Rarely have  I had a story that wanted to tell itself, but this is one. Let’s go back to the beginning of this telling tale. Months ago, I found a place within the brewery where I could sit, knowing no one else would think to come by and do the same. I really liked the idea of being able to find a space that was kind of neutered, essentially making my mood, its mood. In a way, it’s like living on a canvas and however I paint it is how it is for that moment, even in a place like that.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? Accidentally and haphazardly, some of the staff began wandering back to Chez Larry. You know, it is easy to write about being old, because I am. It is very difficult to feel young, let alone write about it. It has been such a privilege these past few months to spend time with the young men and women, who happen to find themselves at the brewery, paying their bills and doing what they know is the least stressful way to do it. I  suppose in one way it’s easy, but I know it’s an exhausting way to make a living. 

So, late this Thursday afternoon, I was at Chez Larry, having what I refer to as my Mini-Marg. It is a margarita, without any ice and poured into a 12 oz. glass, filling around 1/3 of it, which enables me to have at least one more refill, if I am in a mood, where I need an excuse to justify consumption. Well, there was a serious NFL game going on then, the outcome of which would have very significant ramifications for their Fantasy Football League, which is of absolutely no consequence to me, but involves much of the staff, engendering endless conversations.

I found myself sitting alone at Chez Larry, due to the ongoing football excitement. I immediately thought about recounting my impressions regarding this new experience, during this in-between moment there, when my mind was at ease. It is such an incredible joy to sit in this unfinished space, frequented by people, who are way less than half my age. . 

At that moment, the outcome of a stupid football game was of paramount importance and I didn’t give a shit. I gave up on sports after the Knicks and Willis Reed won the NBA a hundred years ago. I think when I was much younger, it somehow mattered to me, but I can’t put my finger on the moment when I no longer cared at all about these athletic contests. 

Like everything else now, there is too much of everything and sports is right in that mix of the overdone. There is so much going on, it is easy to feel left out, assuming it matters to you. We already know where I fall. In some instances, age breeds distance and I guess sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. However, I do feel incredibly detached from most every sports contest. The Yankees extravagantly suck. The Mets are terminally lost. The Jets and Giants need to find an other way for NYC to give a shit. Who would ever have guessed Brooklyn would dis the Knicks? Then, there is hockey and I don’t like ice.

I have always had a weakness for boxing. I remember traveling to MIami on spring break in the mid-sixties and going to see Sonny Liston working out. There was no way Muhammad Ali was going to beat him. The sports world was filled with legends, mostly men and some women, who accomplished feats of strength and endurance that were beyond the imagination of regular folks. 

I am not sure who the original superheroes were, but history is filled with stories of athletes, who found within themselves, a force that propelled them far beyond their abilities. I grew up with the Champ, Ali and I just loved his character. I guess I romanticize sports to a comic book time when legends were even possible.Today, so much of everything feels trivialized and disposable.

I looked around at the scenery of Chez Larry and had this feeling it was this backstage set, like daily life behind the curtain. The unfinished walls are complimented by a ceiling of horizontally exposed, steel beams. There are 2×4’s of varying lengths and finishes, leaning against an exposed, raw wood wall. i saw the curtain lifting up in the darkened theatre and the lights shining on this set, waiting for it to come to life. 

I am sitting at the table and nursing my Mini-Marg. I am not sure who should play me, but it needs to be an aging, ethnic looking actor. His head is down, deeply engrossed in thought, and he rote reaches for his all too familiar, tequila elixir. One of the young people wanders on to the stage at that moment. Somethings get shared, always initiated by this latest wanderer. The stories are great and I always feel energized with every exchange.

Honestly, I am just so happy that I can sit with these kids and feel totally at home. Let me tell you, when I think about being back in my late twenties, the idea of hanging out with some guy, who is blasting through his mid-seventies, would never have crossed my mind. It would have felt like some impossible circumstance. Until you truly start feeling you own age, it is just too disjointing, experiencing something you really don’t understand.

I am having such a good time.