Member Column: Times-and GOATs-Change

by Jon Michaels

LW contributor

Remember when you were a kid, and the one who was the GOAT was the guy who made an error and lost the game? The football player who fumbled on the last play. The basketball player who missed the tying free throw. The swimmer who drowned during a swim meet (well, I made that one up).

Not surprisingly, when I was in little league, I was often the Goat. “You screwed up, Michaels!” “We lost because of YOU!” “You’re b-a-a-a-a-----D.” “You stink!”

They’d beat me up. And all I could muster was “thanks for punching me. I enjoyed when you stepped on my face with your cleats. Can somebody call a doctor?”

My parents, who were addicted to documenting their children’s lives, used to make home movies of my little league games. I never watched them because they were too embarrassing. They’d try to console me with, “Don't worry about it. It’s just a game. So, you’re the Goat for the week. Uh, month. Er, season.”

I’d reply, “That’s not helping!” Fast forward 50 years, and suddenly the Goat has a different meaning. It means the Greatest Of All Time.

Michael Jordan’s the Goat of basketball. Tom Brady’s the Goat of football.

So my grandkids, who are 5 and 7, came over to visit, and I decided to find some old photos and souvenirs from my past to share with them.

And lo and behold, in the crawl space I found some old home movies, and my Bell and Howell movie projector which needed a good dusting off.

But it still worked. We made some popcorn, and huddled in the living room. And I said, “I'm not sure what’s on these things, but it should be fun to see the older cars and whacky fashion. And our black and white world.”

My grandkids actually thought the world was black and white. Because I told them so. I'm a stinker.

And what do you suppose we stumbled upon? An edited version of the worst of my sporting accomplishments. Making error after error at second base. Dropping the football. Making a bad pass in basketball. And always getting beat up afterward.

But it didn’t matter. Because my grandkids kept hearing people scream at me, “You’re the Goat, Michaels!”

My grandkids were in awe. They were beaming.

“You were the greatest of all time, Grandpa!”

When their parents came to pick them up, they were by the front door, screaming, “Grandpa’s the GOAT, Mom and Dad!”

I just sit there in my easy chair, smiling: “Yep, I was. I sure was.”