Roger Federer’s final competitive match, a doubles pairing with Rafael Nadal, will be underway shortly at the Laver Cup, as soon as Andy Murray’s clash with Alex de Minaur concludes. I’ll turn up the television’s volume once Federer takes the court, but until then I’m trying to distract myself with music and, while perusing my tablet, landed on Bruce Springsteen.

Today is Springsteen’s 73rd birthday, a shocking number to a kid who grew up in the ’80s and still thinks of him as the energetic young rocker whose tight ass (her words, not mine) my token straight aunt ardently admired. In my younger days I listened more to his earlier work, and even crooned “Rosalita” to a girlfriend who indulged such nonsense despite my inability to carry a tune in a bucket.

As a woman lurching uncertainly toward middle age, I prefer his ’80s output, some of which—like “Brilliant Disguise” and other tracks from Tunnel of Love—is far more devastating to 39-year-old ears than it was to a clueless 20-something. My favorite Springsteen song comes from that decade: “I’m on Fire,” also known as “the creepy one.”