Retiring back to work

The difference is in the terms

I’ve been retired exactly 62 days. In that time, I’ve taken two trips, but no journeys. I haven’t slept in, I haven’t committed myself to serving mankind. The yard’s still a mess. I haven’t done all the things I couldn’t do before I retired because, frankly, I did ‘em all while I still worked.

The only difference between working and not working is, I make the call. Do I want to sit in front of a keyboard doing TML? Today, I think I do. Tomorrow, I could think I’d rather sit in front of the TV, watching the Pine Barrens episode from The Sopranos.

In two months, the most meaningful thing I’ve done is hose down carts at Hickory Woods Golf Course. I intend to become the best cart barn boy I can become. Someday, if I play my cards right, I might get to work on the grounds crew. We should never stop striving.

(Aside: My second day on the job, I worked with a 15-year-old sophomore in high school. Deegan was very excited about his new endeavor. “I worked 11 shifts last week,’’ he announced to me. “This is my first job.’’

“Kid,’’ I said, “this is my last job.’’)

Ambition left me the day I retired. I shed it like a snake shedding skin. It was easy. I still have the passion for moving words around. But not the urgency. For 62 days writing hasn’t defined me. What has? Nothing.

I’m playing better golf, but not necessarily because I’ve had more time to work on my game. I still listen to Reds-on-radio every night, but only because I like to. I’ve started half a dozen books and finished none. I feel like I’m walking through the world in a pair of bedroom slippers.

Point is, I’ve felt no need to do anything whatsoever. I could start saving the world tomorrow or the next day. But, you know, I probably won’t feel like it. This runs contrary to conventional wisdom about retirement. You know, the purpose-driven life and all. Well, the hell with that. My purpose today is to purposefully have no purpose.

As Robert Earl Keen put it, “I kinda like just doin’ nothin’. It’s somethin’ that I do.’’

Now, then. . .

FOR YOU ROOKIE MOBSTERS. . . As we ease back into TML Life, you’ll notice we sometimes speak a different language here. It’s a dialect carefully created and curated across the years. To appreciate fully the TML experience, it’s important to know the lingo. A brief glossary of TML-isms:

Mobster: Anyone who reads TML, hopefully regularly. Derived from The Morning Mob, a term of loving reverence applied to all of youse.

Youse: East Coast version of “you.’’ Sorry, I’m an East Coast guy. You prefer I say “yinz’’?

Rufus Alert: Indicates a movie review. In honor of local TV producer deluxe and expert movie guy, Ron “Rufus’’ Millennor.

Hemingway: Term applied to anyone who takes a turn writing TML. Mobster Jay Brinker is the pre-eminent Hemingway, but all submissions are welcome. If you have something you’d like to say, youse too can be a TML Hemingway. Email me with your notion at pdoc53@gmail.com.

Famer: Marty Brennaman.

Daily Blog Jack (DBJ): Term applied to a photo of an attractive woman and the added page views we hoped to gain from it. Currently extinct.

The Big Man: Bob Castellini

The Fam: Mike Brown, Katie Blackburn et cetera.

The Men: The Cincinnati Bengals

Now, then. . . Head Mobster throat clear. Indicates a change of subject.

OG: Me.

Johnny Thinwallet: Anyone who is, um, smart with his money. Such as me.

Stick to Sports. . . A snarky warning that I am about to launch into a diatribe not about Aristides Aquino’s (in)ability to hit a breaking ball. I am a moderate independent who disliked the former president immensely. Still do. I might or might not have expressed my displeasure occasionally in This Space. I will again. S-to-S alerts you to skip over that part if you disagree. You’ve been warned.

BASICALLY, TML IS A BUNCH OF OCCUPIED BAR STOOLS. It’s not just about sports, because neither am I. Hopefully, you’ll find enough sports here to keep you engaged. But you’ll also find beer and bourbon and cheap cigars and TV recommendations and book reviews and music offerings and car talk and trip reports and stories of my personal golf crises. Sometimes, I’ll seek your input on things that vex me, such as how to keep the damned deer from eating my knockout roses.

And yes, my political shadings. I didn’t consciously opt to shift slightly left of center. I was pushed there by Trump and his brand of Republican-ism, which bears no resemblance to the Republican-ism I used to know and sometimes support, pre-2016. Feel free to disagree. That’s part of why we’re here. Just try to keep it civil.

In the days of TML 1, we prided ourselves on being a smart and civil place to gather and debate. Let’s keep it that way.

TONIGHT, A CHANCE TO SEE if Justin Herbert is as good (or better) than Joe Burrow. We’re provincial here, and we’re a few thousand miles from LA, where Herbert QBs the Chargers. The notion that anyone not named Rodgers or Mahomes is better than Our Guy is foreign here. Herbert is up against Patrick Mahomes tonight on Thursday Night Football. Frequent Perusers of This Space will recall my cynicism for many things NFL. But at its best, The League is wildly entertaining. Tonight qualifies.

That said, where do you believe Burrow ranks among the league’s QBs?

My top 5: Mahomes, Rodgers, Josh Allen, Burrow, Herbert. I omit Brady because I’m talking about the best QBs right now. HM votes for Kyler Murray, Lamar Jackson and Matthew Stafford.

Yours, please.

ME!ME!ME! . . . I’m a regular on Thom Brennaman’s recently launched show, Off The Bench. It airs 10-noon weekdays on Chatterbox Sports, Twitter, Instagram and TikTok. Currently, I’m scheduled for Tuesdays at 10:15. A second regular spot is in the works. TML sez ckitout.

TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . Seems to fit today’s subject matter.