I was having a conversation with my friend, Nod, the other day and mentioned that I had gone somewhere on my own recently. He asked kiddingly if anyone had “hit’ on me. Which, of course, no one had. But it led to a conversation that we’ve had off and on about how as we’re getting older, we often feel that we’re invisible to women. What I mean by “invisible”, is the lack of any recognition by random women that there is a sexual human being under all that gray, white, thinning or missing hair.
I’ve had this conversation with any number of my friends. Many, unlike me, have been married for a long time and have not been “in the market”, so to speak. Which means that for many of them, when a woman pays some attention, it’s an opportunity to flirt; usually this is limited to some harmless patter with waitresses. I exempt myself somewhat from this paucity of flirting because for periods of time over the last number of years, I’ve taken part in not-so-harmless patter while dating. I’ve found that if you meet someone for a drink, occasionally she will look at you as if you’re a card-carrying member of the opposite sex. And if you go all in with dinner, well . . .
For some men who want to re-live the glory days of their youth, there exists a number of opportunities. One of these is the availability of fantasy baseball camps. The idea behind this is that a bunch of aging men who regard themselves as athletes go south to some facility to play baseball for a week or so. The key to the success of these camps is that former major leaguers are embedded in the teams; so, you or I can go to the New York Mets fantasy camp and live out our childhood dreams of being a Major League Baseball Player and become temporary teammates with players such as Eddie Kranepool, Ron Swoboda, Mookie Wilson, et al. Sounds like it’s probably a lot of fun.
It occurred to me when Nod and I had our conversation (remember . . . in the first paragraph?) that a similar contrivance could be used to allow us, and others like us, to re-experience the frisson of some harmless flirting. So I suggested to Nod that we create our own fantasy “camp”. Rent out a bar or two; hire some women to make believe that they see the “campers” as interesting, attractive and virile men. In much the same way that Eddie Kranepool high fives some old guy for making what would otherwise be considered a routine play, some woman might act utterly charmed by someone like Nod. Or me, for that matter.
But as I’m thinking about this plan, it’s starting to sound awfully pathetic. And creepy. I’d probably be better off finding my old mitt and check out flights to Florida. The truth is, I’ve always thought Art Shamsky and I would get along really well.
Note: If you have an interest in the political season check out this youtube done by my friend boB: