I have a barrister bookcase that was made by hand in 1840. It’s made of mahogany and the glass has the waves sometimes found in handmade glass of that vintage. The bookcase is in perfect condition, with the exception of one gouge in the back. My great-grandfather packed up his family and belongings to escape Sherman’s march to Savannah and that gouge is the result of that terrified flight.

I have a handmade double-barreled shotgun from 1830. The plating is actual silver, hand-carved in intricate patterns. The stock is strong and in good shape, but when I wrap my fingers around it, I fall into the grooves of my forefathers and I feel their grip over years of use. I can feel the age and the wear on the gun but I can also feel the sturdiness and the invulnerability of it. Squeeze the trigger and the piece of equipment, more than 150 years old, kicks like a mule.

I have a lighter that my paternal grandfather brought back from Normandy. It’s scuffed and scraped and he wouldn’t tell me any stories. Maybe he was in the depths of things that he didn’t want to recount to a ten-year-old boy. Maybe he was safe behind lines, working as a cook and he didn’t want to acknowledge his easy assignment. But those marks are still there.

All of which makes me wonder… what of mine will my grandchildren and great-grandchildren cherish? Even though I certainly use it a lot, somehow I don’t think my grandkids are going to hold my iPod in their hands and marvel at the scratches. I don’t think they’ll argue over who gets to play with my cell phone and I don’t think they’ll pretend to be a great photographer with my digital camera.

In a disposable age, when our gadgets are obsolete in six months, what do we leave for the generations?

It’s not just about material or physical objects either. My maternal grandfather died of a heart attack when I was less than a year old. I have no memory of the man. But when I visit his hometown, more than 30 years after his death, strangers still come up to me on the street to tell me what a great man he was. He wasn’t wealthy, no libraries bear his name, no street signs in his honor. But the fact is that he made an impact on his community with the strength of his character and the honor of his work.

Will anyone remember the cubicle where I worked? Will some old geezer amble up to my grandchildren and say “your granddaddy was the best danged software tester you’ve ever seen!?”

This website endeavors to change that. To help a man make a classic mark in a disposable age.

The title of this blog comes from an old song, the Sporting Life Blues. It tells of a man living the good life, but it warns that such a life isn’t easy. It requires moderation and intelligence and a sense that things can get better, that things can be better.

We will talk about things – wine, music, literature, toys – that will amuse and even change us. We will talk about the things we carry through the daily battle. We will talk about the people who make us who we are and the spirit of an age of miracles.

This isn’t a liberal or conservative blog. This isn’t about dying with the most toys. This is about the things that will remind the future of the past, the things that will remain after we are gone. The world must change, but there are things that must hold.

We welcome link suggestions. Please drop us a line at john@thesportinglife.net.

The opinions expressed on this site are our own and do not constitute an endorsement of any particular product, unless otherwise stated.

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