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There are not all that many things that a man can enjoy at the age of 75 just as much as he enjoyed them at age 25, especially if those things involve a lot of physical activity. I can recall, at age 25, cruising timber all day long and then on Thursday night, most small towns during that era closed down on Thursday afternoon, playing third base in bothends of a double header while wearing the woolen uniform all ball players wore in those olden days. I remember trying to beat out bunts in the late innings of the second game with the identical enthusiasm I had in the first inning of the first game, and finding nothing particularly unusual or tiring in the process.
Just writing about it now, makes me want to go and lie down for thirty minutes. My tastes have undergone some distinct changes over the years in the things I find enjoyable. Particularly, there have been taste changes in music, in poetry, in drink and diet, in literature, and even in certain forms of the field sports. But there has been very little change in my relationship with turkeys, I would rather kill on hard one than three easy ones now, which is a distinct change from my attitude at the beginning. I delight in calling one up for somebody else, far more than I did at first, and I have even developed the capacity to be able to take a wry pleasure in getting my ass kicked by turkeys, something I used to consider an insult to my manhood.
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