My grandfather almost snuck all the way through to 100 full years playing the game of life. He was stopped just short last Tuesday at 99 and a half, and in full sportswriter parlance that actually feels like a sizeable upset. He'd previously been pretty good, both in regulation and in his ridiculous amount of personal overtime. At his 96th birthday dinner, one of his daughters caught him trying to use a kiddie cup to sneak the rest of his margarita out of the local Mexican restaurant. Wasteful he was not. Let's actually go with an asterisk here; that to-go cup incident could have happened at his 97th. Nobody I asked in the family could fully remember, and most of us get that night confused with the other semi-recent birthday dinner that ended with the police coming over to follow up on a report of his credit card being stolen. The card was soon found in the pocket of my grandpa's pants, the likely culprit and source of confusion being a similar margarita. He did ...