The meaning of Julio Franco
Of all the sports news in the past week, none had bigger implications than this:
MEXICO CITY (AP) -- Julio Franco finally called it quits.
The 49-year-old announced his retirement from baseball after a 23-year career in the major leagues and stints in his native Dominican Republic, South Korea, Japan and Mexico. In 2007, he became the oldest player to hit a home run in the majors. ...
Franco last played in the majors in 2007, when he played in 55 games with the New York Mets (40) and the Atlanta Braves (15). He batted .222 with one home run and 16 RBI in 90 at-bats.
Somebody pointed out that when Franco entered the big leagues in 1982, Manny Mota was still active. To take it further: When Mota broke in, Stan Musial was in the league, and when Musial hit the scene, Charley Root and Gabby Hartnett were still going. So Franco was only three generations removed from Babe Ruth's called shot and the Homer in the Gloaming.
The biggest implication of Franco's departure from the scene is that there is no longer a major-league ballplayer as old as me -- or anybody else between the ages of 46 and 49.
For aging milestones that make you think, this rates up there with the time a man notices Playboy Playmates are beginning to be younger than him, and when a man or woman realizes the president is younger than him or her. The former happened to me around Dorothy Stratton, and the latter could happen in January.
Woody Allen would say I've reached an age wherein I could beat up all the major-leaguers. I think this means I'm officially an "older" sports fan.
Would you rather be an "older" sports fan or a "younger" one? I'm happy to have been a sports fan for nearly 40 years now, my first detailed sports memory being the 1969 Mets-Orioles World Series on TV, even if it means I probably won't be a sports fan for 40 more.
On TV or in person, I saw sports legends that kids can only read about -- or, worse, only learn about from ESPN's orange-tinged retrospectives that seem to reduce every Hall of Famer and classic event to a one-line cliche. It's cool to have been around for the 1960s and '70s, the decades that transformed sports for good and ill.
The greatest gift from having followed sports in those days is the freedom to have used your imagination (few games were on TV back then, a weird blessing in retrospect) and make up your own mind (no round-the-clock sports-talk radio and cable-sports chat shows then to shove cookie-cutter opinions down the throat).
A college friend of mine used to say his dad could switch on a baseball game on the radio, listen for a few seconds and guess the score, just from the tone of Vin Scully's voice, the sound of the crowd, a snippet of action. No such magic today, when you'd have the score up to the second on your PDA.
First Dodger game I went to, Billy Grabarkewitz tripped over second base as he backpedaled after an overthrown ball, was laughed at by 45,000 fans, and became my favorite player. It felt like a completely personal experience, unlike today when Grabby's embarrassment would be replayed endlessly on TV and be the subject of 99 snarky faxes to Jim Rome.
I digress, as old people do. Someday today's younger sports fans will look back at ways today's sports world is better than, say, the 2040s', and their kids won't get what they're talking about either.
With Julio Franco out of the game, Jamie Moyer, 45, is the oldest major-leaguer. If you were born Nov. 18, 1962, or later, there's still hope.
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About this blog
Kevin Modesti watches sports from a new angle since his promotion from sports columnist to sports editor for the Los Angeles Newspaper Group. In his new blog, Modesti not only comments on the big sports stories of the moment-- he talks about what makes them big. Think of it as a conversation with readers about how these stories should be covered.
I guess guys our age will need to take comfort in Chris Chelios, the 46-year youngster with the Red Wings.