New Era That Was a Long Time Coming

I am a great barometer of life-style patterns, fads, fashions and trends, and there is something I must tell you.

Young is Out.

Old is In.

It is no longer hip to be youthful, or even to hang around with somebody youthful. Do not trust anybody under 30.

Something has gotten into all of you Gray Panthers out there. All of a sudden, you cannot do anything wrong.

Geraldo Rivera must have discovered that fountain Ponce de Leon was looking for in Florida, or something.

The President of the United States is a pretty old guy, by most standards. The oldest President ever, if I remember right.

But he won both of his elections by landslides, and continues to be popular in most of the polls. Well, the American polls, anyway.

Vladimir Horowitz goes home to the Soviet Union, plays some boogie-woogie on his piano and is a smash. Bigger than Elton John, even.

Don Ameche, inventor of the telephone, makes a movie and wins an Academy Award. Geraldine Page, no spring chick, also wins an Academy Award.

I cannot understand what has gotten into this older generation nowadays.

It started about a year ago when Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, 38 and balding, led the Lakers to the championship of professional basketball, and was elected the championship series’ Most Valuable Player.

By late summer, there were baseball players twice the age of rookies who were dominating the news with their achievements. Tom Seaver won his 300th game. Rod Carew got his 3,000th hit. Pete Rose caught and passed Ty Cobb.

I half-expected George Halas to come back and coach the Bears in the Super Bowl. Maybe he did, and we just don’t know it.

Anyway, the Masters golf tournament came along, and who wins it? Jack Nicklaus, 46.

Now, I realize that 46 is not considered old in some camps. But on the pro golf tour, lemme tell ya, 46 is Methuselah.

What a sight to see ol’ yeller coming down that 18th fairway, showing the young punks how it’s done.

Well, no sooner did that happen than the Kentucky Derby is run. And who wins it?

OK, OK, I know everybody who wins it is the same age--3. But look at who rode the winner. Bill (Willie in My Younger Days) Shoemaker, a 54-year-old jockey. And look at who trained the winner. Charlie Whittingham, 73 and bald as Daddy Warbucks.

And on Sunday, Bobby Allison, 48, won the Talladega 500 stock car race.

I am finally getting the picture. The old are taking over the world! Run for your lives, young people!

Next thing you know, A.J. Foyt will take the Indy 500, Stan Smith will win Wimbledon, Julius Boros will win the British Open and Phil Niekro will capture the Cy Young award. At which point, they might even have to rename the Cy Young award.

I keep thinking of an old, if you will pardon the expression, Peter Allen song, “Everything Old Is New Again.” Or an old Sinatra song, “Young at Heart.”

Mikhail Baryshnikov is 38, and still dancing. Mick Jagger is 41, and still singing.

Seen those women on “Dynasty” lately? Forty is definitely not fatal. Seen Elizabeth Taylor lately? She ought to be modeling swimsuits in Sports Illustrated.

Even what’s-his-name, Murray, the sportswriter, is showing up in Sports Illustrated these days.

Now, I see where John Henry is going to race again. John is 11. John is a horse. Asking an 11-year-old horse to race is like asking George Burns to ski. But John is going to do it, and, come to think of it, so might George.

Reggie Jackson, as of Sunday, was still leading the majors in batting average and leading Milwaukee taverns in slugging percentage. Reggie turns 40 in a couple of weeks. But he is still full of hits and vinegar.

For a while there, I thought this was going to be the Era of the Oddly Shaped. After all, it had been the year of the fat (Refrigerator Perry), of the skinny (Pervis Ellison), of the tall (Manute Bol) and of the small (Spud Webb).

Where small is concerned, the Minnesota Twins have a guy 5-8, Kirby Puckett, who suddenly thinks he is Hank Aaron. And the Chicago White Sox have John Cangelosi, the Bill Veeck Memorial Outfielder, who saves the club money on airplanes by sleeping in the overhead luggage compartment.

But this is not the Era of the Oddly Shaped. This is the Age of the Elderly. Every day is Old-Timers’ Day.

Quick, somebody call Randy Newman. Tell him to write a song:

Young people got no reason to live.