I've been asked to give a speech

This morning, somebody called me and asked me if I could give a speech at a senior citizens breakfast. The speech should be about sports, but the person who called me about it said the topic was up to me.
Pro sports really aren't my area of expertise (I don't cover them so I don't know much more than the average guy on the street). I cover local stuff, but I'm not sure what might be a worthwhile topic for this sort of thing.
I'm glad to do this. I always like to help out whenever I can, and as David Spade said, whenever the courts tell me to. (OK, I'm just kidding about that part).
What might be an interesting local kind of topic for this type of audience?

 

Your car.

 

Win.

 

Something sports-related.

 

Matlock.

 

Sanka, prunes or this:

 

Sell them pre-arranged funerals.

 

Or Old Glory Robot Insurance.

 

The picture's a little goofy for some reason, but this might work for you:

 

Explain why boxing and horse racing are no longer two of the "big three" sports.

 

I leave these: a box of mint-condition 1918 liberty-head silver dollars. You see, back in those days, rich men would ride around in Zeppelins, dropping coins on people, and one day I seen J.D. Rockefeller flying by. So I run of the house with a big washtub and... hey! Where are you going? Anyway, about my washtub. I'd just used it that morning to wash my turkey, which in those days was known as...a walking-bird. We'd always have walking-bird on Thanksgiving, with all the trimmings: cranberries, injun eyes, yams stuffed with gunpowder. Then we'd all watch football, which in those days was called baseball...
Eh, why didn't you get something useful, like storm windows, or a nice pipe organ? I'm thirsty! Ew, what smells like mustard? There sure are a lot of ugly people in your neighborhood. Ooh, look at that one. Ow, my glaucoma just got worse. The president is a Democrat! Hello? I can't unbuckle my seat belt. Hello? There are too many leaves in your walkway...
We can't bust heads like we used to, but we have our ways. One trick is to tell 'em stories that don't go anywhere - like the time I caught the ferry over to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe, so, I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. "Give me five bees for a quarter," you'd say.

Now where were we? Oh yeah: the important thing was I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn't have white onions because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones...

 

Excuse me while I whip this out.