Everything Else

At this point in my life, at least circling the concept of being an adult without actually becoming one, I know that separating the art from the artist isn’t only a good idea, it’s pretty necessary most of the time. I know Jeremy Roenick is getting ever more bloated, both physically and philosophically, and has essentially been a barking face-orifice for the past five to ten years now. So I have to keep his playing career, perhaps the single element most responsible for my Hawks and hockey fandom, separate from the man himself. And most of the time, it’s easy.

But every so often…