One day, I’m going to be 60 years of age. Granted, that’s a long way off … but it’s coming. (And, when it does, I’m certain I’ll still be watching my beloved CBS Sunday Morning.)

Throughout my life, I’ve never (yes, I used “never”) wanted to be any older than I was at the time. I didn’t want to be a teenager when I was a youth, I didn’t wish for 21 when I was a teen, I didn’t voice my desire to turn the age of adulthood when I was much younger than I am now. (Not so interestingly, lots of folks accuse me of still being a kid. And I really don’t see a problem with that.)

But there is one thing I’ve continually said as the years have passed: I want to be spry when I’m an old man. And not spry in the manner of leaping out of a porch patio chair swinging my cane above my head threateningly, yelling at those damned kids to get off my lawn.

I want to be the kind of spry that spurs me to action. I want to be the kind of spry which makes people smile. I hope I can infuse others with joy and smiles and goodwill. (On this matter, I know for a fact I can do this — I’ve done it time and again.) I want the kind of spry that infects 60 year-old Cedric Givens.

Givens has got it goin’ on. He’s spry to the nth degree. He’s loud and boisterous and outgoing. There’s no denying the dude’s got pep in his step. And he’s got a positive outlook on life that’s contagious. He’s filled with the kind of contagion I tend to gravitate toward. And why not?

I’ve believed for the longest time you have to look at the positive side of situations. (I don’t always practice that mode of thinking because I’m flawed and human. But I do my best to subscribe to it when I can.) I love his attitude and his energy and his enthusiasm.

The reality of the situation is that it’s a hard knock life. The difference is how you’re going to respond to the knocks.

I’ll take Givens’ outlook, thank you very much.

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Anyone who reads my posts has most certainly stumbled over one of my most beloved topics: The Decline of Western Civilization. I’ve discussed this particular idea on several fronts and, most recently, with regard to Cadillac’s new XTS with ass-jolting technology.

I’ve even hinted at the fact I may be losing it. But that was only a momentary stumble in the grand scheme of things. After all, if I can transcribe more quickly than some of my other esteemed CliqueClack colleagues, I figure I’ve still got it where it counts.

And then over the celebrated Carmaggedon II weekend here in sunny Southern California, more proof of “the decline” reared its head. No, no, no … I’m not talking about Honey Boo Boo’s raise. Nor the latest monkey business from Chick-Fil-A. Or the political circus currently taking place as we plod ever closer to the presidential election. Or even the fact you can’t find a good chicken broaster around town anymore, dammit. It came in the form (once again) of a CBS Sunday Morning news report, this time about our never-ending love affair with our portable telephones and whether or not we can pull the plug on our obsession with them.

In a nutshell, the report states we’re pretty much addicted. And while I’m pretty much in agreement with a lot of the report, there are certain aspects of it I’m not on board with.

Of cell phones, MIT psychologist Sherry Turkle stated in the piece: “I think we’re smitten.” No, we’re not. No one who spends an inordinate amount of time on their phone is “smitten.” Come on, let’s call a spade a spade: they’re addicted. It’s an addiction, pure and simple. Regardless of the fact she doesn’t like to use that word, the matter remains and is clear. Why is “addiction” such a difficult thing to say? Don’t sugar coat it — call it out for what it is.

But wait … there’s more. “We’re like young lovers who are afraid too much talking will spoil the romance.” Now, this one I call bullshit on. There isn’t a modicum of romantical feeling when it comes to our need to jabber on the phone or tweet some witty aside. Because it’s not a need. No one “needs” to do that. It’s a want and a desire and people give in to them continually, constantly … and many times without the restraint of common sense. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that very thing from your friends and associates and the random goofball who happens to be a friend of a friend of a friend. Because you have. And a lot of times we find it annoying. Or out-and-out stupid.

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What’s the deal? Why did I find myself getting more and more teary-eyed as the Vin Scully report on CBS Sunday Morning progressed?

Maybe it’s because I’ve been doing one thing consistently for a good part of my life — relentlessly attending Dodger games at Chavez Ravine. As a kid and a teenager and an adult, I’ve attended literally hundreds of games. In the beginning, it was a few here and there with my father. Later, I accompanied a friend’s mother to games several times a week … driving with her, meeting her at the Ravine, sitting with her and cheering with her at every hit and strikeout. It must have been a strange scene now that I think about it: Some young upstart attending game after game after game with my “other mom,” the two of us yelling our heads off and, quite often, leaving the game horse and unable to speak.

Of course, during every moment of every game I’ve ever been witness to Vin Scully has been there calling the plays, dissecting them, providing off-the-cuff commentary, enriching my enjoyment of the sport. With Vin behind the mike, there’s never a dull moment.

I was at a restaurant on a Saturday night with televisions blaring all around and found myself forever leaving my dinner to watch Game #1 of the Dodgers / Athletics World Series contest unfolded. Everyone in the place was glued to the sets while Vinny called Kirk Gibson’s walk to the plate and the resulting game-winning home run which ignited the eventual Dodger victory of 1988. And watching the Dodgers on television at home is no different. Vinny is there as well. If he’s not announcing because it’s a game of the week on another channel and not a local broadcast, my TV volume gets muted and the radio comes on. Many think I’m crazy to do this, but that’s not it at all. I’m just that obsessive about who I hear talking game when the Dodgers are playing.

It’s an appreciation and a right of the season and a need, all rolled into one. It’s the taste of summer: Baseball and play by play from Vin. There are very few announcers, past or present, who are baseball institutions. Harry Caray. Bob Uecker. Red Barber. But Vin Scully? He’s not only an institution, he’s one of a kind, a baseball legend. And one who will continue, at least for one more season as the voice of the Los Angeles Dodgers. Lucky us.

And those tears? Guess they’re a little bit of a love affair going on inside me.

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