The Age of Reason

(This appears in my column in the sports section of today's Business Mirror.)

It’s my birthday. When I was younger, I counted the weeks, days, hours, and minutes before THE DAY. I thought that I got better gifts on my special day as opposed to Christmas when I got gifts depending on whether I was naughty or nice. I was a kid for crying out loud. There was no Playstation, no cellphone, no ipod or any nifty thingamajig. But it was either a vinyl LP of the Clash’s Pearl Harbour ’79, a box of comics, a t-shirt with a Rambo Reagan iron-on, or a new pair of Sperry top-siders. Later on, I preferred to get money so I could buy what I wanted after those crappy Le Tigre shirts failed to deliver girls who wanted to hold my tiger.

After a while I stopped looking forward to my birthday. Chalk it up to avoiding treating out officemates, friends, and even relatives. I was a cheapskate who preferred to enjoy the treats of others. When it comes to occasions like that, I subscribed to the maxim of “it’s better to receive than to give.”

Even later I began to ignore the day itself. Imagine how I felt when an officemate of mine felt old because she turned 24. I reasoned out like everyone else that, “hey, at least I’m still in the monthly calendar.” Now that I’m past that, it’s “at least I’m still in the lotto card.”

But in many ways I’m now more accepting of how old I am. I used to badger my dad of what it was like when Elvis and the Beatles ruled everyone’s hearts, hips and radio. But I was certainly glad to be in the thick of punk and new wave era, the robot craze that ended up with their being cancelled because they were deemed too violent (duh!), the massive demonstrations and fight for freedom that ended with EDSA, and when Club Dredd was the place to be.

Yes, I’m comfortable with my age until I read about the varying and current plights of NBA players Antoine Walker and Kobe Bryant.

I remember that University of Kentucky commercial that featured players of its championship squad Ron Mercer, Tony Delk, Walter McCarty, Derek Anderson, Mark Pope, Nazr Mohammed, Scott Padgett, and Antoine Walker, in various shots of gravity defying dunks and highlight plays (a number of these guys played for the Celtics). I certainly remember ‘Toine being offered the keys to Boston even before he suited up for one NBA minute. That’s how downtrodden the Celtics were in the post-Big Three period.

Walker teamed up for 7½ seasons with the team’s current captain Paul Pierce. They had one memorable play-off run in 2002 that ended in the hands of Jason Kidd and the New Jersey Nets before Walker was sent off to Dallas and Atlanta with another brief stint at Boston before shuttled off to Miami where he won his only NBA title so far.

Now the guy with the funniest shimmy in the Association is with the rebuilding Timberwolves. He’s suddenly the senior citizen in a team that has become either a graveyard or second home for former Celtics. Unfortunately for Walker so far, team owner Glen Taylor has chosen to go with the youth movement of Randy Foye, Al Jefferson, Gerald Green, Sebastian Telfair, Ryan Gomes, and Corey Brewer. And winless thus far, they suspiciously look like the Celtics of a year ago while Boston looks like Minnesota during their one great season when they had their Big Three of Kevin Garnett, Latrell Sprewell and Sam Cassell.

Talk about trading places.

The other day, Walker was put in the game against the New York Knicks in its final 11 seconds for a chance to tie the game with a three-pointer. Cold and rusty, he missed badly. So far in four games, he’s only played less than 40 minutes as his team is giving its youthful core the needed playing time to grow. The Wolves are using this season to experiment and gear up for next year and beyond and the 11-year vet who was jettisoned by fellow Wildcats alum Pat Riley (who called him overweight and criticized Walker’s penchant for hoisting treys like it was going out of style) is at a crossroads. Maybe just maybe there are one or two more stops for Walker who was once hailed as a franchise savior and is now a hired gun in the vein of Chuck Person.

Ironically, the Los Angeles Lakers are long on youth and potential but are far from being a challenger. And they are in search for veteran help. Kobe Bryant who also belongs to Walker’s 1996 NBA Draft class is at the prime age of 29 yet is considered a senior citizen by league tenure standards. His team’s failures over the last several years have eaten at him more so by the front office’s inability to land serious veteran help. Where he was once the Lakers’ Golden Child, he is now either Public Enemy No. 1 or voice of reason depending on which side of the road you’re on. For sure the Lakers tried to land Jason Kidd and Garnett to no avail and to date whether or not Kobe and Jerry Buss patch it up, they're still looking for veteran help.

Ditto with that team from the midwest. After seeing their Baby Bulls (who are all now grown up) struggle for respectability for years, Chicago went for veteran help in Ben Wallace, PJ Brown, and Joe Smith, the onus is on them now to win. But the way they’re struggling, they definitely need veteran savvy and leadership to get them over the hump. And maybe they will get that this year. Or maybe not. Will it help to get older?

But the one thing I’ve learned on my birthday is that one can never be too young or too old. There’s always a place for us in the world. Sometimes we just have to find or work for it. When I was young, William Nolan and George Clayton Johnson’s dystopian novel – and later its film adaptation -- Logan’s Run (where everyone over the age of 30 was put to death to prevent over population) scared the heck out of me. And now well, I’m having a simple celebration. I don’t yearn for the material hobbies of my youth and instead wonder about more adult concerns about proving for the family and making a significant contribution to my community and the world.

And that’s not me rationalizing it.