pjmedia.com After a long and storied career, I would like to say that I have amassed a fortune. But not yet. However, I have faced 300-foot flame lengths as a firefighter, been asked to remove suspected anthrax from a county jail wearing nothing but a respirator mask and some rubber gloves, and been kicked out of a café in Paris because I realized I didn’t have enough money to pay for my beer (and I mean literally kicked in the ass into the gutter on the Champs-Elysées).
I won a bar fight in England and five years later got my clock cleaned pretty well for mouthing off about the World Series in a bar in Oakland. The Reds laid the wood on the A’s and, since I grew up near Cincy, I couldn’t keep my stupid trap shut. I’ll admit I had it coming, and I nursed a pretty decent-sized mouse under my right eye for about a week. Another time, at a music festival in Colorado, I challenged a biker twice my size for being a jerk to my wife. He would have killed me if it had gone to trading punches, but the men reading this will understand why I couldn’t back down…
