On sports, memories and the twilight years
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Maybe it's the growing old man in me. Or being a father. Could be a little of both.
In the midst of another frantic sports weekend, there were a few moments that made me pause and think about days gone by recently.
I saw Iowa football coach Kirk Ferentz tear up after an emotionally-draining, dramatic last-second win at Michigan. I watched future Hall of Fame pitcher Justin Verlander sob as he said goodbye to the sport he loves with one final hero's sendoff in Detroit, capped by his daughter sprinting from the dugout to surprise him on the way out. And I smiled as long-time ace Max Scherzer, also making what was likely his final start in Major League Baseball, refused to leave the mound like an old cuss when Toronto's manager tried to take him out of the game.
Today, Ferentz, Verlander and Scherzer represent the past much more than the future. Times have changed. They were all, not so long ago, from an era of many and in their prime. Now, they are the last of their kind.
College football is barely recognizable these days. The teams, logos, fans and stadiums all appear to be the same from a distance, but the rules and environment surrounding the programs have turned that world upside down.
Better or worse? That's not for me to say and up to you to decide. It's all different though, without question.
Ferentz's Hawkeyes are like a port in the storm. Iowa is still built on its core principles, and in so many ways for so many reasons, it works on a deeper level of authenticity that makes them an endangered species.
Some may say the methods are outdated, or that the 71-year-old Ferentz isn't in tune with the modern game. Others still appreciate his loyalty to a system that remains tried and true, even if it may never put the Hawks in serious contention for a championship.
There is something to be said for both the sincerity and relationship building Ferentz does with his teams. The belief in what he does and how he does it hasn't wavered. His players are still buying in, even if the outside world doesn't completely get it anymore.
No matter where his remarkable 28th season at Iowa ends up, respect should be paid for this kind of old-school culture in 2026. It's a confusing, mercurial climate out there. Iowa continues to keep things simple and real in the midst of it all.
The same can be said for both the 43-year-old Verlander and 42-year-old Scherzer, who were long-time teammates in Detroit. They, too, come from a sports world that no longer exists.
Most elite starting pitchers today are protected assets for franchises that are now in control of a player's every move. Verlander and Scherzer came through the ranks during a more organic timeframe, when a pitcher with the ball wanted to solely shoulder the win or loss - decisions of others be damned.
Hypercompetitive. Driven by more than just dollar signs and their brands.
The hard part for me as a fan is accepting this new reality. Ferentz - like Tom Izzo at Michigan State, another nod to what worked in the days of yesteryear - is in the twilight of his career. We'll never see another Verlander or Scherzer again.
So many highlights over the last two-plus decades have been marked by iconic moments from Ferentz's Hawkeyes, or Izzo's Spartans, or games when Verlander and Scherzer were at their best. We tend to take all of this for granted as it happens. It feels like they'll always be around.
Then suddenly, it's over. And you're left to reminisce, appreciating the "where were you" milestones all the more because you got to witness them in real time - especially when it coincides with the growth and evolution of your own family.
My son was a baby when Verlander made his big-league debut, and saw him pitch in Kansas City as a 10-year-old with my dad. He met Ferentz during an I-Club stop as a wide-eyed third grader.
My thoughts wandered to those days over the weekend, and if I had to guess, it's also what made Ferentz and Verlander so emotional in triumph. The timeline rushes back and hits you all at once; a million moments and feelings from the past converging with the reality that the era is coming to a close.
This is the beauty of sports. It often tells the story of your childhood, or defines relationships you'll forever share with teammates, or speaks to the bond you have with family members.
Maybe all of the above, if you're lucky.
Whether you're an athlete, a parent or a fan, appreciate the time you get and the memories you build as they come. It doesn't last forever.
Eric Pratt is Sports Editor at The Messenger. Contact him via email at sports@messengernews.net, or on Twitter @ByEricPratt