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By Lyle Fitzsimmons - It’s not at all his fault, but I’m going to blame Edward Brophy anyway.
The executive director of the International Boxing Hall of Fame presumably had zero impact on when my parents met, married and decided to have children, so my blessed arrival on day No. 45 of Richard Nixon’s presidency was also in no way determined by anything he or his minions had control over.
But make no mistake, when I received an envelope over the weekend that had originated from his 13032 postal code, it was him who made me feel every bit of my 45 years, seven months and two days.
As it has each year since I became a full member of the Boxing Writers Association of America, Mr. Brophy’s enveloped correspondence again contained the hall of fame voting ballot that gives me a small sliver of influence on the fighters that will and will not be included for induction the following year.
The 2015 ceremony, by the way, is pegged for June 14.
And if you haven’t been a part of an induction weekend in Canastota, do yourself a favor.
Anyway, in a swerve from past ballot years, the timeframe constituting old-timers up for consideration has been greatly expanded, and now includes those whose final bout was as recent as 1988.
For all those walking with me through the early steps of middle age, I’ll let that sink in a bit.
1988.
We were in college. We had jobs. We had cars. We had girlfriends. In fact, come to think of it, we had all the preliminary trappings of eventual adulthood, minus the mortgage and the kid and the tanking 401K.
And now, we’re all old-timers.
I can’t speak for the similarly creaky masses, but when I hear the phrase “old-timer,” I still conjure black-and-white movie visions of Joe Louis pounding the fight out of Max Schmeling in their 1938 rematch. Or, at the very least, the image of my grandfather-in-law, Granville Cowden, standing alongside Jack Dempsey in the framed restaurant photo that hangs about five feet from where I sit as I write this. [Click Here To Read More]
The executive director of the International Boxing Hall of Fame presumably had zero impact on when my parents met, married and decided to have children, so my blessed arrival on day No. 45 of Richard Nixon’s presidency was also in no way determined by anything he or his minions had control over.
But make no mistake, when I received an envelope over the weekend that had originated from his 13032 postal code, it was him who made me feel every bit of my 45 years, seven months and two days.
As it has each year since I became a full member of the Boxing Writers Association of America, Mr. Brophy’s enveloped correspondence again contained the hall of fame voting ballot that gives me a small sliver of influence on the fighters that will and will not be included for induction the following year.
The 2015 ceremony, by the way, is pegged for June 14.
And if you haven’t been a part of an induction weekend in Canastota, do yourself a favor.
Anyway, in a swerve from past ballot years, the timeframe constituting old-timers up for consideration has been greatly expanded, and now includes those whose final bout was as recent as 1988.
For all those walking with me through the early steps of middle age, I’ll let that sink in a bit.
1988.
We were in college. We had jobs. We had cars. We had girlfriends. In fact, come to think of it, we had all the preliminary trappings of eventual adulthood, minus the mortgage and the kid and the tanking 401K.
And now, we’re all old-timers.
I can’t speak for the similarly creaky masses, but when I hear the phrase “old-timer,” I still conjure black-and-white movie visions of Joe Louis pounding the fight out of Max Schmeling in their 1938 rematch. Or, at the very least, the image of my grandfather-in-law, Granville Cowden, standing alongside Jack Dempsey in the framed restaurant photo that hangs about five feet from where I sit as I write this. [Click Here To Read More]
, even though these three guys were excellent fighters with great talent.
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