“Does he fight?” Lainey asked me over the phone.
“I don’t know. I don’t watch his games. I’m not really interested.”
I watched one fight of his, when I was home in Pittsburgh at Christmas. I looked up from the book I was reading to see my dad watching a hockey game … and saw Jamie about to square off against a player from Ottawa whom the commentators referred to as “one of the peskiest fighters in the league.”
The other guy had already squared up as Jamie put his right arm out, a feeble attempt to stop a punch. I never watched hockey, and I could tell he was woefully unprepared.
“What are you doing?” I said under my breath. “Are you on drugs?”
The first punch struck him. Jamie reached out to grab...
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