I played 6 softball games yesterday. I admit I was a little (a lot) tired and sore today. But just a little (a lot). We lost in the finals.

It was a co-ed tournament. After the second game, I mentioned that the last time I played co-ed softball was 1987.
And my teammates started chiming in with:
"1987? I was in kindergarten."
"I was two."
"I was in 4th grade."
"I wasn't born yet."
and so on.

There was only one player close to my age. Our pitcher was a year younger than me. When he found out I graduated from St. X in 1989 he asked if I knew his cousin, John Evans.

"Evans?" I asked. "I don't think so. Oh, wait, was he a big goofy guy who decided for a while in the early 90's to become a skinhead and join the Michigan militia, or something like that? The last I heard of him he was living in a cabin somewhere in central Kentucky and sending crazy manifestos to all the newspapers."

Okay, actually, I said John is one of my best friends, and that regrettably I haven't see nearly enough of him the last few years, and I swore (yet again) to myself that I would rectify that soon.
And once Mike told me that John was his cousin, I couldn't believe I hadn't already figured it out. For one thing, I think I've met him once or twice over the last 25 years or so. Also, they look very much alike.