Today was a shared birthday party for my 1-year-old daughter Maddie and my nephew Jeffy, who’s actually 26 but we still call him Jeffy sometimes because, well, old habits are hard to break. My family is big on banking birthdays that fall within the same week and throwing a combined multiple birthday bash. The way we sing, that’s our best bet. We’re lucky to get through one full “Happy Birthday” song every couple months, let alone multiple renditions within a week’s time.
Conversations at events with Jeffy, er, Jeff, usually turn toward sports at some point during the evening. Basketball, Football, Baseball, Pygmy LaCrosse – it doesn’t really matter. With the advent of satellite television, there is always something in season somewhere in the world. Tonight’s conversation was on Tiger Woods. For those of you who havn’t heard of Tiger, he plays golf. Actually, I’m not sure that is a fair assessment. Tiger hits the ball and it goes into the hole. Every time. That sums it up a bit better. In any case, Jeff tells me that Tiger wouldn’t need to play in a tournament for, like, two years and he’d still be ranked No. 1. He could be mortally wounded in a golfing accident (hey, I’ve seen Caddyshack!) and still be ranked No. 1.
I don’t know if Jeff bought into my theory but I think Tiger’s just biding his time until he can get onto the pro bowler’s circuit.