Now that Lance Armstrong has won his seventh big-deal bicycle race, is it OK for me to say I was really getting tired of it, and I hope he really does retreat to a cabin in the woods somewhere for a few years and assess his future, quietly? I admire pluck as much as the next person, but that "perseverance of a cancer survivor" life story started wearing a little thin after the fifth win. Call me mean. I can't wait to hear his platform when he comes out of that cabin and announces his reasons for seeking public office.
Since I'm on the subject of sports, what are we to make of Ricky Williams, who "retired" from the Dolphins at 27 and went off to pursue his odd quests, only to come back and apologize to everybody? Back in my day, by God, when we dropped out to become hippies and tell The Man that we weren't going to put up with his regemented crap any more, we had the decency to stick it out for a few years before we came slinking back to our parents to confess that we had run out of money, which made trying to cope in the real world really suck. Why, you couldn't have gotten us back just because there were millions of dollars for playing a silly game waiting for us.
Say, wait a minute . . .
