Every middle-aged guy who once played high school, college or even pro sports has the same fantasy, and it doesn’t involve money, fame, women or winning a title. It’s a simple dream, really, and it involves one phone call and two words: “suit up”.
That’s it. We just want our skills to be desired one last time. To hear a coach or teammate reach out and say, “we need you, buddy.” Goosebumps. Because there is nothing more dangerous than an ex-athlete in his forties who has been given one more shot at glory.
For 99.9% of us, that flame has been extinguished forever. It’ll never happen. But briefly, these past two Sundays, we got to live vicariously through one of our own when five years after he last took a snap in the NFL, 44-year-old Philip Rivers ran out of the tunnel onto a football field as the starting quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts.
In dad athlete years it was basically a twenty year layoff. The dude might as well have played in a 90s neck roll, billboard-wide Power Pads and chugged grape All-Sport on the sidelines.
And yeah, I know. The storyline was amusing and easy to have a laugh over.
The jokes were layups: “Old Man Rivers Returns”. Grandpa Rivers. Dad bod Rivers. Rivers is old enough to have fathered half the opposing roster. Rivers is doing anything to get out of a house full of ten kids.
All the jokes were valid. Most were funny.
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Then he went out and kept the Colts in the first game and the first half of the second game with mostly guts and gumption. Of course his release was several ticks slower. His arm strength was half of what it used to be. Scrambling was a bit of struggle. Getting up after taking hits looked creaky. But he stayed in the games and didn’t quit.
So far, he’s thrown for almost 400 yards and 3 touchdowns in two games. That’s three touchdowns more than every other 44-year-old plus man in the world. The Colts lost both games, but we all won and here’s why:
Because Philip Rivers got to do the one thing every single ex-football player dreams of doing. He got to lace ’em up one more time.
I don’t care if you played in the NFL, big time college football, small time college football or you were a punter and fullback at Northern Highlands High School back in ‘96 (see photo below of yours truly, #40), whenever you took off your helmet and pads for the last time it was a sad day. You were never going to play tackle football again. You were never going to be on a football team again
Me, streaking down the sideline with my giant Jay Coblentz shoulder pads
That part of your life was over.
But what all of us who played will tell you, is that those days were among the most fun and meaningful in our lives – and that feeling of wanting to be part of a brotherhood like that, a team, never leaves.
Sure, many of us stay in shape. We train. We lift. We brag about still being able to hang in pick-up games into our forties or fifties. We sign up for Ironmans and ruck races and bench every week and do whatever other insane things middle-aged men do to prove something to ourselves.
But if we’re being honest, we’re all still hanging on to a time when the only thing that mattered was the guy next to you. When the world shrank down to 60 minutes. When life was simple and violent and beautiful.
Football is different from other sports. It’s always been different.
Al Pacino nailed it in Any Given Sunday when he talked about those six inches in front of your face.
“You got to look at the guy next to you. Look into his eyes! Now I think you’re gonna see a guy who will go that inch with you. You’re gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team because he knows, when it comes down to it, you’re gonna do the same for him! That’s a team, gentleman!”
In some ways, that speech hits home more at 47 than it ever did at 22 because we now know that moment in time is fleeting. It’s a form of a drug.
Because what we really miss isn’t the hitting or the glory or even the wins. It’s being part of that team again. Sitting in that locker room one more time. Putting it all on the line with your friends. With your family and your girlfriend in the stands wearing your varsity jacket. And going out there to play your fucking heart out.
And here’s the part that sucks: none of us are getting that call.
High schools aren’t dialing up fit 48-year-olds with good Whoop scores. Colleges aren’t scouring triathlons or Hyrox competitions looking for old men with solid mobility work. NFL teams are not signing dads at the finish lines of local 5Ks.
That door is closed forever.
Except it wasn’t for Philip Rivers.
He got the call. And it was awesome.
Most of us outside of Indianapolis weren’t watching him in a random game on a random Sunday because we suddenly care about the Colts. No. We watched him because we wanted to see one of us, a midlife male, get one more ride into battle. One more moment of glory.
Or, as Shakespeare said, “go once more unto the breach, dear Philip.”*
And if you need a little dose of motivation, Rivers gave some great post-game comments:
“I’m excited to be a teammate again. There’s some teammates in their locker room that were here in 2020 – last time we were in the postseason. So, for an opportunity to join arm-in-arm with them and go after it again – I’m not here to be a hero by any means. I’m here to be one of the guys and we know all it’s going to take. It’s tough to win here, but we’re going to give it our best shot.”
“Obviously this doesn’t come up every day. But I think maybe it will inspire or teach not to run or be scared of what may or may not happen. Hopefully, certainly I think of my sons and those ballplayers that I’m in charge of at the school, that they’ll say ‘Crap, coach wasn’t scared.’”
*Shakespeare actually said, “once more unto the breach, dear friends…” but it reads better with Philip in this case.
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Jon Finkel
Editor-in-Chief, Midlife Male
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