In the year 2010...

I'm 96 hours away, give or take an hour one way or the other, from hitting the age of 65. It's been a long haul. Fifty years ago, my attitude was that the year 2010 was so far out there, well it was just too far, off the map so to speak. Unattainable.

I was in my 30s, say somewhere in the mid 1970s, before I even sat down long enough to contemplate what I would look like, feel like and, in my case, even act like the day I'd be forced to show up at the MVD for an eye test and begin the customary state of Arizona five-year renewal plan on my drivers' license.

Now, every fifth year, I'll have to haul myself down to the MVD and get the okay to get behind the wheel. I'll be forced to get my photo updated and I'm sure I'll notice another wrinkle or two, before I safely tuck away the newly laminated license into my billfold.

Sixty-five! I'm here. A member of AARP. An owner of a medicare card. A member of something called the "Silver Sneaker Program" -- which allows me to attend my fitness facility for free. A silver sneaker...my goodness, wasn't it just the other day, say the summer of 1956, when I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, grabbed my baseball glove and bat, and headed off to the park to play ball? My hair was black and wavy. I weighed all of 85 pounds. I had dimples. I had no worries, except one and that being: Will my buddies be there at the park and will we have enough for a game, or at least workups?

Not a care in the world. My future ahead of me. My dreams intact. A sure major leaguer by 1970. An all-star by 1975. A world series hero in 1978. A hall-of-famer and my portrait on the walls of Cooperstown by 1995. Oh, the dreams of a young boy who loved baseball. And now, decades later, the father of two and six grandchildren,

I find myself on the way to the ball park once again. My buddies are waiting. Sure enough, there will be a game. I can count on my buddies being there. We are called the TOTS. The Tucson Old Timers, the oldest baseball team in the country, ranging in age from 60 to 90, suit up every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at Udall Park and play for the love of the game.

 Most of us are on Medicare. Most of us are without those wavy locks that decades ago would extend beyond our batting helmets. We all have a couple of things in common: We all remember our dreams of long ago...our dreams of playing in the majors, getting that big hit at Yankee Stadium or making the game-ending, diving catch at Fenway Park. Not one of us made it to Cooperstown, although some of us have visited the place where our baseball heroes of the past are enshrined.

Somewhere a long the way our childhood dreams turned into reality. We raised families, built homes. Some of us became doctors, lawyers, professors and writers. Priorities changed, but our love for the game of baseball has never wavered.

And now we can sit back and watch our grandchildren take the field...and we know full well what is going through their head as they round first, looking to turn a single into a double with their curly locks protruding from underneath their helmets. It's 2010 and nothing has really changed.