Already Suffering a Mid-Life Crisis

I’m getting old.

There was a time when I could play three or four full-court games of roundball in a row, keep up with the batting cage machine, and not waste my two bucks—I could even play a tennis match under the blazing SoCal summer sun. But no more.

Now, I find myself struggling to run a mile, panting as I walk from ride to ride at Magic Mountain, and barely able to sustain 20 minutes of 21 on the basketball court.

I’m turning 22 soon, and I feel like I’m hitting my mid-life crisis. And I know I’m not alone. A fellow art history major and 22-year-old stated during class, “After 21, every birthday is downhill.”

Wow, I thought. She’s right.

This really hit home over Thanksgiving, as I went home to visit the fam on the Best Coast. While in smoothieland, I hung out with my nephews, Nick and Max—who I regard as my little brothers. For the last several years, our roles have been set in stone. I’m the teacher; they’re the pupils. I yell like a raving madman at Dodger Stadium; they attempt to emulate. (Don’t worry, I’ve taught them to be sportsmanlike in the old-fashioned, Wimbledon sort of way.)

In the words of Mike Meyers, however, “Now the teacher has become the pupil.”

On Turkey Day, the nephs and I left the commotion of the kitchen and wandered into the backyard, where we commenced to play the sacred game of three-flies up with a log we found on the way over. We kept score this time, and I thought nothing of it. That is, until I found myself down to Nick 7-4 in the eighth. Then, the panic set in.

“Whoa,” I thought. “This kid’s for real now.”

Nick was for real, belting a record three homers his next time up and robbing me of two longballs. I crept up to the plate for my last at-bat.

“It’s now or never, boys!” I said. And then I struck out.

I realized then that I had experienced something that most mid-life fathers have been through. It was the first time I lost to one of my nephews on the playing field, albeit in a game that is most often played on sandy blacktops. I have to admit that it hurt. I am no longer the premier athlete in the Lotery clan (as if I could ever describe myself with the word “premier”). But more important, I realized that there is nothing sports-wise that I can teach my not-so-little nephews. Nick is a varsity golf star in a solid high school program. Max is on his way to great things as well. These kids have great lives ahead of them.

Maybe my mid-life crisis really is coming 20 years too soon. After graduation day, I have no idea where I’ll be. I will probably have to take up one of those games which requires no athletic prowess but only sharp wits and quick wrists ... like squash

Seriously, though, I’m definitely exaggerating, losing to Nick wasn’t all that bad. But it was one of those rare moments in sports when a loss really is a loss. After that game, I realized that Nick is a lot older than I thought he was. It was a surprise but, in the end, it was a welcome one. Losing to Nick in that meaningless game of three-flies up was indeed a loss, but one that I am proud of.