This didn't start to be a post about Varitek (though every day is a good day for a little Tek).
Varitek is 35 today, and the gang on WEEI is afraid the old plowhorse may be losing it. Not that there has been any sign of it yet this season. He's as slow and as pigeon-toed to the base as he ever is, when he gets the chance to get there. But when a 6'3" 230lb man can jump up from a crouch and nail a baseball 127 feet, around the guy who threw it, into the 2nd baseman's glove... well, it's a feat at any age, really.
This commentary about the 35 year-old "old man" caught my attention for the same reason it probably catches Tim Wakefield's (who at 40 is still younger than I am): "old man, my eye."
And this is what the post was originally about.
I am 43 years old, and deteriorating under my very nose.
Lately I've taken to throwing out my knee by using a laptop. And the saddest part was that I had to do it 3 times before I even figured out how I was doing it. It's a simple recipe: Turn on the game, stretch your legs out over the nice ottoman you got at Bldg 19, put the laptop on your thighs, work away. 9 innings later, stand up. See if you can get out of bed the next day.
I do not have much athletic ability -- not even enough to put athletic in quotes. I lack the depth perception to throw, catch or hit a ball with much success, I would hate to break a nail in a contact sport, and as you've heard me say many times, "I wouldn't run from a fire."
Because I would do it with the same rottweiller reflex as Jason's.
But one thing I could do, my whole life, was squat completely to the floor, flat-footed, in the style of the far east. And I could rise from this position too, unassisted, with straight posture. I thought this was terribly cool, and made up for not having earned these legs from anything noble like riding, running, skating, or softball.
Tonight, healed from my latest laptop injury (or so I thought) I went into the squat to look at a lower bookshelf, and what the Internet tells me are my "collateral ligaments" declared an end to this position. Perhaps forever.
As the yoga tape tells you, "respect...any resistance..." Only it was more like these 2 ligaments grabbed the back of my head, pushed my face into a puddle and said, "Drink mud, punk!" With a Dead End kids accent...which was unexpected.
Add it to the list of things I can't do anymore, like digest a donut or sleep past 7am.
So here's to you, birthday boy. You big ol' tank. 6 foot-three. damn. that's hot. I'll rub your knees if you rub mine.
All the Tek you can Take...here