Old-Timer
Man, Ricky Henderson could fly. Back in the 90's when he got to first you knew he'd aggravate the pitcher just enough to wind up on 3rd in about three minutes.
Yesterday he led off the 27-Time World Champion Yankees old-timers game. He hit a slow roller that found its way between short and the pitcher.
20 years ago he would have been in right field before the shortstop picked up that ball. Yesterday he was out by six steps.
He laughed.
My boys were playing basketball in the driveway yesterday.
"Give me a shot," I called.
Sam tossed me the ball. I thought of how cool it was when I tossed the ball to my Dad and he tried a hook shot.
I wound up and put it squarely off the back rim. The ball bounded back at me and I moved towards it. I limped heavily.
"All right, stop with the fake injury cause you missed it and give us the ball back," Sam said.
We all laughed. There's no faking the fact that we can't move quite as well as we used to.
And then I watched Sam play...he was everywhere on the court. Non-stop movement and energy. He was diving for the ball, running, jumping.
Bernie Williams was on the old-timers roster as was Paul O'Neill.
They won the series together over the hapless Mets in 2000.
"Could you still hit a 90 MPH pitch?" the announcer asked O'Neill.
"If you gave me a month to prepare I could hit one out of 100," he said.
I wonder if that is frustrating to old athletes.
Actually, I don't have to wonder.
"Give me another one," I said to Sam.
He threw me the ball.
I air-balled it and it rolled down the side of the house.
"Now I gotta' run after it!" He called out.
At least he can.
Yesterday he led off the 27-Time World Champion Yankees old-timers game. He hit a slow roller that found its way between short and the pitcher.
20 years ago he would have been in right field before the shortstop picked up that ball. Yesterday he was out by six steps.
He laughed.
My boys were playing basketball in the driveway yesterday.
"Give me a shot," I called.
Sam tossed me the ball. I thought of how cool it was when I tossed the ball to my Dad and he tried a hook shot.
I wound up and put it squarely off the back rim. The ball bounded back at me and I moved towards it. I limped heavily.
"All right, stop with the fake injury cause you missed it and give us the ball back," Sam said.
We all laughed. There's no faking the fact that we can't move quite as well as we used to.
And then I watched Sam play...he was everywhere on the court. Non-stop movement and energy. He was diving for the ball, running, jumping.
Bernie Williams was on the old-timers roster as was Paul O'Neill.
They won the series together over the hapless Mets in 2000.
"Could you still hit a 90 MPH pitch?" the announcer asked O'Neill.
"If you gave me a month to prepare I could hit one out of 100," he said.
I wonder if that is frustrating to old athletes.
Actually, I don't have to wonder.
"Give me another one," I said to Sam.
He threw me the ball.
I air-balled it and it rolled down the side of the house.
"Now I gotta' run after it!" He called out.
At least he can.
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