Pardon the Sincerity.
This thing struck home
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If you’ve hung around this space for a while, you know our basic stand on most things connected to sports personnel: They’re all replaceable. We used to say that mostly about field goal kickers and mostly for laughs (there’ll always be another one!), but the more recent analyses of sports career data suggest that a pro athlete is, indeed, the human equivalent of a cicada.
Average length of an NFL career: 3.2 years.
MLB: 2.7 years (though some estimates go beyond 5 years, because pitchers).
NBA: 4.5 years.
NHL: 5 years.
How hockey players last longer than pro hoopers is beyond me (do yourself a favor and watch an NHL game in person sometime. It’s insane), but in all cases we are talking about an incredibly brief shelf-life. A pro athlete is on a perpetually expiring contract.
That’s on average, of course, and we can all think of exceptions. But the fleeting nature of sports does (or should) explain why we’re so drawn to “veteran” athletes: Not only are they elite, but they manage somehow to stick around — and perhaps even thrive — years and years beyond their expected sell-by date. It’s a minor miracle, when you consider it.
So anyway, about Mike Tomlin.
