I think Father Time is finally gaining ground on me. Karen will tell you it happened long ago.
It seems like just a couple years ago there was a new kid on the NFL stage. He was Patrick Mahomes from the Kansas City Chiefs and he was fire in a league that loves their superstars.
Today there is Trevor Lawrence, Josh Allen, Joe Burrow, Patrick Mahomes, Lamar Jackson, Justin Hebert, Tua Tagavailoa, Jared Goff (only 26, and let’s not forget that Browns’ QB Baker Mayfield is only 25, Mitch Trubisky, and we’ll see how much thirty year-old Jimmy Garopolo has left in the tank.
Clint Eastwood is another from my generation and boy is still kicking it at 91. He definitely got his money’s worth on this globe, and that’s quite a lot of money.
I always liked him.
I love the fact that my favourite football club Manchester United, has arguably the greatest (or second best) footballer in history, Cristiano Ronaldo on the roster ,but the new young guns like Erling Haaland, Kylian Mbappe, and Declan Rice are signaling the passing of the torch.
On a much smaller scale, I too, felt a transfer of power in my soccer career. I was fourteen, living on Upper Heyford Air Force Base in central England, and we had just been told we were shipping out ASAP for Shaw Air Force Base in South Carolina.
That part sucked about being a military dependent.
But I had one last match scheduled to play as my swan song.
We were the very first-ever American football squad to play in an English Boys League.
Look it up.
It was a ten-team league and was considered a very strong one. Our team had to take plenty a load of shite from the Brits in every single away match. It started as soon as they saw the American flags we proudly wore on our sleeves, and didn’t stop until we got back on the bus.
We had defied all the crap, the whistles (boos), and the cheap shots and biased referees and linesmen, and we won our first nine games. We were tied with a team from Leeds that we were told were the perennial champions and they had been awarded with international play.
They were a big deal.
The score was 0-0 as the match entered its final minutes.
A mad scramble from a desperate pass from behind, a spinning leap into the back of goal and we were 9-1.
We had been approached by the BBC and we were being looked at for a piece on Matchday featuring our quest for a perfect half-season.
It never happened, and I had to pass the torch to my teammates who were remaining on the team.
I never found out how they finished the season, but it was really fun playing with those guys.
That was the end of football (soccer) for me, but I did dabble in American football a few years later before I had one operation too many.