Andrew Painter Fans 8 in His Debut and I Feel So Old My Bones Are Turning to Dust
Philadelphia Phillies prodigy Andrew Painter just stepped onto a Major League mound for the very first time and effortlessly struck out eight Washington Nationals to secure a victory. He is practically a child. He probably doesn’t even know what a VHS tape is. He probably thinks dial-up internet is an urban legend. And he is out here dismantling grown men with a devastating curveball. I feel so old that I think my collarbone just turned to dust.
The Youth Are Taking Over
When I was his age, my greatest accomplishment was memorizing the cheat codes to Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Now, this kid is standing in front of a massive crowd in Philadelphia—a city known for aggressively booing Santa Claus—and he is perfectly calm. He fanned eight batters. I fanned my kitchen smoke detector with a dish towel three times this morning because I burned a Pop-Tart. We are operating in entirely different stratospheres.
A Desperate Plea for Mediocrity
I need these young athletes to struggle a little bit just to make me feel better about my own stagnant life trajectory. If Painter comes out in his next start and throws a no-hitter, I am going to legally change my name, move into the woods, and communicate exclusively with pigeons. My fragile ego cannot sustain this relentless assault of youthful excellence.
