I turned 32 sometime over the weekend. I'm not sure of the exact time it happened, for I don't carry my birth certificate around with me on a regular basis. But I can tell that it happened: my joints creak just a little louder, this darned music you kids listen to sounds just a little crappier, Democrats seem just a little kookier. I'm a year closer to showing my AARP card for a discount at the 4:30 PM buffet at the American Legion hall.

Well I'm not going down without a fight, Age. You can drag me ever-nearer to the supermarket aisle where the Centrum Silver is shelved, but I'm gonna kick and scream the whole way through an ever-escalating series of grand and glorious (if not futile) gestures towards preserving my waning youth.

And I've started already. After over a year of absence, I've returned to the hardwood for noontime basketball at the YMCA. I briefly considered buying a new Honda CBR600RR and zipping down to Daytona Beach instead, but nothing says "mid-life crisis" like a guy trying to weave an overpowered motorcycle through toys scattered on the driveway without waking the family, wondering where the hell on the bike he's supposed to insert his new Air Supply CD.

All things considered, today's performance was quite acceptable. I tried to stick to the standard "White Guy Coming Off the DL" playing style: concentrate on passing and rebounding, take the open 15-footer if it's there, don't for God's sake don't go driving the lane until you remember how to dribble. This is the same style that endeared Manute Bol and Shawn Bradley to NBA fans worldwide, but it looks a lot funnier when a six-three guy is sporting it.

But screw aesthetics. I didn't embarrass myself, which is Rule #1 in the Guide To Mid-Life Crises (available soon from Amazon and Barnes & Noble). I was able to break away from the workplace in the middle of the day, something I hadn't done most of this awful, awful winter. And I reminded myself of one of life's most important lessons, learned from my grandmother: "You're only as old as you feel." I know Roman Polanski has a different interpretation of this phrase — it's not "you're only as old as those whom you feel" — but it's true, and it's got me feeling like I'm still in my twenties, ready to kick the world in the ass.

Tomorrow morning, however, isn't going to be pretty. Advice to readers: Pfizer makes Ben-Gay. Buy Pfizer stock now.

UPDATE: For you kids who don't know any better: substitute "R. Kelly" for "Roman Polanski" if the penultimate paragraph doesn't gibe with you (thanks Greg).