Assuming a minimum age of 18, the oldest would now be near 60.
Seriously...who would pay money to see that?
ANN ARBOR, Mich. (AP) - The top bowler for the Special Olympics looks forward to meeting President Barack Obama in an alley.
"He bowled a 129. I bowl a 300. I could beat that score easily," Michigan's Kolan McConiughey (KO-lahn Mc-KAHNA-he) told The Associated Press in an interview Friday.
The athletic-minded president made an offhand remark Thursday on "The Tonight Show" comparing his weak bowling to "the Special Olympics or something." He quickly apologized and told the Special Olympics chairman he wants to have some of its athletes visit the White House to bowl or play basketball.
McConiughey, who is mentally disabled, is just the bowler for the job. He's bowled five perfect games since 2005.
The 35-year-old McConiughey has been bowling since he was 8 or 9. His advice for Obama? Practice every day.
Towards the end of his approximately 40-minute appearance, the president talked about how he's gotten better at bowling and has been practicing in the White House bowling alley.
He bowled a 129, the president said.
"That's very good, Mr. President," Leno said sarcastically.
It's "like the Special Olympics or something," the president said.
Then came the midwife with the ultrasound machine. (Hooray!) The children all piled around me to get their first peek at our littlest one.
It was clearly sleeping. Nestled in peacefully and curled up in the fetal position. Then the machine beeped and #5 screamed.
#6 threw its arms wide in the classic infant startle. Then, the little hands flew instinctively up to cover the ears from a big brother's offensive racket.
The little face turned towards the direction of the crying brother, and it's mouth opened slightly. Then, its chin began to quiver. Clearly, obviously crying.
That host that I receive every Sunday, is the only physical form of food for my soul that I receive. It doesn't matter if the priest gives a good homily, or if I have to roll my eyes a bit, or more likely in my case, that I don't even get to listen to the homily because I am busy shushing the kids. It doesn't matter if the priest is a hypocrite who says one thing but does another, or if he is a saint, hiding behind a meek manner. It doesn't matter if the people around me frown at my kids or smile indulgantly. It doesn't matter where the tabernacle is placed, to the side, to the middle, or if there are kneelers or not.
What matters in the end is that little round host. That is what I am there for. That is what I need to make it through my week. That is what I need to not break down and give up or melt down or go nuts or just do it my way or no way. The rest is secondary. I can read the readings and the gospel at home.