YORK — My wife was annoyed with me the other day. I was sent to my closet to get rid of items I no longer wore. These included T-shirts, sweatshirts, pants, jeans, shorts, hats and every other thing I’ve covered my body with for the past 50 or so years.

As always, my wife had the right idea. When I opened my closet, it looked like it was filled with a solid block of multi-colored cloth. There was not a space, either hanging or on the shelf, that could fit another item. How the shelf didn’t fall from the massive weight of sweatshirts and sweaters is above and beyond my comprehension.

Shoes and old worn-out sneakers covered the floor of the closet, over what I assumed was a rug. It was possible that the shoes were actually on top of even older sweaters. I decided to start at the top and work my way down.

When I reached and grabbed what I thought was a single sweatshirt, the entire contents of the shelf came tumbling down. I don’t understand how I survived the resulting avalanche. After I got over the shock and awe, I started to dig through what I would later consider a history of me.

Black, gray, blue and even gray sweatshirts were strewn in front of me. Some had logos of teams, businesses and schools I had long since forgotten.

I also found sweatshirts that had the insignia of every Boston sports team that has won a championship since the mid-1970s. The one that put the widest grin on my face was the one from Super Bowl XX, held in Louisiana in 1986. Actually, it looked almost new, because I was so impressed that the New England Patriots had been AFC champions that season, I didn’t want it to lose its glow.

After stuffing the sweatshirts in a large black plastic garbage bag that was heading for the big yellow Salvation Army collection bin in the back of the parking lot of the closest shopping center, I found a haberdashery of baseball caps. Many were Red Sox and Patriots championship caps, which I will never get rid of. They represent too many great times and ecstatic feelings.

Others had no insignia but were worn to the point they could never again fit any head. One was especially interesting because it advertised “Kerrybunkport.” It dates from 2004 and has never been worn, but it will be placed with the rest of the hats that provided too many memories to be thrown away.

I then dug through the shirts, which clearly demonstrated where my mind had been over the past few decades. Very colorful shirts represented the 1980s. Some had buttons leading up to the top of the shirt, where there wasn’t any collar. Others were dress shirts, with little wear because I had little use for them with the exception of weddings, meetings and the occasional award presentation.

Digging deeper I found half-sweater, half-shirt combinations that were a favorite during the coldest of our winters. Toward the bottom of this part of the pile lay flannel shirts that in my youth I swore I would never wear. These could become a favorite part of my future.

I have no concept of why I would have ever purchased the number of T-shirts that now lay at my feet. It took at least an hour to go through them.

Some of my favorites had statements like “Independent Variable,” “What Stress?” and others that could never be printed in a family publication. Of course, I had T-shirts representing every championship team ever assembled. I also had T-shirts representing the absolute bums of their sport.

I didn’t have the heart to throw any of the shirts out. I guess this is what the space under the bed should be used for.

I thought the cleaning and organizing of my closet would take no longer than an hour. Four hours later I was still astounded by how eclectic a life I’ve had. H.G. Wells should have known that if one were looking for a time machine in this universe, all they had to do was look in an old man’s closet.