The recent issue of whether United States President Joe Biden is too old for a second term highlighted a rather tricky issue that many have to face: When is it time to quit? How does the high-level performer decide when it is time to retire? It is a question with which politicians, athletes, and others often must grapple, and it can be a difficult one to get right.

We often hear that the time to go is when you’re at the top of your game. But it’s difficult to see the wisdom in that. It is when you’re at the height of your powers that you should remain in the arena. The time to leave is when your skills are on the decline. You don’t want to get to the point at which too much deterioration has occurred, but why not continue so long as you are competing well?

“One Tour Too Many” is the title of a chapter in David Foot’s biography, Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why. Therein the author argues that the great England batter, who Sir Leonard Hutton describes as “the most perfect batsman I ever saw”, might have made a misjudgement when he embarked on his last tour to Australia in the winter of 1946-47.

“Hammond was now 43,” Foot wrote, “his eyes were tired and his teeth stained from nicotine. Some of the natural exuberances had gone from his exquisite stroke-play, even though he had just topped the first-class averages again (84.90) and at times batted quite beautifully in limited appearances for his county.”

Hammond’s Test average is 58.45. But he ended that tour with a total of 168 runs in eight innings, averaging a paltry 21.00 and looked nothing like the master batsman the Australians had witnessed on prior visits. In short: Hammond was no longer Hammond.

By 1980, Ali was no longer Ali. “The Greatest”, Muhammad Ali, now 38, was about to challenge his friend, one-time sparring partner and World Boxing Council (WBC) heavyweight champion, Larry Holmes. To anyone paying close attention, and even to those who were just casual onlookers, this was not the Ali of years past. This was not the “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” Ali. The fast-dancing, fast-talking, supple athlete was replaced by one who slurred his words and was slightly labouring in his movements. Whether they were admitting it or not, those around him noticed the changes. They saw the transformation, saw that Ali was slowing, but felt some compulsion to indulge the great boxer.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been doubted before — few thought he could’ve beaten Sonny Liston and, later, George Foreman — but even against the most foreboding odds he somehow found a way to be triumphant. They were sure he’d find a way again.

Ali himself had no doubt. He still felt he could dance and will himself to victory; that he could outsmart and outmanoeuvre any boxer. His mind told him he was the same Ali who trapped Foreman with the rope-a-dope; the same Ali who endured those punishing battles with Joe Frazier and Ken Norton; the Ali who was one of the best boxers of all time.

It turned out he was wrong. That Ali was no more. Holmes beat him badly. And yet, amid all the pounding, he refused to go down, even as Holmes looked back at the referee, urging him to stop the fight. It took those in his corner, seeing the fearful beating he was suffering and fearing for his well-being, to throw in the towel.

There is really nothing unusual about the story of Ali and Hammond carrying on for too long. History is replete with instances of great performers failing to recognise the onset of the diminution of their incredible skills. They remain champions in their minds long after their finest days are gone.

We have seen, again and again, great players who waited too long to make their departure. In a way, this is understandable. It must be difficult to leave behind something at which you excelled and dedicated your life. Additionally, top players develop large numbers of fans and groupies, some of whom cross the line over into sycophancy, stroking their egos and strengthening the voice in their heads telling them they’re still great despite much evidence to the contrary. Elite athletes often operate in a bubble of back-slapping and positive reinforcement. It can serve to bolster confidence, thereby lifting performance. But it also contributes to a refusal to recognise and accept a reality that might be apparent to almost everyone else.

Some prefer to leave while their spot is not in question rather than place their destiny in the hands of others. Someone like West Indies batter Shivnarine Chanderpaul, for example, might have left it too late. As a result, he suffered the indignity of being dropped, even after pleading that he wanted a few more games so he could receive a proper send-off. It was apparent that he was no longer the player he was, and though the West Indies was not a great team, he no longer deserved a place in it. Inarguably a great player, he ought to have risked leaving too early rather than place himself at the mercy of the selectors.

It is quite a subjective exercise determining who might have stayed in the game too long, who left too early, or who got out at the right time. Did Indian batting great Sachin Tendulkar, for example, allow his abilities to wane too much before he left the scene? And what About Chris Gayle? Did he wait too long to hang up his helmet? Donald Bradman, the greatest batter the game has seen, might well have continued scoring century after century for a few more years. After all, he averaged 72.57 in his last series in England in 1948. Michael Holding retired at 33. His comrade-in-arms Courtney Walsh played until he was 38. Could “Whispering Death” have granted us the pleasure of viewing him in action for a little while longer? And what about Usain Bolt? He retired at 30. I would bet he could have accumulated a few more gold medals had he continued for a few more years.

In the end, time conquers everyone. It depends on the genre of course, but generally speaking, sportsmen are at their peak between their mid-twenties to early thirties. Thereafter, regression takes place: reactions slow; eyesight becomes less sharp; fast-twitch muscle fibres decrease; the body becomes less efficient in transporting oxygen, leading to less aerobic capacity; and it takes more time to recover from exertion. Athletes can rage all they want against its deleterious effects, but Father Time eventually knocks on every door and there is little choice but to let him in. It is then that they have to begin the process of deciding how much they will allow their skills to deteriorate before calling it a day.

The decision to embark on an athletic career is normally made in a fit of excitement and expectation. Deciding when to go normally requires much more thought and reflection. It is one of the more difficult decisions the great performer will have to make.

Garfield Robinson is a Jamaican living in the US who writes on cricket for a few Indian and English publications. Send comments to the Jamaica Observer or garfield.v.robinson@gmail.com.