The Byrds, not surprisingly, said it best …
I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now …
You see that paging through family photo albums, right? Back in the day, old people looked old. They acted old. They were old. Life was harder then. Life beat you up good. People worked with their hands. They walked places. They spent more time outdoors.
Casey Stengel was 70 years old his last year as Yankees manager, and you have to say, just looking at the pictures, he didn’t look a day under 85. He also was known to cop a snooze during games.
The Yankees relieved him of his duties at the end of that season, and his famous response was, “I’ll never make the mistake of being 70 again,” and he wound up getting another job across town, and he lost a lot of games, and slept his way through hundreds of more innings, then finally retired at age 75 … because he fell down and broke his hip.
Old people were older back in the day.
Jim Leyland resigned as the manager of the Tigers Monday, and there was some dispute whether he walked on his own or if he were nudged. Still, he was in Detroit eight years, and that’s right around the time when, short of winning championships, you start thinking a new voice might be in order, and that might be except for this fact: Jim Leyland is 68 years old, turns 69 on Dec. 15. He was the oldest manager or coach in any of the four major sports.
Leyland certainly helped add fuel to that by saying at his farewell press conference: “I started thinking this was getting a little rough. I thought that the fuel was getting a little low. I knew that I’d get through it because I knew we’d be playing for something.”
We think of coaching and managing as a young man’s gig, now more than ever, because of the all-consuming nature of the profession, because the before-and-after shots of every coach’s welcoming press conference/departing press conference look like a President’s on the days of his inauguration and farewell.
Leyland’s departure means Rick Adelman of the Minnesota Timberwolves is the dean of the 122 men who presently guide the fortunes of the teams in professional baseball, basketball, football and hockey. Adelman was born on June 16, 1946.
Seventy-six days later, Tom Coughlin arrived. He’s No. 2 now.
Now, if the Giants’ grotesque 23-7 victory Monday night over the Vikings had improved their record to 6-1 (or 4-3, or even 2-5) instead of 1-6, that wouldn’t be an issue. In truth, it’s still only a peripheral issue because while Coughlin isn’t on permanent scholarship with the Giants, he earned the right to survive at least one calamitous season because of the two he crafted that ended in ticker tape.
But 67 years old is 67 years old. And it’s silly to simply ignore what that could mean in the Giants’ immediate and intermediate future. Coughlin is in terrific health. He has the energy level of men half his age, and could easily pass for 55. He is excellent at his job, and after helping push his team off the schneid Monday night he borrowed the same smile he used during his twin February miracles.
“So this is what it feels like, eh?” he quipped.
What he has done with the Giants parallels what Leyland did in Detroit. The Tigers were in worse shape, three years removed from a 119-loss season when Leyland took them to the World Series his first season, 2006. If Coughlin’s success wasn’t as immediate, it did eventually culminate in the ultimate reward. Twice.
But time is cruel. Maybe Leyland will show up in spring training in another town, with another team, refreshed and ready to resume the grind. Or maybe he really is fried from the slog.
Coughlin? He’ll face no such immediate decision, no matter how much ugliness the football season has in store for him. Not yet. His record is his record, and it’s a good one. And the numbers don’t lie.
But neither does the birth certificate, and sooner, not later, it will be an issue. Sixty-seven isn’t as old as it used to be. But it isn’t 57, either.