birthday

In Kiribati, it’s already my birthday. Here in Tokyo, I’ve got to wait another three hours. Were I still in New Haven or Toledo, it’d be 17 hours. Back in Dallas or Rayne, it’s 18. Wherever you are, I’m getting old.
As a kid, of course, 18 was the goal age; that was the drinking age in Louisiana back then. Then Connecticut drinking laws intervened, and 21 became the marker to match. Now 26 shoves itself in my face. I’ve long postulated — and will now, for the next 730 days, defend to the death — the idea that 27 is the peak human age. Why? Because that’s when, statistically, baseball players peak: they still have all their physical skills, but they’ve also got the mental maturity for greatness. But that still gives me only two years to win a couple Pulitzers, become a rock star, and bring peace to the Middle East.
Then today, in a discussion session at the FPC, I learned from the wonderfully named Teddy Jimbo that businesses in Japan have something called the Rule of 38. You see, until age 38, you’re giving more to your employer than you’re getting — working long hours, often for little money, trying to climb that infernal ladder. But once you hit that magic number, the poles flip, your production drops, and you start earning more than you’re actually worth. (This is the excuse Japanese companies use to defend never hiring older workers — they figure they’d be paying for their senescence without having gotten the benefits of those early go-get-em years.) So maybe I’ve got a little time before my uphill climb turns into a downhill slide after all.
(And in case you’re wondering, there were only two 27-year-olds on the two World Series rosters. The Yankees had superstar shortstop Derek Jeter; the Diamondbacks could offer only mediocre backup first-baseman Erubial Durazo. How’d they do? The overrated Jeter had 62 postseason at-bats, but was horrible: only four RBI, an anemic .226 average, and a .275 on-base percentage. Noble Durazo, in contrast, used his 15 at-bats wisely: three RBI, a solid .333 average, and a .455 OBP. No wonder good triumphed over evil in the end.)