You know the name. You probably can’t
spell it, but you know it. It’s eleven unpredictable, tongue-twisting letters long — stuffed to the consonants with vowels. It’s a word that, when written, squares up at you from the page; daring you to misplace just one of its many wayward syllables. It’s a fightin’ name, an excitin’ name — and one worn by a man just as mischievous.
You know the man, too. He’s got just over 50 years under his well-worn belt, stands six handsome feet tall and lives his life by a singular set of fiercely philosophical rules. He’s at once laid-back and quick-witted; whimsical yet deadly serious. He’s a tall drink of water, a sharp shot of bourbon — and can be even more bewildering than that hard-to-spell, have-a-go name of his.