This guy is the perfect example of what I want running to do for me.
Chris Chelios was born Christos Kostas Tselios on January 25, 1962 in Chicago Illinois (thanks wikipedia). He turned 48 years old this year. He skates in the NHL.
This man is a freak of nature. Just as it defies logic that Shaq can be that tall and that thick, Chelios physique is mind boggling. The guy can bench press the team bus and then keep pace with it on his ten-speed bike.
I am 27-years-old and washed up physically. My knees hurt, my ankles hurt and some days, my teeth hurt. How is this guy playing at age 48?
Yes, he kind of washed out with the Red Wings. But, he was then fielding offers from other teams and is now patrolling the blueline for the Atlanta Thrashers. The Thrashers have no ties to Chelios. There is no reason to give the old dog his due, unless he can skate. Obviously, Grandpa can skate.
This guy has spanned generations. He was rocking it with the Canadiens when goalies stood up and wore beadspreads for leg pads. Now, players are rocking carbon fiber twigs that can launch the puck with much less effort and wear pads that way less than a coffe cup (Easton helmet). Heck, not a lot of guys wore helmets when Chelios broke into the league in 1983, the year I was born.
As if this blog wasn't a big enough love letter, let's talk about Chelios with his shirt off. We have all seen it in ESPN the magazine. Bro-nami is ripped. He has huge pecks, giant guns and an eight pack. He is a couple years younger than my dad, but my dad has been rocking the keg since '83. Chelios is on that paddle board in the waves looking like a casting call for a Baywatch remake.
Chelios back in the NHL is redonkulous, period.