Reality played no part in this depiction, but that was the beauty of the poster. No matter how old, slow, heavy, gray, bald or ugly I get, I will always look impressive, thanks to C.W. Pack Sports. With each passing year I fully expect to take aside some wide-eyed youngster, point to my color posters and describe feats of grandeur.
Posters in hand, I returned home for Christmas and performed one final deed to make the experience complete. I sifted through 10 years of adolescent junk until I found my rolled-up collection of yellowing posters—Chamberlain, Sayers, Aaron and Wilson—the same ones David Long and I had argued about a decade earlier. I locked my door and hung up the posters of my old idols and saved just enough space to put one of my own in the middle.
There I stood, alongside the heroes of my youth, front and center in my personal Hall of Fame. All of a sudden I realized it didn't matter so much that my career was over.