I was riding the bike because old athletes never die, we just recycle

Last Tuesday morning I drove past the valet staff dressed in red and black by the west wing entrance to Beebe Medical Center and into an uneven gravel parking lot, but at least my left hip is decrepit. I thought the uniforms meant Polytech was in town for an away game. So I went through the wrong doors and walked up to a high wrap-around counter where two low-riding women wearing headsets sat in rolling chairs.

“Hold all my calls,” I said. “I’m looking for a stress test.”

Momma Minoz, a.k.a Marylou Menozzi, always quick to the quip responded, “Boy, have you come to the right place.”

Actually I was at the wrong place but was redirected to cardiac stress test central and promptly an announcement bellowed across the waiting room, “Please ignore all fire alarms!” And so between nuclear isotopes that light up your system like a digitized remake of “Fantastic Voyage,” I got to ride an adjustable-tension Monarck bike with its high, unpadded seat. I felt like a rodeo cowboy riding a horse with an eating disorder. Too much biofeedback for me, what with real-time EKG and blood pressure readouts. Ironically, if you move just one letter, EKG becomes KEG, which explains why bowlers are sometimes called keglers, a German word which means to bowl while drunk.

Anyway, I pushed my heart rate to its target of 140, and because I was wearing a Greene Turtle shirt given to me by the girls lacrosse boosters I closed by saying, “Snap!”

Later that afternoon I was riding the bike again at Gold’s gym because old athletes never die, we just recycle.

BIG LOSER BOY - He is one of my alter egos, the grandfather who tracks amateur sporting events. There is no league too low or place BLB won’t go to track a story. Last week I watched six baseball games played by 10-year-olds. The Lewes Little League Park is scenic and buggy and the ghosts of 60 years from games past waft across the summer winds, along with the smells of boiled hotdogs. These boys can play baseball; they make heroic stops in the field and deliver timely hits. The fans are unabashedly biased and sometimes the volunteer unpaid umpires are ripped for missing a call with a suggestion that they are showing favoritism.

Baseball is often described by lacrosse zealots as being too slow and boring, but when played correctly and with intensity it is the best of all sports. I hope to see these kids blossom as high school players, and I hope their families continue to show up and support them.

TOP OF THE TREE - Last week I interviewed Tommy Nohilly, a former NCAA champion in the steeplechase; Maren Ford, recently selected to the United States field hockey team; and Kylor Berkman of Salisbury University, the Division III National Player of the Year.

Seaside Delaware attracts all kinds of decorated athletes in the summertime who are just kicking about and vacationing. I told Kylor Berkman that he would be sharing an Athlete of the Week window with three 10-year-olds and his eyes lit up before he said “Cool!” And that is the bow that ties all athletes together and why I’m just as happy covering a baseball game played by 10-year-olds as being on the field for an Eagles game.

ZORBA THE GREEK - A scene from that classic movie shows relatives of an old, dying woman camped outside her modest house, and as soon as she dies they are inside looting her belongings.

The old high school went “Zorba” in June and stuff was flying out of that suddenly nasty, dirty place faster than teachers at the three o’clock bell. And some rascal pilfered my podium that was willed to me by the Indian mystic Milt Roberts, but I am on it like Genghis Khan on Chaka Khan because there is no one on staff who can seize the power of that totem, no storyteller worthy of its caress. I am now a Mongol on a mission!

SNIPPETS - The Phillies and Mets are now so bad that the Florida Marlins are about to take over the lead in the National League East.

I cannot in any way canonize Michael Jackson, but he was the best and most creative dancer of his generation, which makes him a great athlete but not exactly a middle linebacker or power forward. Soon after Jackson’s introduction of the moon walk, I was watching a halftime show at a Sixers game and this long-legged dancing dude did a forward moonwalk. It was better than a Doctor J dunk.

I saw James Brown in person at the Philadelphia Uptown Theater on North Broad Street in 1964. Put an Irish river dancer next to James and it’s like listening to Pat Boone cover Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti.” James had soul - he just moved and flowed like a hall buffer on a linoleum floor. From the ankles down there has never been anyone better.

And what is the essential difference between Jim Brown and Tiger Woods? That’s right, the hat. No, actually, Jim Brown criticizing Tiger Woods holds no sway in any corner of society. Tiger is first class all the way and his Tiger Woods Foundation helps all kids.