At age 18 men are long since out of puberty. You're a man. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.
At 19 men realize they're not as “man” as they think they are. You can get a gun license and be drafted to war. You can open up a checking account, and eat as much White Castle as you want without your parents’ permission. But no beer.
At age 21 you get shitfaced and brag about it for a couple weeks. Then you get a summer job; maybe bartending, hopefully not washing dishes or gutting fish.
At age 22 men exit college or have been in a job for a few years. You either begin to hate your crappy job or catch an uppity primadonna’s syndrome called “Senior-itis”
At age 23 men start doing their own taxes, since it’s expected that you no longer rely on your parents to handle this sort of thing for you. If you're 23 and one of those guys who likes to do your taxes, and always has, then you're probably not getting out enough.
At age 25, you're starting to get “serious” about things. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.
At 26 men are supposed to have some semblance of a meaningful job. Respectable furniture, a career maybe, and a car that isn’t totally falling apart. Maybe a few ties and some decent socks too.
At 28 men start to get invited to a lot of weddings. It’s a function of the fact that you’ve got a girlfriend (hopefully) and that she is getting invited to a lot of weddings. In short, her friends are getting married, and her sisters are married, so then you're next.
At 29 men worry about what soon being 30 means. Just like women do.
At age 30 men start to lose touch with popular music. And men’s music-listening repertoire encompasses what music they owned from age 15 to 30. So for me, the collection (some of which is an actual record collection) spans The Smiths and NWA to The Strokes. Which is better than the older single guy next door, whose record collection (all records, that is) spans Foghat to Falco.
Age 33, men shed a sport or give up a habit, maybe two. Or, at least that’s how it’s supposed to go if you're doing what you're supposed to, being married and being responsible. If you're 5 foot 4, you’ll probably give up watching the NBA first. And within a year you won't even know who boxing's Heavyweight Champion of the World is.
At 35 men start to grow unsightly hair from their ears. That’s about it, really.
When I turned 36 I did the usual sports nut thing and took to trying to identify --in my head— any legendary or even prominent athletes who wore number 36. There are a few but not tons.
First and most notable, there’s Jerome Bettis, who wore number 36 with the Pittsburgh Steelers, ending his career with a Super Bowl trophy at age 34. I know a lot about Bettis since he’s a fellow Notre Damer and also because I'm a Steelers fan when they're not playing the Bears. I even had the pleasure of meeting him once at an NFL promotional event. Nice guy.
Other top flight athletes who wear or have worn the 36 are Cliff Lee before he came to the Phillies; Dave Bolland of the Blackhawks; and Brian Westbrook, who wore number 36 over several NFC Championship seasons, a Super Bowl and two Pro Bowls with the Philadelphia Eagles. There’s also Jered Weaver, the All-Star pitcher for the Angels; as well as Shaquille O’Neal, who wears 36 now for the Celtics. Shaq originally wore his favored 32 for the Orlando Magic, and then number 34 for the Lakers, only because they had retired number 32 for Magic Johnson.
There’s also Rasheed Wallace, the wily on-court wildman who wore 36 for the Detroit Pistons after wearing number 30, only to change it back again to number 30 from 36. Wallace even broke 36 technical fouls in a season a couple of times, setting his high in 1999 at 40.
More gentlemanly 36s are pitcher Gaylord Perry, the San Francisco Giants legend, along with Robin Roberts of the Phillies, both of whom had their 36 shirts retired long ago. More obscure, there’s Ohio State’s Chris Spielman, who played for the Lions and now commentates for ESPN. Spielman is also one of football’s great humanitarians. He’s is a consummate class act, a better 36 than Wallace for sure.
On the subject of my hometown Chicago Bears, I was pretty dismayed to find in some internet research that there’s no distinguished Bear who wore 36, not in ’85 during the Super Bowl year, not ever. But an interesting thing happened. What I stumbled upon while trying to find a noteworthy 36 was the score of Super Bowl XX which I kinda sorta had in my head within a couple of points or so. I remember watching as a kid, but forgot the scoreline, just remembering that the Bears won handily. I was reminded, in fact that the Bears beat the Patriots 46 to 10, winning by the Super Bowl by 36.
There are other things that some wouldn’t care about regarding 36 and my 36-year-old’s fascination with #36. Such as the fact that Dennis Rodman was 36 when he won his last NBA title with the Bulls. Or that likewise coach Mike Tomlin won his first Super Bowl for the Steelers at age 36, making him the youngest NFL coach ever win the big one. Or that Wilt Chamberlain’s 36 field goals in a game stands, even today, as a long time NBA record.
Numbers may just be incidental to sport. I think what it is, is that some of us sports enthusiasts have an autistic quality of being able to collect the little pieces of what interests us; it’s an autistic quality that we’re proud of, and one that helps us figure out the patterns of life.
Always terrible with numbers, I am one who is able to remember a player’s shirt number like his face or his stats in a way that suggests that I should have been good at mathematics. For example, if I was given an address to a cookout somewhere, at, say 3144 High Street, I would –knowing that I can’t juggle numbers on their own—translate this address to shirt numbers of notable players, while most normal people would write it down. But me, I‘d pack it away as something like Reggie Miller / John Riggins. That’s #31 for Reggie Miller, a perennial All-Star who played with the Indiana Pacers; and #44 for John Riggins, a Super Bowl champ runningback with the Washington Redskins. Sometimes, this practice pains me, because, dammit, I hate the Redskins.
But maybe it’s not just us fans that catch on to such useful devices. A big deal is made about numbers by the players and clubs too, and even media when they're paying attention.
