Seems like only yesterday.

I wouldn’t mind having the beard, or the hair—or the hair color—back, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go back to being that guy. No…of that much I am certain.

August 1992. Thirty-four years old and—as is often the case with folks that age—absolutely positive I had the entire world figured out. I knew how the game was played and quite erroneously thought I was a master at it.

August 1992. Two months into the infamous Rory Hansen affair; an affair that bordered on obsession and showed me in no uncertain terms that I didn’t know how the game was played and that you can’t always get what you want. After the inevitable—and spectacular—crash and burn with Rory, I followed up by making several very poor professional decisions and sent my career into a tailspin that forever changed the course of my life and would take more than a decade to recover from. I may actually write about it someday. Or not.

How’s that for a tease?