Tom Watson reacts after putting on the 18th green during the third round of the British Open on Saturday at Turnberry, Scotland.

Dear Tom: I promise to stumble out of bed this morning, get out of my flannel jammies, drink my Metamucil and cheer like crazy for you to win the British Open.

And so should anyone else who still prefers vinyl over MP3s, the feel of getting the news from a Sunday paper instead of a computer keyboard, and the original lemon-lime Gatorade instead of Strawberry Kiwi Rain, the choice of wimpy metrosexuals no doubt.

Rise and shine, old schoolers. This is our day. And Tom Watson is our guy.

He’s on a blinding track to become the poster boy of the AARP generation, but not in the stereotypical context. Watson doesn’t need no stinkin’ dinner discounts. As someone who always defiantly throws away those mailers urging me to join the club, I couldn’t be prouder.

Watson is 18 holes from winning a major golf championship. The historical context is maddening. A few months short of 60, Watson is the oldest man to lead a major golf championship after three rounds since officials started keeping such records dating back to World War II.

Forget AARP membership. Watson is two years shy of qualifying for Social Security.

Sergio Garcia, his playing partner on Friday, wasn’t even born when Watson won the Open by one stroke in the famous “Duel in the Sun” with Jack Nicklaus in 1977. Twenty-two years later, Watson came into this tournament as a 1,000-1 looooong shot, which is what you’d expect for somebody whose working parts aren’t all in order.

Watson had left hip replacement surgery in October.

Oh, and if he wins, he will be 11 years older than any previous major champion.

Trust me, you don’t have to like golf to watch this. Everyone reaches a point in their lives when they feel a certain twitch in their back or an ache in their hamstring, creepy reminders that no one cheats time.

So how cool would it be for Watson to slap Father Time in the face with all the fury an old war horse can muster? Slap those young whippersnappers for us, too, Tom. Guys like Tiger Woods, who pounded his golf clubs into the grass at Turnberry, the lasting mark he would leave in this tournament since he failed to make the cut Friday.

The Twitter Generation mourns. The Typewriter Generation thinks it’s groovy.

“Who knew he was going to buy a time share at the Fountain of Youth?” Rick Reilly marveled during ABC’s telecast Saturday afternoon. “This is crazy.”

We thought it was crazy last year when Greg Norman, then 53, was in the same spot at the Open: leading with 18 holes to go. Then he faded on Showdown Sunday. That’s what you’d expect from old guys, isn’t it?

But I have a good feeling about Mr. Watson. His game has been spot-on. Watson has been striking the ball with distance and precision. His putting game has been brilliant as well. Look at his 30-foot birdie putt at 16 on Saturday to grab a share of the lead again, and another birdie at 17 that pushed him to four under, one stroke ahead of Mathew Goggin and Ross Fisher.

As Watson approached the 18th green, the crowd rose to give him a standing ovation.

Watson responded with a tip of the hat.

Maybe it’s not as cool as Tiger’s fist pump, but it’s the old-school way of acknowledging to fans that a man’s got game.

“I have a game plan,” Watson said after Saturday’s 1-over round of 71, “and I’m right on it.”

Right on is right, baby! Wrinkly Tom Watson is gunning for a major.

In a weekend when we are mourning the loss of Walter Cronkite, an iconic throwback dating back to the days of black-and-white television, Watson reminds us that we are never too old to dream in Technicolor.

Old-school is representing. I’m hoping to hoist a glass in your honor later today, Tom. Any mixer suggestions for Metamucil?