I remember back in 1995 when Michael Jordan came out of retirement the first time. Since his jersey bearing #23 had been retired by the Bulls, his new number upon his return to the Bulls roster was #45. Number 45 had been his older brother’s high school basketball shirt number, and as the legend goes, the whole reason Jordan took 23 was because he wanted to be “half as good” as his brother was. Certainly, as we saw, #45 wasn’t simply just half as good as #23 was a few years earlier. In fact it seemed like, within a game or two that old #23 was back. In March of ’95 Jordan scored 55 against the Knicks in New York. And later in the fall, a few games into the ’95-’96 season Michael took back shirt #23, and picked up his old, blistering pace.
I could go on for hours Jordan, his stats, and other notable NBA shirt numbers. Eventually though, the irrational sports lover reluctantly comes to terms with the fact –at some point-- that, to the rest of the world, there are more important things than Saturday night’s game.
While some say sports obsession itself is a gender-linked, hard wired obsession, most say age is just a number. Which is true. Age is a number, and a state of mind. So, at age 36 my state of mind must be that you start noticing cool things about the number 36, and little else.
But sports obsessed men are not the only ones who put stock in numbers, using them to their liking.
There’s a theory I’ve recently discovered that seems to be universal in the minds of women, or at least the women that I talk to, and my discovery of it could have something to do with the fact that I'm now just north of age 36, as are many of my own social contacts. Most of my women friends, plenty of whom are single too, have this dangling obsession, like my sports jersey obsession, just the same about a man’s age. Particularly a single man’s age, if “still single”, plays a part in whether he is marketable in the world of eligible females. The difference in this case is that women descend heavily on one particular number, the number 40.
I'm not making this up. I’ve heard plenty of women talk about expiration at 40, and once I first heard about it, I started asking questions.
“What do you think of men who are 40 and never-married?”
And I got feedback. Plenty of it. From the ones that I've polled, the thought is that men over 40 are expired produce. I might even call this whole idea the “40 Year Old Single Rule”, which according to women applies only to men, but not to women. Specifically, the theory goes that all 40-plus still-single men are like bruised fruit at the market, spoiled milk, or skunked red wine. Damaged goods.
But loopholes, albeit small ones, exist. Sure, you might date a single guy at 40 if it was just for fun, for regular easy-access sex. Or maybe you're in Punta Cana with your girlfriends and you meet some nice lad at the tiki bar, who’s nice to look at, has a good personality. Besides, you're only here for another couple days, so who cares. Otherwise, back at home, maybe if you need a date for a double date with a girlfriend, or a stag for a holiday party --especially the dressy kinds where it’s best not to go alone— then, yes, maybe a single 40 guy could have some use. Supposedly a divorced man is a better catch though, as is one who can at least claim a broken off engagement, since each imply at least a semblance of competence and a track record of moving in the right direction.
But according to Cat, Tess, and some of the other female brains I trust, 40/Still-Single men are not the kind of man you set up with your friends or seriously consider yourself.
Sure, the theory hasn’t been officially tested in a controlled environment, or quantified by scientists or gerontologists that I know of. But along with things like the Kennedy Assassination and The Bermuda Triangle, the idea of expiration at 40 is a generally accepted rule. Moreover, The 40 Year Old Single Rule is accepted practice, just like tax accountants use GAAP.
Based on what I have heard, women’s main rationale has mostly to do with one of two things. Specifically, 40 or being almost 40 and always single warns of a couple key things that women consider a major problem:
1)Commitment-phobia. The age-old thought that a man does not want to ever be married or “tied down”. And it is assumed that this specimen, Male #1 let’s call him, is still single because he would rather be a player than a serious mate, or would continue to be a player even if he were to accept the role, officially speaking, as your serious mate.
Paradoxically though, despite the caution advised, one friend suggested her vantage point that flings are OK, since, she says Male #1, is probably good in bed.
2)The second kind, which we’ll call Male #2 is one that is totally, irreparably socially inept.
Male #2 is never-married at 40 because he’s too attached to his mother, has childish hobbies, or focuses on trivial things that demand full saturation of his mind and all of his limited emotions. Hopefully he’s moved out of mom’s house physically, but if so, it doesn’t make much difference. Or maybe he’s just a tad geeky, Quasi Modo-like. Sure, you don’t want to be mean by judging him, but you definitely don’t need to date him, and nor do your friends, even the most hapless and hopelessly single of them.
Then again, at best, he’s married to his job, one to which any woman will always play second fiddle.
He can't hold a conversation and risks boring, nervous, tedious company. He could be prone to temper tantrums or have major unpacked maturity snags that you just don't have the time or energy to deal with. And, I'm guessing, as other women would note, that this one’s probably terrible in bed. Like you even needed a deal breaker.
Beyond those descriptions there are possibly a few legitimate reasons why a man might be 40 and still single. Maybe he’s a poor, lost poet finding himself. Maybe he’s busy taking care of his elderly mother and has a heart of gold. Or maybe because he’s legally a bound slave or serf, beholden to the beck and call of some Roman-style emperor-dictator, witch doctor, or female monarch in a distant, off-the-beaten-path country. Any of which makes him no more attractive to a single girl than either Male #1 or Male #2.
Sounds like a tough rap, being 40ish and single. If you're a man and you have put yourself in this position, you'd better damn well enjoy it or at least not be bothered by the stereotypes about you, right or wrong. Because according to everyone else, unmarried women mainly, it’s like you’ve dropped out of high school and since then have barely held down a pizza delivery job. Or like you’ve done time. Or both.
But that's all according to the prevailing logic. Anyhow, don't ask me, I'm only 36. I've got a few years until they start looking at me with suspicion.
Andy Frye writes about sports and life, and tweets throughout the day on Twitter at @MySportsComplex. All the thoughts and opinions expressed are that of the character, not necessarily the creator. And this is all you’re getting about the book for a while.
Written words © 2011 Pics courtesy of the NBA.com store "customize your jersey" tool.
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