I'm 40 years old and can't walk to the mailbox without stopping to catch my breath. Granted, I sell furniture for a living so the comparison is sort of skewed, but the fact Jamie Moyer just underwent Tommy John surgery and is already planning a comeback at the age of FORTY NINE in 2012 made me swell up with pride.
In a sport where you're considered "old" at 35 and ancient at the age of 40, Moyer is planning to come back from MAJOR surgery TWO years from now and pitch against a bunch of young pups full of youth, vigor, and not enough smarts to come in out of the rain.
From my perspective, this is the real-life equivalent of Rocky Balboa coming out of retirement to fight some 20 something punk itching to beat down a legend.
I think taking Rakes to Target on a Wednesday night to buy some Pokemon cards is tough; this cat is willing to have ligament transplant surgery, go through thousands of hours of rehab and weeks and months of pain and misery all for the prospect of throwing a 85 mile an hour fastball to Albert Freaking Pujols.
It almost makes me want to go out, join the local gym, and put in hours of pain and suffering so I can play on the church's softball team next season.
I may be old but I'm not senile.
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