If You Could be Any Jock. . .

Who Might it Be?

Way, way back in the day, I had a chat with Reds outfielder Deion Sanders in which he told me, among other things, that baseball was boring and that if he didn’t play baseball, he wouldn’t pay attention to baseball. Which I thought was revelatory, though given the current, ebbing state of the National Passed Time, it now seems obvious and prescient.

Prime also said this: People like me wrote critical things about people like him because we envied his athletic ability.

Hmmm. I thought on that.

Was he right? Did I occasionally criticize his outfield defense out of jealousy?

I concluded, no. I told him why.

“I’d want to be you,’’ I said. “For one day.’’

Doc, do you realize how lame it is to quote yourself?

Yeah. I do. Hang with me here.

“I’d love to know what it’s like to score from 2nd on a fielder’s choice, or from 1st on a single to center’’ both of which I’d seen him do as a Red. “I’d be interested in what it’s like to dominate your football position so completely that opposing QBs never even look your way. A corner who eliminates an entire side of the field? Yeah, I’d like to know what that feels like.’’

For one day. “I wouldn’t want the accessories that come with that kind of stardom,’’ I said.

The stares, the dinner interruptions from an adoring public, the demands on your time, the posse of instant friends. The wariness, the skepticism, the constant whaddaya-want-from-me’s that result from wealth and fame. You can have all that.

That gets me, laboriously, to today’s Topic A.

What jock would you trade places with?

Skip the entrapments. Assume they’re part of the bargain. Ted Williams spent his entire life tortured by life outside the batter’s box. I’m talking about the job. The act, pure and undistilled, of doing what you’re paid to do.

I eliminated boxing, because what boxers are paid to do comes with mental and/or physical pain, sooner or later. Ditto, football. I X’d out Olympic sports such as gymnastics, because the payoff — Olympic gold — was simply not equal to the effort required. Four years in a gym, obliterated by one toe on the boundary line of a floor-exercise mat? Or, worse, a judge’s bias? No thank you.

Baseball received some consideration. Aaron, Clemente, Koufax, Maddux, even Bonds.

That said. . .

My guy begins his 2023 year today at 3:04 in Los Angeles. He hasn’t worked since December and even then, he had to leave the office early when he wasn’t feeling well. Before that, he’d punched the clock in June, in Scotland, where he was on the job for just two days.

Before multiple injuries, he made the difficult look routine and the near-impossible a habit. For two decades, he walked into the office every day knowing he was the best in the world at what he did. . . and knowing the rest of the world knew the same.

He captivated the globe for 20 years. Longer than Ruth, longer than Ali. He re-made the image of his profession. Even now at 47, 26 years removed from his first major triumph, he will own today’s moment.

I’d want to be Tiger Woods, who made golf cool.

Fifteen majors into it, he won’t catch Nicklaus’ record 18 majors. The Eternal Jack is one of a kind. He didn’t revolutionize golf.

Woods used to fascinate us with his ability. Now he interests us with his grit. (And yeah, I know his wounds have been self inflicted. That’s not the topic here.) His body is a science project. His past is a case study on the perils of fame. That would matter if that were the subject here.

I wanna know what it feels like to make that chip on 16 at Augusta National. (Masters 2005). I wanna know what’s the rush from winning a major championship by 15 strokes. (US Open, 2000). What is it like to pure a 320-yard tee shot, then spin a wedge to 3 feet before making the birdie putt? What is it like to do that1,000 times?

Woods won a US Open (2008) on a broken left leg. What sort of Right Stuff do you need to pull that off?

Finally, I want to know the emotions involved when Woods wins another tournament. After he won the Masters in 2019, who’d suggest he won’t?

No one has owned a sport the way Woods has, for as long as he has. I’d like to know what that feels like.

Your take, please.

View from Oak and Stone, looking north

TRIP REPORT. . . Headed home today after a week of mostly sun. A few observations from the palatial estate, Florida division:

If you frequent Bradenton/Anna Maria, run don’t walk to the rooftop bar/restaurant Oak and Stone in downtown Bradenton. Miraculous open-air view, especially at night, plus a Beer Wall, one of mankind’s greatest recent inventions. Beer is dispensed by the ounce at a Beer Wall, the choices seem limitless. If you’re shaky on a selection just pour y’self a couple ounces. Genius.

The traffic was as bad as I’ve ever seen it, and I’ve been coming here more than 50 years. To wit: It’s approx. eight miles from our estate to the north end of Longboat Key, where we adjourn nightly for sunset. The ride from LBK back to our place? Nearly an hour.

Yesterday, from Holmes Beach at the end of Manatee Avenue, to downtown Bradenton, approx. 10 miles? Fifty minutes. It’s a little like LA, where the denizens plan their days around traffic. To the beach? 9 AM, good. Anytime between 10 and 3? Haha.

Best times to visit here? May and October. Worst? The rest of the year.

Not a complaint. Just fact. And the traffic doesn’t affect the bliss of 75 and sunny for days on end.

PROGRAMMING NOTE. . . Home run hitter Jay Brinker is Friday Hemingway. He’ll be regaling us with tales of Super Bowl Week debauchery, having spent the winter winter-ing in Scottsdale, AZ. Let’s just say this: $300 to hang around a pool with Rob Gronkowski.

Also: If you like what we’re doing here, please SHARE. Tell everyone you know about TML. And everyone you don’t. I’ll be making an announcement in the next week or so, regarding the future of our virtual sports bar. I hope/think you’ll be pleased. Stay tuned.

TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . Lovely and underrated tune from arguably Buffett’s best album. Always reminds me of LBK sunset.