To Air is Jordan, to Retire is McGuire

Sure I wanna be like Mike. Who wouldn't? At 38-years-old Michael Jordan is racking up points like Father Time stopped the clock for three years. I don't know much about playing basketball. However, I'm an expert at being 38. So, Mr. Air Jordan while I hate to take the wind out of your sails, here's the reality: gravity is no longer your friend. It's okay to unretire again (basketball, baseball, basketball). To harken back to the good old days. But, these are just the beginning of your old days. Remember the season is young and you are not. Those creaking noises you think are floorboards are actually your ligaments realigning themselves to the extra gravitational pressure reserved for bones over the age of 35. Kids wanting to be like Mike are gonna need to grunt every time they plop down on a chair and hrumph every time they get up. And if your Wizards manage to conjure up a victory - those popping sounds you hear won't be champagne bottles but insta-ice paks for wrapping around your knees. The late 30-somethings are a time of transition. You may still have the moves of your twenties but you gotta work at it. You can still suck down a pint of ice cream or a six pack, but now it shows up as rice pudding smeared on your thighs or a flotation device around your middle. You replace Clearasil with anti wrinkle botox treatments. And if you try and pull an all-nighter - there will be the unstoppable need to take a mid-afternoon siesta. Then you have to convince your boss that napping is part of a strategic business plan to tap the inner narcoleptic id for the hidden truths about how to harness the new economy. Or you can just say that snoozing is research.

I guess I'm just jealous. I only wish that I could take a pay cut and still make a million dollar salary, turn it over to charity and sink a 30-footer. Although it seems Mr. Jordan's present may not be keeping up with his past. Is it evil to say I'm actually enjoying his team's rancid ranking? One just loves to see the mighty fall. Michael should have had to suffer for his comeback. Which may explain Dennis Rodman's inclination for piercing sharp metal objects through tender body parts. While Rodman bides his time, he just got a juicy piece of a burger franchise. No doubt they'll be grilling up skirt steaks between their buns. Although I'm not sure I want buy a burger from a guy whose nickname is "The Worm."

There is a comeback that I applaud: 44 year old William Clay Ford. He's the great-grandson to Henry and he's in the driver's seat at Ford. His expertise in cars is probably genetic. How else could Willie Clay get his job? Promising the board to cut back on stationary expenses? "Everything's got my name on it already!" If his name had been Becker, like mine, the most he'd be getting would be a little zero percent financing.

Maybe I should go with the Ford model and join a business that already has my name? There's Becker Pumps of Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. Unfortunately employees have to know how to fix a tank mounted variable speed regenerative blower. Whatever. I could work at Becker College in Leceister, Massachusetts. They've got some really cool classes to teach. There's "Bar and Beverage Operations." I'm like a brain surgeon slicing lime wedges, salting rims and skewing olives. There's another class that's right up my alley "Elements of Math." Not math, elements of it. Maybe it's the kind of stuff where they only use letters A+B=F. I have lots of pointy pencils, graph paper and a protractor, which all seem to be elements of math. If not, there's Becker Surfboards. The up side is I spend the day wearing a skin-tight wetsuit, which would be quite slimming. It would also constrict my blood flow. I would probably get phlebitis have an aneurysm and die. What if they couldn't get me out of the suit and had to bury me in it? Like I died during some kinky sex act. As if.

I guess I'm just really like Mark. Mark McGuire. He's also 38, like Mike. In a surprise announcement just after the baseball season ended, this former home run king hung up his cleats. After suffering through four seasons plagued by injuries, he decided to say goodbye to his 15-million dollar a year salary. Slamming 70 home runs just wasn't in him anymore. There's a man I am like. Better than going out on top, he went out worn-out but not defeated. Kind of like the time Michael Jordan struck out at as a baseball minor leaguer. Of course now he's come back to basketball, scoring 41-points in one game. Although his team still lost. No matter how hard he tries, he still can't win. I guess I am like Mike.

by Stephanie Becker, Mass Distractions columnist for BestStuff.com