So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish

It’s not the years, honey; it’s the mileage.

– Indiana Jones

It’s been said that one of the most difficult things in life is to recognize and admit that your time has come and gone. This is particularly true of athletes, who eventually learn the hard truth that time has caught up with them. Their bodies may have broken down, they may be a step slower, and/or their skills may have diminished; it happens to any athlete. When they realize that their physical gifts have diminished, Father Time has won.

He always does.

It’s tough to know when to step away. Smart athletes will have planned ahead and have something to step into that will ease the transition into civilian. Life at its most basic is a never-ending series of goodbyes. No matter how much we might hate it or wish it to be different, it’s part and parcel of the human condition. Sometimes it’s not even about time or diminished physical skills. Every now and again, an athlete realizes that there’s more to life than the children’s game they’ve been blessed to play professionally. Some exit stage left because they understand the risks they face in trying to prolong their career. They walk away at the top of their game because they don’t want to become a statistic. They don’t want to become the next Mike Webster, Junior Seau, or Derek Boogaard. They want to leave before the game- and their health- leaves them.

Former Washington State QB Timm Rosenbach walked away from a lucrative NFL career because he knew the vicious brutality of the game would eventually catch up with him. He left millions of dollars on the table because he wanted to leave while he had his wits (and his knees) about him. Now he’s the offensive coordinator at UNLV, where he’s involved with the game without having to worry about being blind-sided by 250 lbs. of blitzing linebacker.

Barry Sanders, arguably the greatest running back in NFL history, abruptly retired at the pinnacle of his career and retreated to a life of enforced anonymity. Why? Who knows? A few more years would have cemented his legacy as the league’s all-time leading rusher, but he left on his own terms. Perhaps he felt it was his time. Fans were left to wonder what might have been…and that might just be one last example of Sanders’ surpassing brilliance.

A very wise man once said, “Always leave ‘em wanting more,” a lesson Willie Mays never learned. After 22 years with the New York/SanFrancisco Giants, Mays limped through a final season and a half with the New York Mets. Fans of a certain age will remember how painful it was to watch Mays stumble around the outfield and struggle at the plate until he was 41. By the time he retired, Mays was a shadow of his former self. Slowed by injuries and the ravages of time, the Say Hey Kid’s skill, speed, and power had virtually disappeared. Most who watched him struggle felt for a player who had once owned baseball. He loved the game, but the game had long ago left him. Unable to admit what was obvious to everyone else, Mays ended his career far past his prime.

How does one recognize when it’s time to cede the stage to the next generation? Who can say? Willie Mays’ plodding around the outfield at 41 is a far cry from the career year Raul Ibanez’ is having for the Seattle Mariners at 41. Maybe the most important thing is the willingness to be honest with yourself and not let your pride dictate that you hang on until they tear the uniform off your back.

(Don’t even get me started on Chip Kelly, the poster boy for leaving as your playing fast and loose with the rules is about to catch up with you….)

That said, it’s time for me to practice what I preach….

For some time, I’ve recognized that my ability to contribute effectively to Oregon Sports News has diminished significantly. Because of that, this will be my last column for OSN. After more than a year and a half, I have to admit that I’m out of ideas. There are other reasons that factored into my decision, but the timing feels right. It’s time to move on to new challenges.

I hope that I’ve played at least a small role in the growth of OSN. Arran’s labor of love continues to grow at a prodigious rate, and it’s been an honor to contribute to that success in whatever incremental way I could.

Going forward, I wish everyone at OSN the best. It’ll be interesting to see what the future holds. The potential for big things is certainly there.

Before I ride off into the sunset, I’ll leave you with the words of the late Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy:

“So long, and thanks for all the fish.”

It’s been fun.