Dearie. That's what she called me - Dearie. I was in Publix when this young lady asked how I was. I told her I was fine and asked how she was, just like my momma taught me. She replied, "I am doing great. Thanks for asking, Dearie."

People used to call my grandmother Dearie. But that was after she reached her 90s and then only when she did something surprising for a nonagenarian.

Hearing that same nickname was tough, especially considering the timing. The previous week I ordered a strawberry biscuit at Hardees. They told me to have a seat, and someone would bring it to me. Later, I saw my server walk up to a guy, who looked about 30 years my senior, and try to give him my biscuit. In her defense and mine, we were wearing the same color shirt.

Just days before the Dearie incident, I started seeing floaters. The eye doctor, another young woman (are we starting to see a pattern here?) told me this happened to people when they reached a certain age. I wasn't aware I had reached a certain age. So it hasn't been a good week for my boyhood exuberance.

Like most of my peers, I don't want to be 25 again; I just don't want to be an old man. Most of us like to think we can still perform as well as ever, using cunning to overcome youthful physical superiority.

Maybe that's why we pay attention to the Old Guy's Hall of Fame.

Jack Nicklaus winning the Masters at 46 put him there, as did George Foreman's capturing the heavyweight title in his 50s. Dara Torres is close to induction after qualifying for the Olympic Swim Team at 41. Those kinds of things inspire old guys who don't think they are old.

Then Greg Norman went to England, and with rain falling and wind howling, led the British Open for three and a half days. Norman is 53. He hasn't played competitive golf for years. It was magic.

Norman in his prime was Tiger before Tiger came along. The Shark was number one in the world for several years, won tournaments all over the planet, and single- handedly made golf a cool sport for a couple of decades.

But the Golf Gods hated Norman. No one knows why; maybe he did something bad as a boy, maybe they were jealous of his athleticism and popularity. He was dashing and brash. Golfers are supposed to be respectful and humble.

His punishment was an inability to win major championships. He came painfully close on many occasions. Lost two on miracle chips in playoffs by journeymen. But he won only two majors.

Still, there he was last weekend, taking on the whippersnappers and hanging tough. In the end, the Golf Gods had the last laugh. As is usually the case with Norman, he came close. But since this was golf and not horseshoes, he didn't get the Claret Jug. But he inspired a lot of guys not ready to give up, and he left with Chris Evert on his arm. Not bad for an old guy, huh Dearie?