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I've lost count of the sports cliches being thrown around these days. Things like, "You can't coach speed," and "It's a game of inches." I've certainly been guilty of using more than a few of them as a writer. Sometimes it feels like one of those things that just finds its way into the story/conversation.
Lately, I've become intimately familiar with one specific cliche. The more I encounter it, the more I discover just how true it is. There are variations, but the two I've heard most commonly are, "Time is undefeated," and "No one beats Father Time."
This lesson basically slapped me in the face a couple years ago. We were living at Schriever Air Force Base, Colorado, and the base fitness center ran an annual "combine challenge." Writing for the base newspaper at the time, I thought a first-person account of the challenge might make for a good story. Of course, the 16-20-year-old inside me also thought I could go out and perform close to the way I did during my playing days.
While the story was interesting (or so I've been told), that whole "play like I did as a teenager" thing didn't work out so well. That 16-year-old inside was warring with the then-33-year-old body he now occupied. While I did manage to complete the challenge without seriously injuring myself, aside from a broken ego, the experience served as a semi wake-up call.
Father Time always wins.
Flash forward two years and one of the first questions I was asked after returning to the Times Observer was, "Are you going to pitch for us in the Industrial Tournament?"
Father Time always wins . . . but he likes to toy with you in the process. You see, time also makes you forget. By the time that question was posed to me, I had all but forgotten the struggle, broken ego and pain accompanying that combine challenge.
So, "are you going to pitch for us in the Industrial Tournament?"
Psshh. Abso-freaking-lutely.
We went out and hit a few times leading up to the tournament, nothing too strenuous. And by the time we had our last session, I felt I had significantly knocked most of the rust off. The first twinge of concern came when the bracket was released. An 8 a.m. start Saturday morning. So I'd be a little sleep deprived, no big deal.
We get through the first game, an extra-inning nail biting win, still feeling OK. Probably the adrenaline rush. Next game isn't until 2:15. Oh boy. A five hour layoff. Just the thought of it makes my back start to tighten.
I somehow made it to the second game without going into full "Petrificus totalis" mode. Second game isn't nearly as exciting as we were thoroughly manhandled by a team I can only assume was chalk full of professional players. At least the next game is only an hour away.
I swear I heard a cosmic chuckle right before the monsoon began. In fairness, I don't think I've ever played in an Industrial Tournament that didn't have at least one torrential downpour. Thankfully, it ends before the first pitch.
We tiptoed through that third game and earned our way into Sunday play. What's that, another 8 a.m. start. Yeah, sure.
I wasn't sure I'd be able to swing my legs over the edge of the bed Sunday morning, much less go out a play at least one more game. Somehow, I made it through. Again, with nothing seriously injured. Only playing once Sunday probably helped.
As I sit here, it's been almost three days since the final pitch was thrown. My legs are still feeling it a bit, and I've asked myself more than once why I keep doing this. But as I told Andy Close after our final game, the yearlong wait for the next tournament seems to be just enough time for me to forget how I've felt these last couple days. So when the question comes up next year, "Are you going to pitch for us again in the Industrial Tournament?" The answer will almost undoubtedly be an emphatic yes.
Yes, I'll go out for a few weeks before and knock the rust off. Yes, I'll go into the tournament thinking I'm in good shape. Yes, I'll have that familiar achy feeling in my back and legs for a few days after. Yes, I'll have a great time while doing it, even though in the back of my mind I know.
Yes, Father Time always wins.