The Ghosts of Tomorrow

Tonight marked the first time in awhile a few of us assembled at the always formidable Star Grille on the West Side of Winfield. As you would expect, as the baskets of wings and pitchers of beer were rendered nothing more than empty plastic molds, conversation turned to days gone by.

In days long since past by, during our respective sabbaticals from college, a crowd convened each Monday night (yes, I know it's a Tuesday) at the house of 50 cent wings and five dollar pitchers. Despite the infamous chicken wing shortage of '04, our laughs were plentiful and the discussions were priceless.

But here we sat this evening, mere years removed from ten minutes ago, barely able to rustle up five young men when in the past 15 to 20 were the norm. Tonight, the group sat a sole table where the group of old would merge and splice tables and jockey for the center-stage seat as to not miss a moment of any far-fetched tale or current-day saga.

Tonight we discussed the past - in all its glory: The blindness of the day-long tailgates for Pitt football games, the insanity of a Tuesday night pickup baseball game and, most of all, the trials and tribulations of every waning moment as a kid growing up in the rural confines our hometown.

Talk shifted to the impending weekend. A possible 'last hurrah' at the Klugh Cabin. To number the times we've spent eating a hot dog in one bite, squeezing a tap, throwing a ping-pong ball or jumped back as the wind blew flames from the bonfire a bit too close for comfort at this hypothetical house of memories would be like trying to list the combined marriages of Pam Anderson and Elizabeth Taylor.

There were the fall nights after football games with my body mind-numbingly achy, or the post-dance free-for-all that left the ground singed with liberty. What about the rainy morning exoduses with headaches the size of wrecking balls?

It's with all this we prepare for a Labor Day weekend full of drinks, friends and a baseball diamond. Granted, the baseball diamond has shrunk a bit as we're now playing softball, but the feeling remains. Oh how far we've come since those early days of debauchery. While some stalwarts of the past won't be able to attend - Mitch, Rozic, Scott, Brown, Shaffer: you're in our thoughts - we're fully ready to embrace what could certainly be defined as the end of an era.

With that, I say goodbye to the clutch of those days. You were the definition of my youth, just please remember me when I get old.