee older than me on the roster. Looking at the 20-year-old girls who are the Playboy centerfolds even seems a little creepy. (All right that was a lie).
Yet time waits for no one. See ya' Smoltz. Hang 'em up now. Let the kids take your place.
I started with the Stones and now I'm singing the friggen' circle of life.
I had always liked John Smoltz - he was a pitcher for the Braves for twenty years and was on two of the teams that the Yanks spanked to win the World Series in the late 90's. I used to hate when he was against the Yanks, but I admired his talents and the way he carried himself. And then he went and signed with the Red Sox during the off-season and I thought it was a shame because I would have to grow to hate him.
I actually loved him last night because he stunk and the Yanks blasted him, but for the first time in my life I actually felt bad for an opposing pitcher - Smoltz looked like a shell of himself. The windup and delivery were the same. The intense look was the same - but his mind was writing checks that his body couldn't cash. It was sad.
Sam and Jake were watching the game with me and Sam made a remark about Smoltz being old - "When you get old you should quit," he said. (I'm sure Smoltz was thinking the same thing).
"How old is Lowell?" Jake asked. "He moves like he's fifty."
"He's 40," I said. "Smoltz is 42. They both look like they're done."
"You're 44," Sam said. "Are you done?"
I laughed. I suppose the major league dream is really over. "My splitter ain't what it used to be and my fastball lost a few miles," I answered.
Yet watching Smoltz suffer wasn't enjoyable as a baseball fan - it was fun as a Yankee fan, mind you, but it hurt in the context of getting old myself.
This is the first year that there isn't a Yankee older than me on the roster. Looking at the 20-year-old girls who are the Playboy centerfolds even seems a little creepy. (All right that was a lie).
Yet time waits for no one. See ya' Smoltz. Hang 'em up now. Let the kids take your place.
I started with the Stones and now I'm singing the friggen' circle of life.
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