This is one of those “let me tell you how things were better in my day” stories, so if that offends your sensibilities, then move along. And get off my lawn while you are at it.

Field Day: You have got to be kidding me.

If you haven’t been to one of these lately, prepare to be stunned and what they have done to it. The juice-box-and-orange-slice crowd has taken over and there is no going back.

Once upon a time, in its salad days, Field Day was basically a mini-Olympics. Real events, like the broad jump and the 40-yard dash. Now, they don’t even have anything as competitive as the ball throw for fear that little Johnny’s self esteem might take a hit if he comes in fourth.

I used to spend weeks — that’s right, weeks — preparing for the high jump at Field Day. (I later found out I was jumping off the wrong leg, but I thought I was the next Dwight Stones. Google him, kids.)

Now there are all these made up events that are disguised as competition. Oh look, Sally is trying to run around the cone without spilling the pail of water! No one wins, no one is keeping score and everyone gets a ribbon (Surprise!). There’s not a stopwatch or a measuring tape to be found anywhere.

And by the way, Field Days are now universally held on Fridays (a.k.a. a school day). Back when kids were kids, they were almost always on a Saturday. I was still remember being crushed when it got rained out one year and completely ruined my weekend.

At the top of my resume it is noted that I was the “Outstanding Athlete” in the fourth grade at the 1969 Field Day. And by God I still have the ribbon to prove it!

Everyone knows who the smartest kid in the class is; why can’t we find out who is the fastest? Or who has the best hops?

But noooooo. We have to know who is best at running to the hula hoop, change into clown pants, do three swings of the hoop and then race back and tag a teammate with a Frisbee.

There. I feel much better.