By Lyle Fitzsimmons - Twenty-five years? Really?
While stumbling around the Internet for a few days looking for a coherent nugget upon which to build the week’s column, I instead tripped over yet more evidence of my advancing years.
In November 1986, I was 17 years old. I was a senior in high school. I was a couple months into a relationship with my first real girlfriend. And I hadn’t yet met many of the people – friends, mentors, nemeses – who’ve subsequently made the biggest tangible impacts on my life.
On one particular Saturday that month – the 22nd, to be specific – a big one arrived.
Twenty-five years ago last night.
That Saturday, rather than heading to Brenda’s house for a night of movie-watching or out to the Summit Park Mall for some holiday shopping, I decided to stay home and check out the first HBO spotlight show for a kid I’d read about in KO Magazine and seen a few times on “Wide World of Sports.” [Click Here To Read More]
While stumbling around the Internet for a few days looking for a coherent nugget upon which to build the week’s column, I instead tripped over yet more evidence of my advancing years.
In November 1986, I was 17 years old. I was a senior in high school. I was a couple months into a relationship with my first real girlfriend. And I hadn’t yet met many of the people – friends, mentors, nemeses – who’ve subsequently made the biggest tangible impacts on my life.
On one particular Saturday that month – the 22nd, to be specific – a big one arrived.
Twenty-five years ago last night.
That Saturday, rather than heading to Brenda’s house for a night of movie-watching or out to the Summit Park Mall for some holiday shopping, I decided to stay home and check out the first HBO spotlight show for a kid I’d read about in KO Magazine and seen a few times on “Wide World of Sports.” [Click Here To Read More]
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