A jock's life

I’ve always thought I was pretty smart about recognizing when it was time to hang up the gloves, so to speak.  I mean being an ex-jock is an appellation one doesn’t like to admit to but it also behooves one to recognize when a certain sport becomes not only more difficult but downright dangerous.

I loved to ski (both water and snow) and I loved to Scuba dive, but at a certain point in my life I realized that these sports required more stamina than I could store up.  When a physical limitation sets in and doing well becomes a challenge (and it stops being fun) one has to decide between common sense, pride and injury.  Of course it’s best to stop before you do any damage.  And there’s the rub.  At what point does your logic match up with your loss of skill, balance and/or controllable speed?  Hopefully, most people make the correct decision at the right time.
 

Recognizing the regret that comes with it and being able to deal with that is psychologically important.  I hung on to some sports for quite a while, meaning softball and volleyball but I had to let basketball, which I always considered my sport, go.  I played softball well into my dotage but now I’m even questioning my weekly bowling, even though I’ve learned how to rest while competing and have even improved my average for a man of a “certain age.”  I don’t really count snorkeling as a sport, maybe because I’m so experienced that it requires so little effort. 

Oddly enough this little history of sports in my life was prompted by last month’s groundbreaking for a new roller coaster at Luna Park in Coney Island.  About five years ago I was in Tampa, Florida and went to Busch Gardens for a day.  They have seven or eight roller coasters including a fabulous state-of-the-art mind-blower named Montu and, although at the time I suspected it might be a mistake, I partook.  And I was right; it was a mistake.  It really was a terrific ride; smooth and speedy with hooks and loops that were perfectly designed not to bump your bones and kept you perfectly centered in your seat and not flung side-to-side as older coasters do.  The problem became obvious to me early in the ride.  My old body couldn’t take the G-force generated and although it was pretty thrilling I think part of my brain got stuck to the inside of my skull.  I realized at the time it would probably be my last roller coaster ride.  Except for one excursion on the old, relatively tame, Cyclone at Coney Island (for old time’s sake), it has proven to be true.

 
The new Thunderbolt going up as we speak on Coney Island is one of those brain stickers that I will be avoiding.  I’m just wondering if the Wonder Wheel might become too much for me.  I doubt if that will happen since it’s a fairly benign ride and the views are gorgeous from the top.  I betcha it will have a fabulous view of the Thunderbolt and I can hear the screaming now.

Niner bear!

Last week my friend (and bowling compadre) Melissa won a gift basket at a raffle that included, along with various wines and cheeses, several small plush bears.  They are commemorative National Football League bears with the numbers and names of ultra-famous players.  I thought they were Beanie Babies but, although similar, they are marketed by “Salvino’s Bammers” and, BB rip-off or not, they are cutie pies.  Knowing I’ve long been a fan of the San Francisco 49ers Melissa gave me this Joe Montana bear.  Along with always smelling nice she is really thoughtful and Melissa is now, although she probably already was, my friend for life!

Junior's; a fond farewell

When I first moved to NY in the early 1970’s it seemed like everybody I knew, family and friends, needed to take me to Junior’s Restaurant on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn.  Not that I was keen on trying pastrami or brisket or pickled anything, but it turned out they had a point.  Cheesecake!  Presumably the best ever in the history of mankind.  I had been exposed to cheesecake before, of course, but it had never caught my fancy and I didn’t really like the lumps.  Junior’s cheesecake was a revelation and lived up to the hype heaped upon it.  Smooth, creamy and, oh, so sweetly delicious!
 
Early on I zeroed in on the cheesecake with the strawberry topping and it became my main reason for going to Junior’s even though other menu items were also very good.  As times changed and I relocated within the environs of Brooklyn I didn’t go to Junior’s as often but there was comfort in knowing it was there.
 
Over the years the area in which Junior’s was located went from good to bad to awful and back to good again, and now the booming real estate market in downtown Brooklyn has made the land on which it sits worth, according to admittedly biased real estate agents, a giddy $55 million.  The Rosen family, who founded a restaurant on that corner in the 1920’s, changed its name to Junior’s in 1954 and bought the building in 1981 has decided it’s time to cash out.
 
The property is zoned for only 11 stories but I wouldn’t be surprised, once it becomes a hole in the ground, that the sky doesn’t become the limit with some strategic law-mandering.  The current owner, still a Rosen, claims another Junior’s will open within whatever edifice arises on that spot.  Somehow I doubt if they will be able to afford the rent and, besides, there are now other branches of the Junior’s franchise in NYC, with another one scheduled to open near the new Barclay Center.  So I think you can probably strawberry-kiss that particular cheesecake, at that location, goodbye.