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Roto-Rooter has a great business model. Systems do need to be cleaned out now and then. 

Writers do, too (including the guy typing this). After long hours poring over a keyboard, they need a break, a re-set, a Roto-Rootering.

Which is how I found myself in Arizona for two days, watching older guys play professional golf.

No deadlines. No editors. No worrying over narrative arc and lame adjectives. Just walk for a few miles, drink lots of water —and discover an athlete who should be a model to all of us who are gray or graying.

He’s David Frost, a 60-year-old South African who has won 30 golf titles all over the world in the course of a 40-year pro career. 

Frosty (his nickname) competes on the Champions Tour. You have to be at least 50 years old to participate. In Tucson, 78 guys who were once very bright lights in the golf world competed in the Cologuard Classic at a snazzy country club.

I decided to follow Frosty mostly out of curiosity. I wanted to see if he bore any resemblance to Frosty the Snowman (no) or to the British talk show host by the same name (no again).

What he resembles is a very intent, very focused golfer who can still play super-well.

Frosty stalks the course like a bear. If you’ll pardon the metaphor, he stalks eagles and birdies. He concentrates ferociously before and during each swing. 

He never berates himself after a mistake or a mis-hit. He knows that golf is all about the next stroke, not the last one.

Frosty proved his mettle about eight minutes into the tournament. His second shot came to rest about 35 yards from the first hole. 

But “no prob,” as the kids would say. Frosty whipped out a wedge, cuffed the ball just right — and watched it dribble into the cup.

Birdie!

For a fleeting, magic moment, Frosty was winning the tournament.

No, it didn’t last. He played for three days, and ended up tied for 24th place. Creditable, but not pulse-pounding. 

Yet Frosty — and his 77 fellow duffers — showed me that athletic glory does not have to end when one turns 40.

Obviously, that wouldn’t apply to football or basketball players. Some baseballers still don their spikes when they’re turning gray, but not many.

But golf can still be played — and played well — when your age begins with a 5, a 6, even a 7.

One of the competitors in the Cologuard was a man named Hale Irwin. He has won more titles on the Champions Tour than anyone else (45 of them). He is 74 years old.

I watched him hit a shot on the 15th hole. Irwin was about 100 yards out. He effortlessly lofted a ball that came to rest four feet from his target.

Who says that 74-year-olds should be concentrating on crossword puzzles and naps? Not Hale Irwin.

The Champions Tour does not attract the huge, raucous crowds that inhabit the main pro golf tour. During Frosty’s first round, his entire gallery consisted of 11 people. Tiger Woods passes that many fans when he takes one step.

Yet Champions Tour fans (who are overwhelmingly seniors themselves) identify hugely with the Frosties and the Irwins. 

After Frosty hit a drive that sailed more than 300 yards, one elderly gent said: “I couldn’t do that if my life depended on it.” 

His pal said: “You couldn’t do that even when you were young.” 

Guffaws and back slaps followed. Thanks to Frosty, two 70-somethings were laughing at old age.

Please don’t think that the ravages of age avoid all senior golfers. Only about half the contestants I saw (Frosty included) have solid, athletic builds. The rest have bellies. Sometimes major bellies.

Nor do they lope around 18 holes (about 4.5 miles) without rest. At several points along the way, Frosty and his playing partners would grab a quick sit on a nearby bench. Twenty-somethings do that only if they need to tie their shoes.

Biggest lesson of my two days in the sun: Senior golfers have mastered that thing called temperament.

On the last hole of the second round, one of Frosty’s playing partners, Larry Mize, hit his first shot into a lake. He took a penalty stroke. He found a new ball and dropped it onto some scrubby grass. 

He was 200 yards from the hole.

“No prob,” as the kids would say. Mize pulled out a four-iron, took a practice swing, addressed the substitute ball and let fly.

It went directly into the hole.

Birdie!

From 200 yards away.

Mize did not yell or jump for joy. He just said, “Not bad.” Obviously, he has made good shots (and bad shots) before.

The first person to congratulate Mize was David Frost. 

“Great shot, old man,” he said. 

They both know that they can still (occasionally) make miracles happen, even if they are no longer tigers in the woods.

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.