Seaver sadly facing indignity of the 'Long Goodbye'

Dementia.

It's a horrible word, one that seems to become more relevant to us as each year passes.

Not just more relevant, either. Sadder.

The great Tom Seaver

It's actually a strange word in this context. "Demented" used to mean mentally odd in some strange way. There is a syndicated disc jockey called Doctor Demento who plays all sorts of bizarre songs.

Calling someone demented was basically a synonym for weird or twisted. It had little to do with aging.

Of course it was also a medical term. Dementia doesn't refer to one specific disease, but to a family of diseases that result in memory loss or impaired judgement.

The best-known disease is Alzheimer's, largely because of President Reagan. When people first started talking about Alzheimer's, some folks misheard the first word and called it Old-timer's Disease. Cute.


Actually, the most poignant -- even heartbreaking -- name given to Alzheimer's is the Long Goodbye. Doctors say that with people living longer these days, one out of every two Americans who reach the age of 85 will suffer from Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia.

Seaver 41, lower center

It hurts most when it's people close to us, people we love, but it's also difficult to see it happen to people who were our heroes as kids.

There are three autographed sports jerseys on the memento walls in my office. John Elway anchors the wall opposite my desk, but to my right, on a wall of built-in bookcases, hang jerseys of Johnny Bench and Tom Seaver.

The Seaver jersey is pretty rare. It's a Jacksonville Suns jersey from the one season he pitched in the minor leagues before being promoted to New York.

And of my 120 or so autographed baseballs, there's a row of honor at the top of one of the cases -- Sandy Koufax, Johnny Bench, Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Ernie Banks and Seaver.

As good as it gets.

I only recall seeing him pitch once. It was in between the two World Series years, 1969 and 1973, and it was right around the Fourth of July. I remember him pitching a shutout. He pitched 61 of them on his way to 311 victories.

Seaver is 74 now, and his family announced this week that he has dementia and is retiring from public life.

It's sad, but the fact is that once the first digit in your age is a seven, all sorts of unpleasant things can happen to assault your dignity.

I met so many wonderful players in my 16 years as a sportswriter, including some of the great pitchers of my generation. Steve Carlton, Jim Palmer, Catfish Hunter. I interviewed them all, but I never had the chance to meet Seaver.

I wish his family well.

I wish him well.

It's all I can really do.