It's Terry Mackin's birthday: Give him a Popsicle and a Bud

July 14, 2013 

July is my birthday month. Please, please don't tell the waiters. They'll sing and clap and make a scene. I just want to eat my riblets.

Sending a funny card is fine, though. One with a photo of a shirtless old guy trying to do something helplessly physical.You sent me the same card last year.

A birthday text is sufficient. It took us dads a while to catch on. Teach us how to text. Now we won't stop texting, huh? Watch out, world. Twitter's next.

What's on the mind of a middle-age guy on his birthday?

Not much, but everything.

Some random, summertime notes and thoughts...

Do you remember summer when summer was really summer? Sure, I do. Three full months of fun. But I bet summer remembers me when I had a bit more sizzle, too.

I like the Cardinals' solid navy blue hat best.

Someday, I'm going to shoot my age in golf. Here's to living to age 101.

I realize it now. I like Leno, Fallon, Kimmel. But Johnny Carson was the best.

I love watching Allen Craig bat with runners on base.

It was hard watching the Chicago Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup. It was even harder admitting they were the best team in hockey all year and they deserve the cup

Let's get serious for a moment: We rely on technology to communicate, shop, drive. Cell phones in our hands continuously. Facebook and Twitter chronicle our every moments. Satellites guide us on every highway. Security cameras in every store, school, parking lot, restaurant. Then we're appalled that the government has increased access to our private lives. Huh? I didn't realize anything was private these days.

I need intervention. Please. I eat one Popsicle and suddenly I've eaten a dozen. Little wooden sticks left in every room in the house. Can't help myself.

Beers are becoming a lot like tennis shoes and TVs. Too many options. I liked it better when there were fewer options, like bottle or draft? Bud or Stag?

There was a time in my life when I enjoyed the immediate gratification of grass cutting. Nowadays, there's no satisfaction. I'd rather be playing golf, riding my bike or, better yet, doing nothing at all.

Can you believe they used to allow smoking on airplanes?

I will be glad when Ballpark Village is completed. It has looked like a big hole in the outfield of a proud Cardinal Nation.

OK. I am officially concerned. I wonder if the Blues will win a Stanley Cup in my lifetime.

I'm excited about the future of the St. Louis Rams. I'd be even more excited if I knew their future was going to be in St. Louis.

Kurt Warner is on my Mount Rushmore of favorite St. Louis athletes. But we'd need a few more mounts to include everyone. Gibson. Brock, Faulk. Simmons. Federko. Hull. Shannon. The Plagers.

Funny. I still read the hard-copy, printed newspaper, even though I've already read most of the articles online.

I've received hundreds of Cardinal promotional giveaways in my life. Most have been lost or tossed. But you can't beat the Stan Musial harmonica and Mike Shannon bobblehead this season. I hope my grandkids have mine someday.

Anybody here remember the old Jay's A&W on North Illinois Street? Wish it was still there today.

Who was hotter: Beyonce today or Ann Margret in those old Elvis movies?

A few things I want to learn to do well someday -- hunt, fish, play the guitar or piano, dance, putt.

A few things I want to forget? The 1968, '85 and '87 World Series. That column I wrote about 15 years ago about shopping for underwear. Mike Keenan. Striped, bell-bottom pants. That Michael Buble concert a few years ago. Super Bowl XXXVI.

Birthdays are not a big deal. Maybe a little cake and ice cream. And a cigar. I don't smoke, but every cool guy age 50-plus should have a cigar in his golf bag or on his car visor.

But you have to admit that saluting another year, in your own special waysure beats the alternative, huh? Here's to being here this time next year, and making another birthday seem insignificant.

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